THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


From  the  cxDllection 
of 

Alfred  Garvin  Ehgstrom 
and 

^fery  Claire  Randolph 
Ehgstrom 


i 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2020  with  funding  from 
University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


https://archive.org/details/lifeadventuresof00dick_3 


I  DON’T  FORGET  YOU.  MY  SOUL.  AND  NEVER  SHALL.  AND  NEVER. CAN.”  SAID  MANTALINI. 


CHARLES  DICKENS'  COMPLETE  WORKS. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  EDITION, 

With  200  Illustrations  by  Cruikshank,  Phiz,  Barnard,  and  others. 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES 

OF 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


BY 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY  ESTES  AND  LAURIAT, 

301-303  Washington  Street. 

1882., 


THE  LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  CAROUNA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


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PREFACE. 


- - 

This  story  was  begun,  within  a  few  months  after  the 
publication  of  the  completed  “  Pickwick  Papers.”  There 
were,  then,  a  good  many  cheap  Yorkshire  schools  in 
existence.  There  are  very  few  now. 

Of  the  monstrous  neglect  of  education  in  England,  and 
the  disregard  of  it  by  the  State  as  a  means  of  formin<y 
good  or  bad  citizens,  and  miserable  or  happy  men,  this 
class  of  schools  long  afforded  a  notable  example.  Although 
any  man  who  had  proved  his  unfitness  for  any  other 
occupation  in  life,  was  free,  without  examination  or 
qualification,  to  open  a  school  an^'where ;  although  j^rc- 
paration  for  the  functions  he  undertook,  was  required 
in  the  surgeon  who  assisted  to  bring  a  boy  into  the  world, 
or  might  one  day  assist,  perhaps,  to  send  him  out  of  it, — 
in  the  chemist,  the  attorney,  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the 
candlestick-maker, — the  whole  round  of  crafts  and  trades, 
the  schoolmaster  excepted ;  and  although  schoolmasters, 
as  a  race,  were  the  blockheads  and  im[)Ostors  that  might 
naturally  be  expected  to  arise  from  such  a  state  of  things, 
and  to  fiourish  in  it ;  these  Yorkshire  schoolmasters  were 
the  lowest  and  most  rotten  round  in  the  whole  ladder. 
Traders  in  the  avarice-,  indifference,  or  imbecilit}^  of  parents, 
and  the  helplessness  of  children;  ignorant,  sordid,  brutal 

(V) 


vi 


PKEFACE. 


men,  to  whom  few  considerate  persons  would  have  en¬ 
trusted  the  hoard  and  lodging  of  a  horse  or  a  dog;  they 
formed  the  worthy  corner-stone  of  a  structure,  which,  for 
absurdity  and  a  magnificent  high-handed  laissez-aller 
neglect,  has  rarely  been  exceeded  in  the  world. 

We  hear  sometimes  of  an  action  for  damages  against 
the  unqualified  medical  practitioner,  who  has  deformed  a 
broken  limb  in  pretending  to  heal  it.  But,  what  about 
the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  minds  that  have  been 
deformed  for  ever  by  the  incapable  pettifoggers  who  have 
pretended  to  form  them  I 

I  make  mention  of  the  race,  as  of  the  Yorkshire  school¬ 
masters,  in  the  past  tense.  Though  it  has  not  yet  finally 
disappeared,  it  is  dwindling  daily.  A  long  daj^’s  work 
remains  to  be  done  about  us  in  the  way  of  education. 
Ilea  veil  knows ;  but  great  improvements  and  facilities 
towards  the  attainment  of  a  good  one,  have  been  furnished, 
of  late  years,  to  those  who  can  afford  to  pay  for  it. 

I  cannot  call  to  mind,  now,  how  I  came  to  hear  about 
Yorkshire  schools  when  I  was  a  not  very  robust  child, 
sitting  in  bye-places,  near  Bochester  Castle,  with  a  head 
full  of  Partridge,  Strap,  Tom  Pipes,  and  Sanciio  Panza  ; 
but,  I  know  that  m}^  first  impressions  of  them  were  picked 
up  at  that  time,  and  that  they  were,  somehow  or  other, 
connected  with  a  suppurated  abscess  that  some  boy  had 
come  home  with,  in  consequence  of  his  Yorkshire  guide, 
philosopher,  and  friend,  having  ripped  it  open  with  an 
inky  pen-knife.  Tlie  impression  made  upon  me,  however 
made,  never  left  me.  I  was  alwa3’s  curious  about  them — 
fell,  long  afterwards,  and  at  sundi*}'  times,  into  the  way  of 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


hearing  more  about  them — at  last,  having  an  audience, 
resolved  to  write  about  them. 

With  that  intent,  1  went  down  into  Yorkshire  before  I 
began  this  book,  in  very  severe  winter-time  which  is  pretty 
faithfully  described  herein.  As  I  wanted  to  see  a  school¬ 
master  or  two,  and  was  forewarned  that  those  gentlemen 
might,  in  their  modesty,  be  shy  of  receiving  a  visit  from 
me,  I  consulted  with  a  professional  friend  hei’e,  who  had 
a  Yorkshire  connection,  and  with  whom  I  concerted  a 
pious  fraud.  He  gave  me  some  letters  of  introduction, 
in  the  name,  I  think,  of  my  travelling  companion  ;  they 
bore  reference  to  a  suppositious  little  boy  who  had  been 
left  with  a  widowed  mother  who  didn’t  know  what  to  do 
with  him;  the  poor  lady  had  thought,  as  a  means  of 
thawing  the  tardy  compassion  of  her  lelations  in  his 
behalf,  of  sending  him  to  a  Yorkshire  school;  I  was  the 
poor  lady’s  friend,  travelling  that  way  ;  and  if  the  recipient 
of  the  letter  could  inform  me  of  a  school  in  his  neighbour¬ 
hood,  the  writer  w^ould  be  veiy  much  obliged. 

I  went  to  several  places  in  that  part  of  the  country 
where  I  understood  these  schools  to  be  plentifully 
sprinkled,  and  had  no  occasion  to  deliver  a  letter  until  I 
came  to  a  certain  town  which  shall  be  nameless.  The 
person  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  was  not  at  home  ;  but, 
he  came  down  at  night,  through  the  snow,  to  the  inn 
where  I  was  staying.  It  was  after  dinner  ;  and  he  needed 
little  persuasion  to  sit  down  by  the  fire  in  a  warm  corner, 
and  take  his  share  of  the  wine  that  was  on  the  table. 

1  am  afraid  he  is  dead  now.  I  recollect  he  was  a  jovial, 
rudd}’,  broad-faced  man  ;  that  we  got  acquainted  directly’’; 


Vlll 


PREFACE, 


and  that  we  talked  on  all  kinds  of  subjects,  except  the 
school,  w'hich  he  showed  a  great  anxietj'  to  avoid.  Was 
there  any  large  school  near?  I  asked  him,  in  reference  to 
the  letter.  ''  Oh,  3'es,”  he  said ;  “  there  was  a  pratty 
big  ’un.”  “  Was  it  a  good  one  ?”  i  asked.  “  Ey  1”  he  said, 
“  it  was  as  good  as  anoother ;  that  was  a’  a  matther  of 
opinion  and  fell  to  looking  at  the  fire,  staring  round  the 
room,  and  whistling  a  little.  On  m3’  reverting  to  some 
other  topic  that  we  had  been  discussing,  he  recovered 
immediatel3’ ;  but,  though  I  tried  him  again  and  again,  I 
never  approached  the  question  of  the  school,  even  if  he 
were  in  the  middle  of  a  laugh,  without  observing  that  his 
countenance  fell,  and  that  he  became  uncomfortable.  At 
last,  when  we  had  passed  a  couple  of  hours  or  so,  agree¬ 
ably,  he  suddenly  took  up  his  hat,  and  leaning  oyer  the 
table  and  looking  me  full  in  the  face,  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
“  Weel  Misther,  we ’ve  been  vaiy  pleasant  toogather,  and 
ar  ’ll  spak’  m3’  moind  tiv  ’ee.  Dinnot  let  the  weediir  send 
her  lattle  boy  to  3’an  o’  our  schoolmeasthers,  while  there  ’s 
a  harse  to  hoold  in  a’  Lunnun,  or  a  gootther  to  lie  asleep 
in.  Ar  wouldn’t  mak’  ill  words  amang  my  neeburs,  and 
ar  speak  tiv  ’ee  quiet  loike.  But  I  ’ra  dom’d  if  ar  can  gang 
to  bed  and  not  tellec,  for  weedur’s  sak’,  to  keep  the  lattle 
bo3’’  from  a’  sike  scoondrels  while  tliere  ’s  a  harse  to  hoold 
in  a’  Lunnun,  or  a  gootther  to  lie  asleep  in  !”  Bepeating 
these  words  with  great  heartiness,  and  with  a  solemnity 
on  his  jolly  face  that  made  it  look  twice  as  large  as  before, 
he  shook  hands  and  went  away.  I  never  saw  him  after- 
W’ards,  but  I  sometimes  imagine  that  I  descry  a  faint 
reflection  of  him  in  J ohn  Browdie. 


rREFACE. 


ix 

In  reference  to  these  gentry,  I  may  here  quote  a  few 
words  from  the  original  Preface  to  this  book. 

“  It  has  afforded  the  Author  great  amusement  and 
satisfaction,  during  the  progress  of  this  work,  to  learn, 
from  country  friends  and  from  a  variety  of  ludicrous 
statements  concerning  himself  in  provincial  newspapers, 
tliat  more  than  one  A'orkshire  schoolmaster  lays  claim  to 
being  the  original  of  Air.  Squeers.  One  worthy,  he  has 
reason  to  believe,  has  actually  consulted  authorities 
learned  in  the  law,  as  to  his  having  good  grounds  on 
which  to  rest  an  action  for  libel ;  another,  has  meditated  a 
journey  to  London,  for  the  express  purpose  of  committing 
an  assault  and  battery  on  his  traducer;  a  third,  perfectly 
remembers  being  waited  on,  last  January  twelve  month, 
by  two  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  held  him  in  conversation 
while  the  other  took  his  likeness ;  and,  although  Mr. 
Squeers  has  but  one  63*6,  and  he  has  two,  and  the  published 
sketch  docs  not  resemble  him  (whoever  he  may  be)  in  an\' 
other  respect,  still  he  and  all  his  friends  and  neighbours 
know  at  once  for  whom  it  is  meant,  because — the  charactei 
is  so  like  him. 

“  While  the  Author  cannot  but  feel  the  full  force  of  the 
compliment  thus  conve3"ed  to  him,  he  ventures  to  suggest 
that  these  contentions  may  arise  fi’om  the  fact,  that  Mr. 
Squeers  is  the  representative  of  a  class,  and  not  of  an 
individual.  Where  imposture,  ignorance,  and  brutal  cupidi¬ 
ty,  are  the  stock  in  trade  of  a  small  body  of  men,  and  one 
is  described  b}"  these  characteristics,  all  his  fellows  will 
recognise  something  belonging  to  themselves,  and  each 
will  have  a  misgiving  that  the  portrait  is  his  own. 


X 


PREFACE, 


“  The  Author’s  object  in  calling  public  attention  to  the 
s_ystem  would  be  very  imperfectly  fulfilled,  if  he  did  not 
state  now,  in  his  own  person,  emphatically  and  earnestly, 
that  Mr.  Squeers  and  his  school  are  faint  and  feeble 
pictures  of  an  existing  reality,  purposely  subdued  and 
kej^t  down,  lest  they  should  be  deemed  impossible — that 
there  are,  upon  record,  trials  at  law  in  which  damages 
have  been  sought  as  a  poor  recompense  for  lasting  agonies 
and  disfigurements  inflicted  upon  children  by  the  treat¬ 
ment  of  tlie  master  in  these  places,  involving  such  offensive 
and  foul  details  of  neglect,  cruelt}^  and  disease,  as  no 
writer  of  fiction  would  have  the  lioldness  to  imagine — and 
that,  since  he  has  been  engaged  upon  these  Adventures,  he 
has  received,  from  private  quarters  far  bejmnd  the  reach 
of  suspicion  or  distrust,  accounts  of  atrocities,  in  the 
perpetration  of  which,  upon  neglected  or  repudiated 
children,  these  schools  have  been  the  main  instruments, 
very  far  exceeding  any  that  appear  in  these  pages.” 

This  comprises  all  1  need  say  on  tlie  subject  ;  except 
that,  if  I  had  seen  occasion,  I  had  resolved  to  reprint  a 
few  of  these  details  of  legal  proceedings,  from  certain  old 
newspapers. 

One  other  quotation  from  the  same  Preface,  may  serve 
to  introduce  a  fact  that  my  readers  may  think  curious. 

“  To  turn  to  a  more  pleasant  subject,  it  ma}'’  be  right  to 
say,  that  there  are  two  characters  in  this  book  which  are 
drawn  from  life.  It  is  remarkable  that  what  we  call  the 
world,  which  is  so  very  credulous  in  what  professes  to  be 
true,  is  most  incredulous  in  what  professes  to  be  imagi¬ 
nary’  ;  and  that,  while,  every  day  in  real  life,  it  will  allow 


PREFACE. 


xi 


in  one  man  no  blemishes,  and  in  another  no  virtues,  it  will 
seldom  admit  a  very  strongly  marked  character,  either 
good  or  bad,  in  a  fictitious  narrative,  to  be  within  the 
limits  of  probability.  But,  those  who  take  an  interest  in 
this  tale,  will  be  glad  to  learn  that  the  Brothers  Ciiee- 
RYBLE  live ;  that  their  liberal  charity,  their  singleness  of 
heart,  their  noble  nature,  and  their  unbounded  benevolence, 
are  no  creations  of  the  Author’s  brain ;  but  are  prompting 
every  day  (and  oftenest  by  stealth)  some  munificent  and 
generous  deed  in  that  town  of  which  they  are  the  pride 
and  honour.” 

If  I  were  to  attempt  to  sum  up  the  hundreds  upon 
hundreds  of  letters,  from  all  sorts  of  people  in  all  sorts  of 
latitudes  and  climates,  to  which  this  unlucky  paragraph 
has  since  given  rise,  I  should  get  into  an  arithmetical 
difficulty  from  which  I  could  not  easily  extricate  myself. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  believe  the  applications  for  loans, 
gifts,  and  offices  of  profit  which  I  have  been  requested  to 
forward  to  the  originals  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryble 
(with  whom  I  never  interchanged  any  communication  in 
my  life),  would  have  exhausted  the  combined  patronage  of 
all  the  Lord  Chanccll<^rs  since  the  accession  of  the  House 
of  Brunswick,  and  would  have  broken  the  Best  of  the 
Bank  of  England. 

There  is  onl}’’  one  other  point,  on  which  I  would  desire 
to  oflbr  a  remark.  If  Nicholas  be  not  alwa^'s  found  to  bo 
blameless  or  agreeable,  he  is  not  alwa3’s  intended  to 
appear  so.  He  is  a  j’oung  man  of  an  impetuous  temper 
and  of  little  or  no  experience  ;  and  I  saw  no  reason  why 
such  a  hero  should  be  lifted  out  of  nature. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“  I  don’t  forget  you,  my  Soul,  and  never  shall,  and 

NEVER  CAN,”  SAID  Mantalini . F7-07itispiece. 

“Oh!  as  soft  as  possible,  if  you  please”  ....  127 

“  I  AM  AFRAID  YOU  HAVE  BEEN  GIVING  HER  SOME  OF 

YOUR  WICKED  LoOKS,  MY  LORD,”  SAID  THE  INTENDED  261 

Lashing  himself  up  to  an  extravagant  Pitch  of 
Fury,  Newman  Noggs  jerked  himself  about  the 
Room  with  the  most  eccentric  Motion  ever  be¬ 


held  IN  A  Human  Being . 454 

The  meditative  Ogre . 579 


“  Oh  !  Mr.  Linkinwater,  you’re  joking  ” . 896 


CONTENTS 


• - ♦ - 

CBAPTEK  PASS 

i. — Introduces  all  the  rest, . . .  17 

n. — Of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  and  his  Establishment,  and  his  Under¬ 
takings.  And  of  a  great  Joint  Stock  Company  of  vast  na¬ 
tional  importance . 23 

III. — Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  receives  Sad  Tidings  of  his  brother,  but 
bears  up  nobly  against  the  intelligence  communicated  to  him. 

The  Reader  is  informed  how  he  liked  Nieholas,  who  is  herein 
introduced,  and  how  kindly  ho  proposed  to  make  his  Fortune 
at  once .  Sd 

IV. — Nicholas  and  his  Uncle  (to  secure  the  Fortune  without  loss  of 
time)  wait  upon  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers,  the  Yorkshire  School¬ 
master .  48 

V. — Nicholas  starts  lor  Yorkshire. — Of  his  Leave-taking  and  his 

Fellow  Travelers,  and  what  befel  them  on  the  road .  62 

VI. — In  which  the  Occurrence  of  the  Accident  mentioned  in  the  last 
Chapter,  affords  an  opportunity  to  a  couple  of  Gentlemen  to 
tell  Stories  against  each  ether .  74 

VII. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  at  Home . 

VIII.— Of  the  Internal  Economy  of  Dotheboys  Hall .  103 

(9) 


10 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTBE  PAQI 

IX, — Of  Miss  Squeers,  Mrs,  Squeers,  Master  Squeers,  and  Mr. 
Squeers;  and  various  Matters  and  Persons  connected  no  less 
v^ith  the  Squeerses  than  with  Nicholas  Nickleby .  122 

X. — How  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  provided  for  his  Niece  and  Sister -in- 

Law . 139 

XI. — Mr.  Newman  Noggs  Inducts  Mrs.  and  Miss  Nickleby  into 

their  New  Dwelling  in  the  City .  154 

XII. — Whereby  the  Reader  will  be  enabled  to  trace  the  further  course 
of  Miss  Fanny  Squeors's  Love,  and  to  ascertain  whether  it 
ran  smoothly  or  otherwise .  160 


XIII.  — Nicholas  varies  the  monotony  of  Dotheboys  Hall  by  a  most 

vigorous  and  remarkable  Proceeding,  which  leads  to  Conse¬ 
quences  of  some  importance .  173 

XIV.  — Having  the  Misfortune  to  treat  of  none  but  Common  People,  is 

necessarily  of  a  Mean  and  Vulgar  Character .  189 


XV. — Acquaints  the  Reader  with  the  Cause  and  Origin  of  the  Inter¬ 
ruption  described  in  the  last  Chapter,  and  with  some  other 
Matters  necessary  to  be  known .  202 

XVI. — Nicholas  seeks  to  employ  himself  in  a  New  Capacity,  and  being 
unsuccessful,  accepts  an  engagement  as  Tutor  in  a  Private 


Family .  217 

XVII. — Follows  the  Fortunes  of  Miss  Nickleby . .  239 


XVIII. — Miss  Knag,  after  doating  on  Kate  Nickleby  for  three  whole 
Days,  makes  up  her  mind  to  hate  her  for  evermore.  The 
Causes  which  led  Miss  Knag  to  form  this  resolution .  260 


XIX. — Descriptive  of  a  Dinner  at  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby’s,  and  of  the 
Manner  in  which  the  Company  entertained  themselves  before 
Dinner,  at  Dinner,  and  after  Dinner .  386 


CONTENTS 


11 


CHATTBR  pagh 

XX. — Wherein  Nicholas  at  length  encounters  his  tJncIe,  to  whom 
he  expresses  his  Sentiments  with  much  Candor.  His  Reso¬ 
lution . 28S 

XXL — Madame  Mantalini  finds  herself  in  a  Situation  of  some  Diffi¬ 
culty,  and  Miss  Nickleby  finds  herself  in  no  situation  at  sdL  290 

XXII. — Nicholas,  accompanied  by  Smike,  sallies  forth  to  seek  his 
Fortune.  He  encounters  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies;  and  who 
he  was  is  herein  made  manifest .  310 

XXIII. — Treats  of  the  Company  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  and  of  his 

Affairs,  Domestic  and  Theatrical .  327 

XXrV. — Of  the  Great  Despeak  for  Miss  Snevellicci,  and  the  first  ap¬ 
pearance  of  NichO'las  upon  any  Stage .  342 

XXV. — Concerning  a  young  Lady  from  London  who  joins  the  Com¬ 
pany,  and  an  elderly  Admirer  who  follows  in  her  Train  j 


with  an  affecting  Ceremony  consequent  on  their  Arrival .  360 

XXVI. — Is  fraught  with  some  Danger  to  Miss  Nickleby’s  Peace  of 

Mind .  375 


XXVII. — Mrs.  Nickleby  becomes  acquainted  with  Messrs.  Pyke  and 

Pluck,  whose  Affection  and  Interest  are  beyond  all  bounds.  387 

XXVIII. — Miss  Nickleby,  rendered  desperate  by  the  Persecution  of  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk,  and  the  complicated  Difficulties  and  Dis¬ 
tresses  which  surround  her,  appeals,  as  a  last  resource,  to 


her  Uncle  for  Protection . . .  403 

XXIX. — Of  the  Proceedings  of  Nicholas,  and  certain  Internal  Divi¬ 
sions  in  the  Company  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies . .  423 


XXX. — Festivities  are  held  in  honor  of  Nicholas,  who  suddenly  with¬ 
draws  himself  from  the  society  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies 
and  his  Theatrical  Companions . . . .  ^33 


12 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PASB 

XXXI. — Of  Kalph  Nickleby  and  Newman  Noggs,  and  some  wise 
Precautions,  the  success  or  failure  of  which  will  appear 
in  the  Sequel .  449 

XXXII. — Relating  chiefly  to  some  remarkable  Conversation,  and  some 

remarkable  Proceedings  to  which  it  gives  rise .  457 

XXXIII. — In  which  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  is  relieved,  by  a  very  expedi¬ 
tious  Process,  from  all  Commerce  with  his  relations, .  469 

XXXIV. — Wherein  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  is  visited  l.y  Persons  with 

whom  the  Reader  has  been  already  made  acquainted .  477 


XXXV. — Smike  becomes  known  to  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  Kate.  Nicho¬ 
las  also  meets  with  new  Acquaintances,  and  brighter  Days 
seem  to  dawn  upon  the  Family .  496 

XXXVI. — Private  and  confidential  j  relating  to  family  matters.  Show¬ 
ing  how  Mr.  Kenwigs  underwent  violent  Agitation,  and 
how  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  as  well  as  could  be  expected .  613 

XXXVII.— Nicholas  finds  further  Favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  Brothers 
Cheeryble  and  Mr.  Timothy  Linkinwater.  The  Brothers 
give  a  Banquet  on  a  great  annual  occasion ;  Nicholas,  on 
returning  home  from  it,  receives  a  mysterious  and  im¬ 
portant  Disclosure  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Nickleby .  623 

XXXVm. — Comprises  certain  Particulars  arising  out  of  a  Visit  of  Con¬ 
dolence,  which  may  prove  important  hereafter.  Smike 
unexpectedly  encounters  a  very  old  Friend,  who  invites 


him  to  his  house,  and  will  take  no  denial-. .  542 

XXXIX. — In  which  another  old  Friend  encounters  Smike,  very  oppor¬ 
tunely  and  to  some  purpose. .  658 


XL. — In  which  Nicholas  falls  in  Love.  lie  employs  a  Mediator, 
whose  Proceedings  are  crowned  with  unexpected  Success, 
excepting  in  one  solitary  Particular. . 


568 


CONTENTS. 


13 


CHAPTBE  PAGd 

XLI. — Containiog  some  Romantic  Passages  between  Mrs.  Nickleby 

and  the  Gentleman  in  the  Small-clothes  next  Door .  637 

XLII. — Illustrative  of  the  convivial  Sentiment,  that  the  best  of  Friends 

must  sometimes  part . . . .  60t 

XLIII. — Officiates  as  a  kind  of  Gentleman  Usher,  in  bringing  various 

people  together .  614 

-XLIV. — Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  cuts  an  old  Acquaintance.  It  would  also 
appear  from  the  contents  hereof,  that  a  joke  even  between 
Husband  and  Wife,  may  be  sometimes  carried  too  far .  629 

XLV. — Containing  matter  of  a  surprising  kind . .  645 

XLVI. — Throws  some  light  upon  Nicholas's  Lovej  but  whether  for 

G  ood  or  Evil  the  Reader  must  determine .  659 

XL VII. — Ml.  Ralph  Nickleby  has  some  confidential  intercourse  with 
another  old  Friend.  They  concert  between  them  a  Project 
which  promises  well  for  both .  674 

XL VIII. — Being  for  the  Benefit  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  and  positively 

his  last  Appearance  on  this  Stage .  691 

XLIX. — Chronicles  the  further  Proceedings  of  the  Nickleby  Family, 
and  the  Sequel  of  the  Adventure  of  the  Gentleman  in  the 
Small-clothes .  704 

L. — Involves  a  serious  Catastrophe .  721 

LI. — The  project  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  and  his  Friend  approach¬ 
ing  a  successful  Issue,  becomes  unexpectedly  known  to 
another  Party,  not  admitted  into  their  Confidence. .  738 

LII. — Nicholas  despairs  of  rescuing  Madeline  Bray,  but  plucks  up 
his  spirits  again,  and  determines  to  attempt  iu  Domestic 
Intelligence  of  the  Kenwigses  and  Lillyvicks .  719 


!4 


CONTENTS. 


OHAPTEH  PAGa 

LIII. — Containin.g  the  farther  progress  of  the  Plot  contrivod  by  Mr. 

Ralph  Nickleby  and  Mr.  Arthur  Gride .  768 

LIV. — The  Crisis  of  the  Project  and  its  Result . . .  781 

LV. — Of  Family  matters,  Cares,  Hopes,  Disappointmnets,  and  Sor¬ 
rows . 794 


LVI. — Ralph  Nickleby,  baffled  by  his  Nephew  in  his  late  Design, 
hatches  a  scheme  of  Retaliation  which  accident  suggests  to 
him,  and  takes  into  his  Counsels  a  tried  Auxiliary .  808 

LVII. — How  Ralph  Nickleby’s  Auxiliary  went  about  his  work,  and 

how  he  prospered  with  it .  822 

LVIII. — In  which  one  Scene  of  this  History  is  closed .  834 

LIX. — The  Plots  begin  to  fail,  and  doubts  and  dangers  to  disturb  the 

Plotter .  841 

LX. — The  Dangers  thicken,  and  the  worst  is  told .  857 

LXI. — Wherein  Nicholas  and  his  Sister  forfeit  the  Good  Opinion  of 

all  worldly  and  prudent  People..... .  870 

LXII. — Ralph  makes  one  last  Appointment — and  keeps  it .  881 


LXIII.-  -The  Brothers  Cheeryble  make  various  Declarations  for  them¬ 
selves  and  others,  and  Tim  Linkinwater  makes  a  Declara¬ 


tion  for  himself. .  888 

LXtV.  — An  old  Acquaintance  is  Recognized  under  melancholy  circum¬ 
stances,  and  Dotheboys  Hall  breaks  up  for  ever .  900 

LXV. — Conclusion . .  910 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTUEES 


OF 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCES  ALL  THE  REST. 

There  once  lived  in  a  sequestered  part  of  the  county  ot 
Devonshire,  one  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby,  a  wortliy  gentbman, 
who,  taking  it  into  his  head  rather  late  in  life  that  he  must  get 
married,  and  not  being  young  enough  or  rich  enough  to  aspire 
to  the  hand  of  a  lady  of  fortune,  had  wedded  an  old  (lame  out  of 
mere  attachment,  who  in  her  turn  had  taken  him  for  the  same 
reason  ;  thus  two  people  who  cannot  afford  to  play  cardo  for 
money,  sometimes  sit  down  to  a  quiet  game  for  love. 

Some  ill-conditioned  persons,  who  sneer  at  the  life-matrimo¬ 
nial,  may  perhaps  suggest  in  this  place  that  the  good  couple 
would  be  better  likened  to  two  principals  in  a  sparring  match, 
who,  when  fortune  is  low  and  backers  scarce,  will  chivalrously 
Bet  to,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  buffeting;  and  in  one  respect 
indeed  this  comparison  would  hold  good,  for  as  the  adventurous 
pair  of  the  Fives’  Court  will  afterwards  send  round  a  hat,  ai.d 
trust  to  the  bounty  of  the  lookers-on  for  the  means  of  regaling 
themselves,  so  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby  and  his  partner,  the  honey¬ 
moon  being  over,  looked  wistfully  out  into  the  world,  relying  in 
2 


18 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


no  inconsiderable  degree  upon  chance  for  the  improvement  of 
their  means.  Mr.  Nickleby’s  income,  at  tlie  period  of  his 
marriage,  liuctuated  between  sixty  and  eighty  pounds  per 
annum. 

There  are  people  enough  in  the  world,  heaven  knows !  and 
even  in  London  (where  Mr.  Ts^ickleby  dwelt  in  those  days)  but 
few  complaints  prevail  of  the  population  being  scanty.  Tt  is 
extraordinary  how  long  a  man  may  look  among  the  crowd  with¬ 
out  discovering  the  face  of  a  friend,  but  it  is  no  less  true.  Mr. 
Nicklcby  looked  and  looked  till  his  eyes  became  sore  as  his 
heart,  but  no  friend  appeared ;  and  when,  growing  tired  of  the 
search,  he  turned  his  eyes  homeward,  he  saw  very  little  there  to 
relieve  his  weary  vision.  A  painter,  who  has  gazed  too  long 
upon  some  glaring  color,  refreshes  his  dazzled  sight  by  looking 
upon  a  darker  and  more  sombre  tint ;  but  every  thing  that  met 
Mr.  Nickleby’s  gaze  wore  so  black  and  gloomy  a  hue,  that  he 
would  have  been  beyond  description  refreshed  by  the  very  reverse 
of  the  contrast. 

At  length,  after  five  years,  when  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  presented 
her  husband  with  a  couple  of  sons,  and  that  embarrassed  gentle¬ 
man,  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  making  some  provision  for 
his  family,  was  seriously  revolving  in  his  mind  a  little  comnier’ 
cial  speculation  of  insuring  his  life  next  quarter-day,  and  then 
falling  from  the  top  of  the  Monument  by  accident,  there  came 
one  morning,  by  the  general  post,  a  black-bordered  letter  to  in¬ 
form  him  how  his  uncle,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  was  dead,  and 
had  left  him  the  bulk  of  his  little  property,  amounting  in  all  to 
five  thousand  pounds  sterling. 

As  the  deceased  had  taken  no  further  notice  of  his  nephew  in 
his  life-time,  than  sending  to  his  eldest  boy  (who  had  been 
christened  after  him,  on  a  desperate  speculation)  a  silver  spoon 
in  a  morocco  case,  which  as  he  had  not  too  much  to  eat  with  it, 
seemed  a  kind  of  satire  upon  his  having  been  born  without  that 
useful  article  of  plate  in  his  mouth,  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby  could 
at  first  scarcely  believe  the  tidings  thus  conveyed  to  him.  On 
further  examination,  however,  they  turned  out  to  be  strictly  cor¬ 
rect.  The  amiable  old  gentleman,  it  seemed,  had  intended  to 
leave  the  whole  to  the  Ri)yal  Humane  Society,  and  had,  indeed, 
executed  a  will  to  that  cfiect;  but  the  Institution  having  been 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


19 


nnfortnnate  enough,  a  few  months  before,  to  save  the  life  of  a 
poor  relation  to  whom  he  paid  a  weekly  allowance  of  three  shil¬ 
lings  and  sixpence,  he  had  in  a  fit  of  very  natural  exasperation, 
revoked  the  bequest  in  a  codicil,  and  left  it  all  to  Mr.  Godfrey 
"Nickleby;  with  a  special  mention  of  his  indignation,  not  only 
against  the  society  for  saving  the  poor  relation’s  life,  but  against 
the  poor  relation  also,  for  allowing  himself  to  be  saved. 

With  a  portion  of  this  property  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby  pur¬ 
chased  a  small  farm  near  Pawlish,  in  Devonshire,  whither  he 
retired  with  his  wife  and  two  children,  to  live  upon  the  best 
interest  he  could  get  for  the  rest  of  his  money,  and  the  little 
produce  he  could  raise  from  his  land.  The  two  prospered  so 
well  together,  that  when  he  died,  some  fifteen  years  after  this 
period,  and  some  five  after  his  wife,  he  was  enabled  to  leave  to 
his  eldest  son,  Ralph,  three  thousand  pounds  in  cash,  and  to 
his  youngest  son,  Nicholas,  one  thousand  and  the  farm  ;  if  indeed 
that  can  be  called  a  farm,  which,  exclusive  of  house  and  pad- 
dock,  is  about  the  size  of  Russell  Square,  measuring  from  the 
street-doors  of  the  houses. 

These  two  brothers  had  been  brought  up  together  in  a  school 
at  Exeter,  and  being  accustomed  to  go  home  once  a  week,  liad 
often  heard,  from  their  mother’s  lips,  long  accounts  of  their 
father’s  sulferings  in  his  days  of  poverty,  and  of  their  deceased 
uncle’s  importance  in  his  days  of  affluence,  which  recitals  ])ro- 
duced  a  very  different  impression  on  the  two  :  for  while  the 
younger,  who  was  of  a  timid  and  retiring  disposition,  gleaned 
from  thence  nothing  but  forewarnings  to  shun  the  great  world 
and  attach  himself  to  the  quiet  routine  of  a  country  life  ;  Ralph, 
the  elder,  deduced  from  the  oft-repeated  tale  the  two  great  morals 
that  riches  are  the  only  true  source  of  happiness  and  power,  and 
that  it  is  lawful  and  just  to  compass  their  acquisition  by  all 
means  short  of  felony.  “  And,”  reasoned  Ral[)h  with  himself,  “if 
no  good  came  of  my  uncle’s  money  when  he  was  alive,  a  great 
deal  of  good  came  of  it  after  he  was  dead,  inasmuch  as  my  father 
has  got  it  now,  and  is  saving  it  up  for  me,  which  is  a  highly  vir¬ 
tuous  purpose  ;  and,  going  back  to  the  old  getitlemaii,  good 
did  come  of  it  to  him  too,  for  he  had  the  pleasure  of  thinking  of 
it  all  his  life  long,  and  of  being  envied  and  courted  by  all  his 
family  besides.”  And  Ralph  always  wound  up  these  meutaJ 


20 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Boliloquies  by  arriving  at  the  conclusion,  that  there  was  nothing 
like  money. 

Not  confining  himself  to  theory,  or  permitting  his  faculties 
to  rust  even  at  that  early  age  in  mere  abstract  speculations, 
this  promising  lad  commenced  usurer  on  a  limited  scale  at 
Fch  )ol,  putting  out  at  good  interest  a  small  capital  of  slate 
pencil  and  marbles,  and  gradually  extending  his  operations  until 
they  aspired  to  the  copper  coinage  of  this  realm,  in  which  he 
speculated  to  considerable  advantage.  Nor  did  he  trouble  his 
borrowers  with  abstract  calculations  of  figures,  or  references  to 
ready-reckoners  ;  his  simple  rule  of  interest  being  all  comprised 
in  the  one  golden  sentence,  “  two-pence  for  every  half  penny,” 
which  greatly  simplified  the  accounts,  and  which,  as  a  familiar 
precept,  more  easily  acquired  and  retained  in  the  memory  than 
any  known  rule  of  arithmetic,  cannot  be  too  strongly  recom¬ 
mended  to  the  notice  of  capitalists,  both  large  and  small,  and 
more  especially  of  money-brokers  and  bill-discounters.  Indeed, 
to  do  these  gentlemen  justice,  many  of  them  are  to  this  day  in 
the  frequent  habit  of  adopting  it  with  eminent  success. 

In  like  manner,  did  young  Ralph  Nickleby  avoid  all  those 
minute  and  intricate  calculations  of  odd  days,  which  nobody  who 
has  ever  worked  sums  in  simple  interest  can  fail  to  have  found 
most  embarrassing,  by  establishing  the  one  general  rule  that  all 
sums  of  principal  and  interest  should  be  paid  on  pocket-money 
day,  that  is  to  say,  on  Saturday;  and  that  whether  a  loan  were 
contracted  on  the  Monday  or  on  the  Friday,  the  amount  of  in¬ 
terest  should  be  in  both  cases  the  same.  Indeed,  he  argued,  and 
with  great  show  of  reason,  that  it  ought  to  be  rather  more  for 
one  day  than  for  five,  inasmuch  as  the  borrower  might  in  the  for¬ 
mer  case  be  very  fairly  presumed  to  be  in  great  extremity,  other¬ 
wise  he  would  not  borrow  at  all  with  such  odds  against  him 
This  fact  is  interesting,  as  illustrating  the  secret  connection  and 
eympathy  which  always  exist  between  great  minds.  Though 
master  Ralph  Nickleby  was  not  at  that  time  aware  of  it,  the 
class  of  gentlemen  before  alluded  to,  proceed  on  just  the  same 
principle  in  all  their  transactions. 

From  what  we  have  said  of  this  young  gentleman,  and  the 
natural  admiration  the  reader  will  immediately  conceive  of  his 
character,  it  may  perhaps  be  inferred  that  he  is  to  be  the  hero 


W  10  HUL  Aa  xM  0  KL  KL  Y  . 


£1 

of  the  work  which  we  shall  presently  begin.  To  set  this  point 
at  rest  for  once  and  forever,  we  hasten  to  undeceive  them,  and 
stride  to  its  commencement. 

On  the  death  of  his  father,  Ralph  Nickleby,  wdio  had  been 
sometime  before  placed  in  a  mercantile  house  in  Londoii,  applied 
himself  passionately  to  his  old  pursuit  of  money-getting,  iu 
wdiich  he  Sj)eedily  became  so  buried  and  absorbed,  that  he  quite 
forgot  his  brother  for  many  years;  and  ifat  times  a  recollection 
of  his  old  play-fellow  broke  upon  him  through  the  haze  in  which 
he  lived — for  gold  conjures  up  a  mist  about  a  man  more  destruc¬ 
tive  of  all  his  old  senses  and  lulling  to  his  feelings  than  the 
fumes  of  charcoal — it  brought  along  with  it  a  companion 
thought,  that  if  they  w^ere  intimate  he  wmuld  want  to  borrow 
money  of  him ;  and  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  said  things  were  better  as  they  were. 

As  for  Nicholas,  he  lived  a  single  man  on  the  patrimonial 
estate  until  he  grew  tired  of  living  alone,  and  then  he  took  to 
w’ife  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  gentleman  with  a  dower  of 
one  thousand  pounds.  This  good  lady  bore  him  two  children, 
a  son  and  a  daughter,  and  when  the  son  was  about  nineteen, 
and  the  daughter  fourteen,  as  near  as  "we  can  guess — impartial 
records  of  young  ladies’  ages  being,  before  the  passing  of  the 
new  act,  nowhere  preserved  in  the  registries  of  this  country — 
Mr.  Nickleby  looked  about  him  for  the  means  of  repairing  hii 
capital,  now  sadly  reduced  by  this  increase  in  his  family  and 
the  expenses  of  their  education. 

“Speculate  with  it,”  said  IMrs.  Nickleby. 

“  Spec — u — late,  my  dear  ?”  said  Mr.  Nicklebv,  as  though  in 
doubt. 

“Why  not?”  asked  INIrs.  Nickleby. 

“Because,  my  dear,  if  we  should  lose  it,”  rejoined  Mr.  Nick¬ 
leby,  who  was  a  slow  and  time-taking  speaker,  “it  \vg  should 
](jse  it,  we  shall  no  longer  be  able  to  live,  my  dear.” 

“Fiddle,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“  I  am  not  altogether  sure  of  that,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby 

“There’s  xXicholas,”  pursued  the  lady,  “ (piite  a  young  man— 
it’s  time  he  was  in  the  way  of  doing  something  for  himself;  an  I 
Kate  too,  poor  girl,  without  a  })enny  in  the  world,  dhink  of 
your  brother;  would  he  be  what  he  is.  if  he  hadn’t  speculated?” 


22 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“That’s  true,”  replied  Mr.  Nickleby.  “Very  good,  my  dear 
Ves.  I  uill  speculate,  ray  dear.” 

Si»cculation  is  a  round  game;  the  players  see  little  or  nothing 
of  their  cards  at  first  starting  :  gains  may  be  great — and  so  may 
losses.  The  run  of  luck  went  against  Mr,  Nickleby;  a  mania 
prevailed,  a  bubble  burst,  four  stock-brokers  took  villa  residences 
at  Florence,  four  hundred  nobodies  were  ruined,  and  among 
them  Mr.  Nickleby. 

“The  very  house  I  live  in,”  sighed  the  poor  gentleman,  “may 
be  taken  from  me  to-morrow.  Not  an  article  of  my  old  furni¬ 
ture,  but  will  be  sold  to  strangers!” 

The  last  reflection  hurt  him  so  much,  that  he  took  at  once  to 
his  bed,  apparently  resolved  to  keep  that  at  all  events. 

“Cheer  up.  Sir!”  said  the  apothecary. 

“You  mustn’t  let  yourself  be  cast  down.  Sir,”  said  the  nurse. 

“Such  things  happen  every  day,”  remarked  the  lawyer. 

“And  it  is  very  sinful  to  rebel  against  them,”  whispered  the 
clergyman. 

“And  what  no  man  with  a  family  ought  to  do,”  added  the 
neighbors, 

Mr.  Nickleby  shook  his  head,  and  motioning  them  all  out  of 
the  room,  embraced  his  wife  and  children,  and  having  pressed 
them  by  turns  to  his  languidly-beating  heart,  sunk  exhausted  on 
his  pillow.  They  were  concerned  to  find  that  his  reason  went 
astray  after  this,  for  he  babbled  for  a  long  time  about  the  gener¬ 
osity  and  goodness  of  his  brother,  and  the  merry  old  times  when 
they  were  at  school  together  Th’s  fit  of  wandering  past,  he 
solemnly  commended  them  to  One  who  never  deserted  the  widow 
or  her  fatherless  children,  and  smiling  gently  on  them,  turned 
upon  his  face,  and  observed,  that  he  thought  he  could  fall  asleep. 


CHAPTER  II. 


OF  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY,  AND  ITIS  ESTABLISHMENT,  AND  HT8 

UNDERTAKINGS.  AND  OF  A  GREAT  JOINT  STOCK  COMPANY  OF 

VAST  N^iTIONAL  IMPORTANCE. 

Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  what  you 
■woiild  call  a  merchant;  neither  was  he  a  banker,  nor  an  at¬ 
torney,  nor  a  special  pleader,  nor  a  notary.  He  was  certainly 
not  a  tradesman,  and  still  less  could  he  lay  any  claim  to  the 
title  of  a  professional  gentleman  ;  for  it  wonld  have  been  im¬ 
possible  to  mention  any  recognized  profession  to  which  he 
belonged.  Nevertheless,  as  he  lived  in  a  spacious  house  in 
Golden  Square,  which,  in  addition  to  a  brass  ])late  upon  the 
street-door,  had  another  brass  plate  two  sizes  and  a  half  smaller 
upon  the  left  hand  door-))ost,  surmounting  a  brass  model  of  an 
infant’s  fist  grasiiing  a  fragment  of  a  skewer,  and  disi)hiying  the 
word  “Office,”  it  was  clear  that  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  did,  or 
pretended  to  do,  business  of  some  kind;  and  the  fact,  if  it 
required  any  further  circumstantial  evidence,  was  abundantly 
demonstrated  by  the  diurnal  attendance,  between  the  hours  of 
half-past  nine  and  five,  of  a  sallow-faced  man  in  rusty  brown, 
who  sat  upon  an  uncommonly  hard  stool  in  a  species  of  butler’s 
pantry  at  tlie  end  of  the  passage,  and  always  had  a  pen  behind 
his  ear  when  he  answered  the  bell. 

Although  a  few  members  of  the  graver  professions  live  about 
Golden  Scpiare,  it  is  not  e.xactly  in  any  body’s  way  to  or  from 
anywhere.  It  is  one  of  the  squares  that  have  been  ;  a  quarter 
of  the  town  that  has  gone  down  in  the  world,  and  taken  to 
letting  lodgings.  .Many  of  its  first  and  second  floors  are  let 
furnished  to  single  gentlemen,  and  it  takes  boarders  besides. 
It  is  a  great  resort  of  foreigners.  The  dark-comide.xioned  men 
who  wear  large  rings,  and  heavy  watch-guards  and  bushy 
Avhiskers,  and  who  congregate  under  the  Opera  colonnade,  and 
about  the  box-olBce  in  the  season,  between  four  and  five  in  the 

(23) 


24 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


afternoon,  when  Mr.  Seguin  gives  away  the  orders, — all  live  in 
Golden  Square,  or  within  a  street  of  it.  Two  or  three  violins 
and  a  wind  instrument  from  the  Opera  band,  reside  within  its 
precincts.  Its  boarding-houses  are  musical,  and  the  notes  of 
pianos  and  harps  float  in  the  evening  time  around  the  head 
of  the  mournful  .statue,  the  guardian  genius  of  a  little  wilderness 
of  shrubs,  in  the  centre  of  the  scpiare.  On  a  summer’s  nigLt 
windows  are  thrown  open,  and  groups  of  swarthy  mustachio’d 
men  are  seen  by  the  passer-by  lounging  at  the  casements,  and 
smoking  fearfully.  Sounds  of  gruff  voices  practicing  vocal  music 
invade  the  evening’s  silence,  and  the  fumes  of  choice  tobacco 
scent  the  air.  There,  snuff  and  cigars,  and  German  pipes  and 
flutes,  and  violins,  and  violoncellos,  divide  the  supremacy  be¬ 
tween  them.  It  is  the  region  of  song  and  smoke.  Street  bands 
are  on  their  mettle  in  Golden  Square,  and  itinerant  glee-singers 
quaver  involuntarily  as  they  raise  their  voices  within  its 
boundaries. 

This  would  not  seem  a  spot  very  well  adapted  to  the  trans¬ 
action  of  business;  but  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  had  lived  there 
notwithstanding  for  many  years,  and  uttered  no  complaint  on 
that  score.  He  knew  nobody  round  about  and  nobody  knew 
him,  although  he  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  immensely  rich. 
The  tradesmen  held  that  he  was  a  sort  of  lawyer,  and  the  other 
neighbors  opined  that  he  was  a  kind  of  general  agent;  both  of 
which  guesses  were  as  correet  and  definite  as  guesses  about 
other  people’s  affairs  usually  are,  or  need  to  be. 

Mr.  Ralph  Kickleby  sat  in  his  private  office  one  morning, 
ready  dressed  to  walk  abroad.  He  were  a  bottle-green  spencer, 
over  a  blue  coat;  a  white  waistcoat,  grey  mixture  pantaloons, 
and  Wellington  boots  drawn  over  them  ;  the  corner  of  a  small- 
plaited  shirt-frill  struggled  out,  as  if  insisting  to  show  itself, 
from  between  his  chin  and  the  top  button  of  his  spencer,  and  the 
garment  was  not  made  low  enough  to  conceal  a  long  gold  watch- 
chain,  composed  of  a  series  of  plain  rings,  which  had  its  begin¬ 
ning  at  the  handle  of  a  gold  repeater  in  Mr.  ^sbckleby’s  pocket, 
and  its  termination  in  two  little  keys,  one  belonging  to  the 
watch  itself,  and  the  other  to  some  patent  padlock.  He  wore  a 
B})rinkling  of  powder  upon  his  head,  as  if  to  make  himself  look 
benevolent ;  but  if  that  were  his  purpose,  he  would  perhaps  have 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


26 


done  better  to  powder  his  countenance  also,  for  there  was 
BOinetliing  in  its  very  wrinkles,  and  in  his  cold  restless  eye,  which 
seemed  to  tell  of  cunning  that  would  announce  itself  in  spite 
of  him.  However  this  might  be,  there  he  was  ;  and  as  he  was 
all  alone,  neither  the  powder  nor  the  wrinkles,  nor  the  eyes,  had 
the  smallest  effect,  good  or  bad,  upon  any  body  just  then,  and 
are  consequently  no  business  of  ours  just  now. 

JNIr.  Nickleby  closed  an  account-book  which  lay  on  his  deslq 
and  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  gazed  with  an  air  of 
abstraction  through  the  dirty  window.  Some  London  houses 
have  a  melancholy  little  plot  of  ground  behind  them,  usually 
fenced  in  by  four  high  whitewashed  walls,  and  frowned  upon  by 
stacks  of  chimneys,  in  which  there  withers  on  from  year  to  year 
a  crippled  tree,  that  makes  a  show  of  putting  forth  a  few  leaves 
late  in  autumn,  when  other  trees  shed  theirs,  and  drooping  in 
the  effoi’t,  lingers  on  all  crackled  and  smoke-dried  till  the  fol¬ 
lowing  season,  when  it  repeats  the  same  process,  and  perhaps  if 
the  weather  be  particularly  genial,  even  tempts  some  rheurnatie 
sparrow  to  chirrup  in  its  branches.  People  sometimes  call  these 
dark  yards  “gardens  it  is  not  supposed  that  they  wei’e  ever 
planted,  but  rather  that  they  are  pieces  of  unreclaimed  land  with 
the  withered  vegetation  of  the  original  brick-field.  No  man 
thinks  of  walking  in  this  desolate  jrlace,  or  of  turning  it  to  any 
account.  A  few  hampers,  half-a-dozen  broken  bottles,  and  such¬ 
like  rubbish,  may  be  thrown  there  when  the  tenant  first  move.9 
in,  but  nothing  more ;  and  there  they  remain  till  he  goes  away 
again,  the  damp  straw  taking  just  as  long  to  moulder  as  it 
thinks  proper,  and  mingling  with  the  scanty  box,  and  stunted 
everbrowns,  and  broken  flower-pots,  that  are  scattered  mourn¬ 
fully  about — a  prey  to  “  blacks”  and  dirt. 

It  was  into  a  place  of  this  kind  that  Air.  Ralph  Nickleby 
gazed  as  he  sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  looking  out  at  the 
window.  He  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon  a  distorted  fir-tree,  planted 
by  some  former  tenant  in  a  tub  that  had  once  been  green,  and 
left  there  years  before,  to  rot  away  piecemeal.  There  was 
nothing  very  inviting  in  the  object,  but  Mr.  Nickleby  was  wrapt 
in  a  brown  study,  and  sat  contemplating  it  with  far  greater 
attention  than,  in  a  more  conscious  mood,  he  would  have  deigned 
to  bestow  upon  the  rarest  exotic. 


26 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


At  length  his  eyes  wandered  to  a  little  dirty  v,  indow  on  the 
left,  through  which  the  face  of  the  clerk  was  dimly  visible,  and 
that  worthy  chancing  to  look  up,  he  beckoned  him  to  attend. 

In  obedience  to  this  summons  the  clerk  got  off  the  high  stool, 
(to  which  he  had  communicated  a  high  polish,  by  countless 
gettings  off  and  on,)  and  presented  himself  in  Mr.  Nickleby’a 
room.  lie  was  a  tall  man  of  middle  age,  with  two  goggle  eyes, 
whereof  one  wms  a  fixture,  a  rubicund  nose,  a  cadaverous  face, 
and  a  suit  of  clothes  (if  the  term  be  allowable  when  they  suited 
him  not  at  all)  much  the  w^orse  for  w^ear,  very  much  too  small, 
and  placed  upon  such  a  short  allowance  of  buttons  that  it  was 
quite  marvelous  liow  he  contrived  to  keep  them  on. 

“  Was  that  half  past  twmlve,  Noggs  said  Mr.  Nickleby, 
in  a  sharp  and  grating  voice. 

“Not  more  than  five-and-twenty  minutes  by  the — ”  Noggs 
was  going  to  add  public-house  clock,  but  recollecting  himself, 
he  substituted  “regular  time.” 

“  My  watch  has  stopped,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby ;  “  I  don’t  know 
from  what  cause.” 

“  Not  wound  up,”  said  Noggs. 

“  Yes,  it  is,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby. 

“  Over-wound,  then,”  rejoined  Noggs. 

“  That  can’t  very  well  be,”  observed  Mr.  Nickleby. 

“  Must  be,”  said  Noggs. 

“  Well  I”  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  putting  the  repeater  back  in  his 
pocket ;  “  perhaps  it  is.” 

Noggs  gave  a  peculiar  grunt,  as  was  his  custom  at  the  end 
of  all  disputes  with  his  master,  to  imply  that  he  (Noggs)  tri¬ 
umphed,  and  (as  he  rarely  spoke  to  any  body  unless  somebody 
spoke  to  him)  fell  into  a  grim  silence,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
slowly  over  each  other,  cracking  the  joints  of  his  fingers,  and 
squeezing  them  into  all  possible  distortions.  The  incessant  per¬ 
formance  of  this  routine  on  every  occasion,  and  the  communi¬ 
cation  of  a  fixed  and  rigid  look  to  his  unaffected  eye,  so  as  to 
make  it  uniform  with  the  other,  and  to  render  it  impossible  for 
any  body  to  determine  where  or  at  wdiat  he  was  looking,  were 
two  among  the  numerous  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Noggs,  which 
struck  an  inexperienced  observer  at  first  sight. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


27 


“  I  am  going  to  the  London  Tavern  this  morning,”  said  Mr. 
Kickleby, 

“  Public  meeting  ?”  inquired  Noggs. 

Mr.  Nickleby  nodded.  “  I  expect  a  letter  from  the  solicitor 
respecting  that  mortgage  of  Ruddle’s.  If  it  comes  at  all  it 
will  be  here  by  the  two  o’clock  delismry.  I  shall  leave  the  city 
about  that  time  and  walk  to  Charing-Cross  on  the  left  hand 
side  of  the  way ;  if  there  are  any  letters,  come  and  meet  me, 
and  bring  them  with  you.” 

Noggs  nodded ;  and  as  he  nodded,  there  came  a  ring  at  the 
office  bell  :  the  master  looked  up  from  his  papers,  and  the  clerk 
calmly  remained  in  a  stationary  position. 

“The  bell,”  said  Noggs,  as  though  in  explanation;  “at 
home  ?” 

“Yes. 

“  To  any  body  ?” 

“  Yes.” 

“  To  the  tax-gatherer  ?” 

“  No  I  Let  him  call  again.” 

Noggs  gave  vent  to  his  usual  grunt,  as  much  as  to  say,  “1 
thought  so  !”  and,  the  ring  being  repeated,  went  to  the  door, 
whence  he  presently  returned  ushering  in,  by  the  name  of  Mr. 
Bonney,  a  pale  gentleman  in  a  violent  hurry,  who,  with  his  hair 
standing  up  in  great  disorder  all  over  his  head,  and  a  very 
narrow  white  cravat  tied  loosely  round  his  throat,  looked  as  if 
he  had  been  knocked  up  in  the  night  and  had  not  dressed  him¬ 
self  since. 

“  My  dear  Nickleby,”  said  the  gentleman,  taking  off  a  white 
hat  which  was  so  full  of  papers,  that  it  would  scarcely  stick 
upon  his  head,  “there’s  not  a  moment  to  lose  ;  I  have  a  cab  at 
the  door.  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  takes  the  chair,  and  three 
members  of  Parliament  are  positively  coming.  I  have  seen 
two  of  them  safely  out  of  bed  ;  and  the  third,  who  was  at 
Crockford’s  all  night,  has  just  gone  home  to  put  a  clean  slurt 
on,  and  take  a  bottle  or  two  of  soda-water,  and  will  certainly 
be  with  us  in  time  to  address  the  meeting.  He  is  a  little 
excited  by  last  u’.ght,  but  never  mind  that;  he  always  speaks 
the  stronger  for  it.” 

“It  seems  to  promise  pretty  well,”  said  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby, 


28 


NICHOLAS  NICRLEBT. 


whose  deliberate  manner  was  strongly  opposed  to  the  vivacity 
of  the  other  man  of  business. 

“Pretty  well !”  echoed  Mr.  Bonney;  “it’s  the  finest  idea  that 
was  ever  started.  ‘United  Metropolitan  Improved  llot  Muffin 
and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual  Delivery  Company.  Capital, 
five  millions,  in  five  hundred  thousand  shares  of  ten  pounds 
each.’  Why  the  very  name  will  get  the  shares  up  to  a  premium 
in  ten  days.” 

“And  when  they  are  at  a  premium,”  said  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby, 
smiling. 

“  When  they  are,  you  know  what  to  do  with  them  as  well  as 
any  man  alive,  and  how  to  back  quietly  out  at  the  right  time,’^ 
said  Mr.  Bonney,  slapping  the  capitalist  familiarly  on  the 
shoulder.  “  By  the  by,  what  a  very  remarkable  man  that 
clerk  of  yours  is.” 

“Yes,  poor  devil  I”  replied  Ralph,  drawing  on  his  gloves 
“Though  Newman  Noggs  kept  his  horses  and  hounds  once.” 

“Ay,  ay  ?”  said  the  other  carelessly. 

“Yes,”  continued  Ralph,  “and  not  many  years  ago  either; 
but  he  squandered  his  money,  invested  it  anyhow,  borrowed  at 
interest,  and  in  short  made  first  a  thorough  fool  of  himself,  and 
then  a  beggar.  He  took  to  drinking,  and  had  a  touch  of  para¬ 
lysis,  and  then  came  here  to  borrow  a  pound,  as  in  his  belter 
days  I  had — had — ” 

“  Had  done  business  with  him,”  said  Mr.  Bonney  with  a 
meaning  look. 

“  Just  so,”  replied  Ralph ;  “  I  couldn’t  lend  it,  you  know. 

“Oh,  of  course  rot.” 

“But  as  I  wanted  a  clerk  just  then,  to  open  the  door  and  so 
forth,  I  took  him  out  of  charity,  and  he  has  remained  with  me 
ever  since.  lie  is  a  little  mad,  I  think,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby, 
calling  up  a  charitable  look,  “but  he  is  useful  enough,  poor 
creature. — useful  enough.” 

The  kind-hearted  gentleman  omitted  to  add  that  Newman 
Noggs,  being  utterly  destitute,  served  him  for  rather  less  than 
the  usual  wages  of  a  boy  of  thirteen  ;  and  likewise  failed  to 
mention  in  his  hasty  chronicle,  that  his  eccentric  taciturnity 
rendered  him  an  especially  valuable  person  in  a  place  where 
much  business  was  done,  of  which  it  was  desirable  no  meutiou 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


29 


should  be  made  out  of  doors.  The  other  gentlemaii  was  i)laiuly 
impatient  to  be  gone,  however,  and  as  they  hurried  into  the 
hackney  cabriolet  immediately  afterwards,  perhaps  Mr.  Nickleby 
forgot  to  mention  circumstances  so  unimportant. 

There  was  a  great  bustle  in  Bishopsgate  Street  Within,  as 
they  drew  up,  and  (it  being  a  windy  day)  half  a  dozen  men 
were  tacking  across  the  road  under  a  press  of  paper,  bearing 
gigantic  announcements  that  a  Public  Meeting  would  be  holden 
at  one  o’clock  precisely,  to  take  into  consideration  the  propriety 
of  petitioning  Parliament  in  favor  of  the  United  Metropolitan 
Improved  Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual 
Delivery  Company,  capital  five  millions,  in  five  hundred  thousand 
shares  of  ten  pounds  each  ;  which  sums  were  duly  set  forth  in 
fat  black  figures  of  considerable  size.  Mr.  Bonney  elbowed  his 
way  briskly  up  stairs,  receiving  in  his  progress  many  low  bows 
from  the  waiters  who  stood  on  the  landings  to  show  the  way, 
and  followed  b}'  Mr.  Nickleby,  dived  into  a  suit  of  apartments 
behind  the  great  public  room,  in  the  second  of  which  was  a 
business-looking  table,  and  several  business-looking  people. 

“Hear  I”  cried  a  gentleman  with  a  double  chin,  as  Mr. 
Bonney  presented  himself,  “Chair,  gentlemen,  chair.” 

The  new-comers  were  received  with  universal  approbation, 
and  Mr.  Bonney  bustled  up  to  the  top  of  the  table,  took  off  his 
nat,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  knocked  a  hackney- 
coachman’s  knock  on  the  table,  with  a  little  hammer ;  whereat 
several  gentlemen  cried  “  Hear  I”  and  nodded  slightly  to  each 
other,  as  much  as  to  say  what  spirited  conduct  that  was.  Just 
at  this  moment  a  waiter,  feverish  With  agitation,  tore  into  the 
room,  and  throwing  the  door  open  with  a  crash,  shouted  “Sir 
Matthew  Pupker.” 

The  committee  stood  up  and  clapped  their  hands  for  joy ; 
and  while  they  were  .clapping  them  in  came  Sir  Matthew 
Pupker,  attended  by  two  live  members  of  Parliament,  one  Irish 
and  one  Scotch,  all  smiling  and  bowing,  and  looking  so  pleasant 
that  it  seemed  a  perfect  marvel  how  any  man  could  have  the 
heart  to  vote  against  them.  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  especially, 
who  had  a  little  round  head  with  a  fla.Ken  wig  on  tlie  top  of  it, 
fell  into  such  a  paro.xysm  of  bows  that  the  w  ig  threatened  to  be 
jerked  off  every  instant.  When  these  symptoms  had  in  some 


80 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


degree  subsided,  the  gentlemen  who  were  on  speaking  terms 
with  Sir  Matthew  Pupker,  or  the  two  other  members,  crowded 
round  them  in  three  little  groups,  near  one  or  other  of  which 
the  gentlemen  who  were  not  on  speaking  terms  with  Sii 
Matthew  I’upker  or  the  two  other  members,  stood  lingering, 
and  smiling,  and  rubbing  their  hands,  in  the  desperate  hope  of 
BOinething  turning  up  which  might  bring  them  into  notice. 
Ail  this  time  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  and  the  two  other  members 
were  relating  to  their  separate  circles  what  the  intentions  of 
government  were  about  taking  up  the  bill,  with  a  full  account 
of  what  the  government  had  said  in  a  whisper  the  last  time  they 
dined  with  it,  and  how  the  government  had  been  observed  to 
wink  w'hen  it  said  so ;  from  which  premises  they  were  at  no  loss 
to  draw  the  conclusion,  that  if  the  government  had  one  object 
more  at  heart  than  another,  that  one  object  was  the  welfare  and 
advantage  of  the  United  Metropolitan  Improved  Ilot  Muffin 
and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual  Delivery  Company. 

Meainvhile,  and  pending  the  arrangement  of  the  proceedings 
and  a  fair  division  of  the  speechifying,  the  public  in  the  large 
room  w'ere  eying,  by  turns,  the  empty  platform,  and  the  ladies 
in  the  Music  Gallery.  In  these  amusements  the  greater  portion 
of  them  had  been  occupied  for  a  couple  of  hours  before ;  and 
as  the  most  agreeable  diversions  pall  upon  the  taste  on  a  too 
protracted  enjoyment  of  them,  the  sterner  spirits  now  began  to 
nammer  the  floor  with  their  boot-heels,  and  to  express  their  dis¬ 
satisfaction  by  various  hoots  and  cries.  These  vocal  exertions, 
emanating  from  the  people  who  had  been  there  longest,  natur¬ 
ally  proceeded  from  those  who  were  nearest  to  the  platform  and 
furthest  from  the  policemen  in  attendance,  who  having  no  great 
mind  to  fight  their  way  through  the  crow'd,  but  entertaining 
nevertheless  a  praiseworthy  desire  to  do  something  to  quell  the 
disturbance,  immediately  began  to  drag  forth  by  the  coat  tails 
and  collars  all  the  quiet  ])eople  near  the  door;  at  the  same  time 
dealing  out  various  smart  and  tingling  blows  with  their  trun¬ 
cheons,  after  the  manner  of  that  ingenious  actor,  Mr.  Punch, 
whose  brilliant  example,  both  in  the  fashion  of  his  weapons  and 
their  use,  this  branch  of  the  executive  occasionally  follows 

Several  very  exciting  skirmishes  w’ere  in  progress,  when  a 
loud  shout  attracted  the  attention  even  of  the  belligerents,  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


81 


then  there  poured  on  to  the  platform,  from  a  door  at  the  side, 
a  long  line  of  gentlemen  with  their  hats  off,  all  looking  behind 
them,  and  uttering  vociferous  cheers ;  the  cause  whereof  was 
sufficiently  explained  when  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  and  the  two 
other  rea!  members  of  Parliament  came  to  the  front,  amidst 
deafening  shouts,  and  testified  to  each  other  in  dumb  motions 
that  they  had  never  seen  such  a  glorious  sight  as  that  in  the 
whole  course  of  their  public  career. 

At  length,  and  at  last,  the  assembly  left  off  shouting,  but  Sir 
Matthew  Pupker  being  voted  into  the  chair,  they  underwent  a 
relapse  which  lasted  five  minutes.  This  over.  Sir  Matthew 
Pupker  went  on  to  say  what  must  be  his  feelings  on  that  great 
occasion,  and  what  must  be  that  occasion  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  and  what  must  be  the  intelligence  of  his  fellow-country¬ 
men  before  him,  and  what  must  be  the  wealth  and  respectability 
of  his  honorable  friends  behind  him ;  and  lastly,  what  must  be 
the  importance  to  the  wealth,  the  happiness,  the  comfort,  the 
liberty,  the  very  existence  of  a  free  and  great  people,  of  such  a* 
Institution  as  the  United  Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin 
and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual  Delivery  Company. 

Mr.  Bonney  then  presented  himself  to  move  the  first  resolu¬ 
tion,  and  having  run  his  right  hand  through  his  hair,  and  planted 
his  left  in  an  easy  manner  in  his  ribs,  he  consigned  his  hat  to 
the  care  of  the  gentleman  with  the  double  chin  (who  acted  as  a 
species  of  bottle-holder  to  the  orators  generally),  and  said  he 
would  read  to  them  the  first  resolution — “Tliat  this  meeting 
views  mth  alarm  and  apprehension,  the  existing  state  of  the 
Muffin  Trade  in  this  Metropolis  and  its  neighborhood;  that  it 
considers  the  Muffin  Boys,  as  at  present  constituted,  wholly 
undeserving  the  confidence  of  the  public,  and  that  it  deems  the 
whole  Muffin  system  alike  prejudicial  to  tlie  health  and  morals 
of  the  people,  and  subversive  of  the  best  interests  of  a  great 
commercial  and  mercantile  community.”  The  honorable  gentle¬ 
man  made  a  speech  which  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  the  ladies, 
and  awakened  the  liveliest  emotions  in  every  individual  present. 
He  had  visited  the  houses  of  the  poor  in  the  various  districts  of 
London,  and  had  found  them  destitute  of  the  slightest  vesture 
of  a  muffin,  which  there  appeared  too  much  reason  to  believe 
some  of  these  indigent  persons  did  not  taste  from  year’s  end  to 


82 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


year’s  end.  lie  had  found  that  among  muffin  sellers  there  ey* 
isted  drunkenness,  debauchery,  and  profligacy,  which  he  attri¬ 
buted  to  the  debasing  nature  of  their  employment  as  at  present 
exercised ;  he  had  found  the  same  vices  among  the  poorer  class 
of  people  who  ought  to  be  muffin  consumers,  and  this  he  attri¬ 
buted  to  the  despair  engendered  by  their  being  placed  beyond 
the  reach  of  that  nutritious  article,  which  drove  them  to  seek  a 
false  stimulant  in  intoxicating  liquors.  He  would  undertake  to 
prove  before  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons,  that  there 
existed  a  combination  to  keep  up  the  price  of  muffins,  and  to 
give  the  bellman  a  monopoly;  he  would  prove  it  by  bellmen  at 
the  bar  of  that  House;  and  he  would  also  prove,  that  these 
men  corresponded  with  each  other  by  secret  words  and  signs,  as 
“Snooks,”  “Walker,”  Ferguson,”  “Is  Murphy  right?”  and 
many  others.  It  was  this  melancholy  state  of  things  that  the 
Company  proposed  to  correct :  firstly,  by  prohibiting  under 
heavy  penalties  all  private  muffin  trading  of  every  description  ; 
and  secondly,  by  themselves  supplying  the  public  generally,  and 
the  poor  at  their  own  homes,  with  muffins  of  first  quality  at  re¬ 
duced  prices.  It  was  with  this  object  that  a  bill  had  been  in¬ 
troduced  into  Parliament  by  their  patriotic  chairman  Sir  Matthew 
Pupker;  it  was  this  bill  that  they  had  met  to  support;  it  was 
the  supporters  of  this  bill  who  would  confer  undying  brightness 
and  splendor  upon  England,  under  the  name  of  the  United 
Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and 
Punctual  Delivery  Company;  he  would  add,  with  a  capital  of 
Five  Millions,  in  five  hundred  thousand  shares  of  ten  pounds 
each 

Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  seconded  the  resolution,  and  another 
gentleman  having  moved  that  it  be  amended  by  the  insertion 
o(  the  words  “and  crumpet”  after  the  word  “  muffin,”  whenever 
it  occurred,  it  was  carried  triumphantly  ;  only  one  man  in  the 
crowd  cried  “Nol”  and  he  was  promptly  taken  into  custody, 
and  straightway  borne  off. 

The  second  resolution,  which  recognized  the  expediency  of 
immediately  abolishing  “all  muffin  (or  crumpet)  sellers,  all 
traders  in  muffins  (or  crumpets)  of  whatsoever  description, 
whether  male  or  female,  boys  or  men,  ringing  hand-bells  or  other¬ 
wise,”  was  moved  by  a  grievous  gentleman  of  semi-clerical  ap- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


88 


pearance  who  went  at  once  into  such  deep  pathetics,  that,  he 
knocked  the  first  speaker  clean  out  of  the  course  in  no  time 
You  might  have  heard  a  pin  fall — a  pin  !  a  feather — as  he  de¬ 
scribed  the  cruelties  inflicted  on  muffin  boys  by  their  masters, 
which  he  very  wisely  urged  were  in  themselves  a  sufficient  reason 
for  the  establishment  of  that  inestimable  company.  It  seemed 
that  the  unhappy  youths  were  nightly  turned  out  into  the  wet 
streets  at  the  most  inclement  periods  of  the  year,  to  wander 
about  in  darkness  and  rain — or  it  might  be  hail  or  snow — for 
hours  together,  without  shelter,  food,  or  warmth;  and  let  the 
public  never  forget  upon  the  latter  point,  that  while  the  muffins 
were  provided  with  warm  clothing  and  blankets,  the  boys  were 
wholly  unprovided  for,  and  left  to  their  own  miserable  resources. 
(Shame!)  The  honorable  gentleman  related  one  case  of  a 
muffin  boy,  who  having  been  exposed  to  this  inhuman  and  bar¬ 
barous  system  for  no  less  than  five  years,  at  length  fell  a  victim 
to  a  cold  in  the  head,  beneath  which  he  gradually  sunk  until  he 
fell  into  a  perspiration  and  recovered ;  this  he  could  vouch  for, 
on  his  own  authority,  but  he  had  heard  (aim''  he  had  no  reason 
to  doubt  the  fact)  of  a  still  more  heart-rending  and  appalling 
circumstance.  He  had  heard  of  the  case  of  an  orphan  muffin 
boy,  who  having  been  run  over  by  a  hackney  Carriage,  had  been 
removed  to  the  hospital ;  had  undergone  the  amputation  of  his 
leg  below  the  knee,  and  was  now  actually  pursuing  his  occupa¬ 
tion  on  crutches.  Fountain  of  justice,  were  these  things  to 
last  1 

This  was  the  department  of  the  subject  that  took  the  meet¬ 
ing,  and  this  was  the  style  of  speaking  to  enlist  their  sympa¬ 
thies.  The  men  shouted,  the  ladies  wept  into  their  ]>ocket- 
handkerchiefs  till  they  were  moist,  and  waved  them  till  they 
were  dry;  the  excitement  was  tremendous,  and  Mr.  Nickleby 
whispered  his  friend  that  the  shares  were  thenceforth  at  a  pre¬ 
mium  of  five-and-twenty  per  cent. 

The  resolution  was  of  course  carried  with  loud  acclamations, 
every  man  holding  up  botli  hands  in  favor  of  it,  as  he  would 
in  his  enthusiasm  have  held  up  both  legs  also,  if  he  could  have 
conveniently  accomplished  it.  This  done,  the  draft  of  the  pro¬ 
posed  petition  was  read  at  length ;  and  the  petition  said,  as  all 
petitions  do  say,  that  the  petitioners  were  very  humble,  and  the 
3 


34 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


petitioned  very  honorable,  and  the  object  very  virtuous,  there¬ 
fore,  (said  the  petition)  the  bill  ought  to  be  passed  into  a  law  at 
once,  to  the  everlasting  honor  and  glory  of  that  most  honorable 
and  glorious  Commons  of  England  in  Parliament  assembled. 

Then  the  gentleman  who  had  been  at  Crockford’s  all  night, 
and  who  looked  something  the  worse  about  the  eyes  in  conse¬ 
quence,  came  forward  to  tell  his  fellow-countrymen  what  a 
speech  he  meant  to  make  in  favor  of  that  petition  whenever  it 
should  be  presented,  and  how  desperately  he  meant  to  taunt 
the  parliament  if  they  rejected  the  bill ;  and  to  inform  them 
also  that  he  regretted  his  honorable  friends  had  not  inserted  a 
clause  rendering  the  purchase  of  mulEns  and  crumpets  com¬ 
pulsory  upon  all  classes  of  the  community,  which  he — opposing 
all  half  measures,  and  preferring  to  go  the  extreme  animal — 
pledged  himself  to  propose  and  divide  upon  in  committee. 
After  announcing  this  determination,  the  honorable  gentleman 
grew  jocular ;  and  as  patent  boots,  lemon-colored  kid  gloves, 
and  a  fur  coat  collar,  assist  jokes  materially,  there  was  immense 
laughter  and  much  cheering,  and  moreover  such  a  brilliant  dis¬ 
play  of  ladies’  pocket-handkerchiefs,  as  threw  the  grievous  gen¬ 
tleman  quite  into  the  shade. 

And  when  the  petition  had  been  read  and  was  about  to  be 
adopted,  there  came  forward  the  Irish  member  (who  was  a 
young  gentleman  of  ardent  temperament),  with  such  a  speech 
as  only  an  Irish  member  can  make,  breathing  the  true  soul  and 
spirit  of  poetry,  and  poured  forth  with  such  fervor,  that  it  made 
one  warm  to  look  at  him ;  in  the  course  whereof  he  told  them 
how  he  would  demand  the  extension  of  that  great  boon  to  his 
native  country ;  how  he  would  claim  for  her  equal  rights  in  the 
muffin  laws  as  in  all  other  laws,  and  how  he  yet  hoped  to  see 
the  day  when  crumpets  should  be  toasted  in  her  lowly  cabins, 
and  muffin  bells  should  ring  in  her  rich  green  valleys.  And 
after  him  came  the  Scotch  member,  with  various  pleasant  allu¬ 
sions  to  the  probable  amount  of  profits,  which  increased  the 
good  humor  that  the  poetry  had  awakened ;  and  all  the  speeches 
put  together  did  exactly  what  they  were  intended  to  do,  and 
established  in  the  hearers’  minds  that  there  was  no  speculation 
so  promising,  or  at  the  same  time  so  praiseworthy,  as  the  United 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


35 


Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and 
Punctual  Delivery  Company. 

So,  the  petition  in  favor  of  the  bill  was  agreed  upon,  and 
the  meeting  adjourned  with  acclamations,  and  Mr.  Nickleby 
and  the  other  directors  went  to  the  office  to  lunch,  as  they  did 
every  day  at  half-past  one  o’clock ;  and  to  remunerate  them¬ 
selves  foj  which  trouble,  (as  the  company  was  yet  in  its  infanc^y,) 
they  only  charged  three  guineas  each  man  for  every  such 
attendance. 


CHAPTER  III. 


MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  RECEIVES  SAD  TIDINGS  OF  HIS  BROTHER; 

BUT  BEARS  UP  NOBLY  AGAINST  THE  INTELLIGENCE  COMMU¬ 
NICATED  TO  HIM.  THE  READER  IS  INFORMED  HOW  HE  LIKED 

NICHOLAS,  WHO  IS  HEREIN  INTRODUCED,  AND  HOW  KINDLY 

HE  PROPOSED  TO  MAKE  HIS  FORTUNE  AT  ONCE. 

Having  rendered  his  zealous  assistance  towards  dispatching 
the  lunch,  with  all  that  promptitude  and  energy  which  are 
among  the  most  important  qualities  that  men  of  business  can 
possess,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  took  a  cordial  farewell  of  his 
fellow  speculators,  and  bent  his  steps  westward  in  unwonted 
good  humor.  As  he  passed  Saint  Paul’s  he  stepped  aside  into 
a  doorway  to  set  his  watch,  and  with  his  hand  on  the  key  and 
his  eye  on  the  cathedral  dial,  was  intent  upon  so  doing,  when  a 
man  suddenly  stopped  before  him.  It  was  Newman  Noggs. 

“  Ah  !  Newman,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  looking  up  as  he  pur¬ 
sued  his  occupation.  “  The  letter  about  the  mortgage  haa 
come,  has  it?  I  thought  it  would.” 

“  Wrong,”  replied  Newman. 

“  What !  and  nobody  called  respecting  it  ?”  inquired  Mr. 
Nickleby,  pausing.  Noggs  shook  his  head. 

“  What  has  come,  then  ?”  inquired  Mr.  Nickleby. 

“  I  have,”  said  Newman. 

“  What  else  ?”  demanded  the  master,  sternly. 

“  This,”  said  Newman,  drawing  a  sealed  letter  slowly  from 
his  pocket.  “  Postmark,  Strand,  black  wax,  black  border, 
woman’s  hand,  C.  N.  in  the  corner.” 

"Black  wax,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  glancing  at  the  letter. 
"  I  know  something  of  that  hand,  too.  Newman,  I  shouldn’t 
be  surprised  if  my  brother  were  dead.” 

"  I  don’t  think  you  would,”  said  Newman,  quietly. 

"  Why  not.  Sir  ?”  demanded  Mr.  Nickleby. 

"  You  never  are  surprised,”  replied  Newman,  “  that’s  all.” 

(36) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


37 


Mr.  Nicklcby  snatched  the  letter  from  his  assistant,  and 
fixing  a  cold  look  upon  him,  opened,  read  it,  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  having  now  hit  the  time  to  a  second,  began  wind¬ 
ing  up  his  watch. 

“  It  is  as  I  expected,  Newman,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  while  he 
was  thus  engaged.  "He  is  dead.  Dear  me.  Well,  that's  a 
sudden  thing.  I  shouldn’t  have  thought  it,  really.”  With  these 
touching  expressions  of  sorrow,  Mr.  Nickleby  replaced  his  watch 
in  his  fob,  and  fitting  on  his  gloves  to  a  nicety,  turned  upon 
his  way,  and  walked  slowly  westward  with  his  hands  behind 
him. 

"  Children  alive  ?”  inquired  Noggs,  stepping  up  to  him. 

"  Why,  that’s  the  very  thing,”  replied  Mr.  Nickleby,  as  though 
his  thoughts  were  about  them  at  that  moment.  “  They  are  both 
alive.” 

"  Both  ?”  repeated  Newman  Noggs,  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  the  widow  too,”  added  Mr.  Nickleby,  “and  all  three 
in  London,  confound  them  ;  all  three  here,  Newman.” 

Newman  fell  a  little  behind  his  master,  and  his  face  was  curi¬ 
ously  twisted  as  by  a  spasm,  but  whether  of  paralysis  or  grief, 
or  inward  laughter,  nobody  but  himself  could  possibly  explain. 
The  expression  of  a  man’s  face  is  commonly  a  help  to  his 
thoughts,  or  glossary  on  his  speech ;  but  the  countenance  of 
Newman  Noggs,  in  his  ordinary  moods,  was  a  problem  which 
no  stretch  of  ingenuity  could  solve. 

“  Go  home  1”  said  Mr.  Nickleby  after  they  had  walked  a  few 
paces,  looking  round  at  the  clerk  as  if  he  were  his  dog.  The 
words  were  scarcely  uttered  when  Newman  darted  across  the 
road,  slunk  among  the  crowd,  and  disappeared  in  an  instant. 

“Reasonable,  certainly  I”  muttered  Mr.  Nicklcl)y  to  himself, 
as  he  walked  on,  “  very  reasonable  1  My  brother  never  did 
any  thing  for  me,  and  I  never  expected  it;  the  breath  is  no 
sooner  out  of  his  body  than  I  am  to  be  looked  to,  as  the  support 
of  a  great  hearty  wotnan  and  a  grown  boy  and  girl.  What  are 
they  to  me  ?  /  never  saw  them.” 

Full  of  these  and  many  other  reflections  of  a  similar  kind, 
Mr.  Nickleby  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  Strand,  and  re¬ 
ferring  to  his  Ltter  as  if  to  ascertain  the  number  of  the  house,  he 


88 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


wanted,  stopped  at  a  private  door  about  half-way  down  that 
crowded  thoroughfare. 

A  miniature  painter  lived  there,  for  there  was  a  large  gilt 
frame  screwed  upon  the  street-door,  in  which  were  displayed, 
upon  a  black  velvet  ground,  two  portraits  of  naval  dress  coats 
with  faces  looking  out  of  them  and  telescopes  attached ;  one  of 
a  young  gentleman  in  a  very  vermilion  uniform,  flourishing  a 
sabre ;  and  one  of  a  literary  character  with  a  high  forehead,  a 
pen  and  ink,  six  books,  and  a  curtain.  There  was  moreover  a 
touching  representation  of  a  young  lady  reading  a  manuscript 
in  an  unfathomable  forest,  and  a  charming  whole  length  of  a 
large-headed  little  boy,  sitting  on  a  stool  with  his  legs  fore¬ 
shortened  to  the  size  of  salt-spoons.  Besides  these  works  of  art, 
there  were  a  great  many  heads  of  old  ladies  and  gentlemen 
smirking  at  each  other  out  of  blue  and  brown  skies,  and  an 
elegantly-written  card  of  terms  with  an  embossed  border. 

Mr.  Nickleby  glanced  at  these  frivolities  with  great  contempt, 
and  gave  a  double  knock,  which  having  been  thrice  repeated 
was  answered  by  a  servant  girl  with  an  uncommonly  dirty  face. 

“Is  Mrs.  Nickleby  at  home,  girl?”  demanded  Ralph, 
sharply. 

“  Her  name  ain’t  Nickleby,”  said  the  girl,  “La  Creevy,  you 
mean.” 

Mr.  Nickleby  looked  very  indignant  at  the  handmaid  on  being 
thus  corrected,  and  demanded  with  much  asperity  what  she 
meant ;  which  she  was  about  to  state,  when  a  female  voice, 
proceeding  from  a  perpendicular  staircase  at  the  end  of  the  pas¬ 
sage,  inquired  who  was  wanted. 

“Mrs.  Nickleby,”  said  Ralph. 

“  It’s  the  second  floor,  Hannah,”  said  the  same  voice  ;  “  what 
a  stupid  thing  you  are  1  Is  the  second  floor  at  home  ?” 

“  Somebody  went  out  just  now,  but  I  think  it  was  the  attic, 
which  had  been  a  cleaning  of  himself,”  replied  the  girl. 

“  You  had  better  see,”  said  the  invisible  female.  “  Show  tho 
gentleman  where  the  bell  is,  and  tell  him  he  mustn’t  knoek 
double  knocks  for  the  second  floor ;  I  can’t  allow  a  knock  ex¬ 
cept  when  the  bell’s  broke,  and  then  it  must  be  two  single  ones 

“  Here,”  said  Ralph,  walking  in  without  more  parley,  “  1 
beg  your  pardon  is  that  Mrs.  La  what’s-her-name  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


89 


“  Crecvy — La  Crcevy,”  replied  the  voice,  as  a  yellow  head¬ 
dress  bobbed  over  the  banisters. 

“  I’ll  speak  to  you  a  moment,  ma’am,  with  your  leave,”  said 
Ralph. 

The  voice  replied  that  the  gentleman  was  to  walk  up ;  bat 
he  had  walked  up  before  it  spoke,  and  stepping  into  the  first 
floor,  was  received  by  the  wearer  of  the  yellow  head-dress,  who 
had  a  gown  to  correspond,  and  was  of  much  the  same  color 
herself.  Miss  La  Creevy  was  a  mincing  young  lady  of  fifty,  and 
Miss  La  Creevy’s  apartment  was  the  gilt  frame  down  stairs  on 
a  larger  scale  and  something  dirtier. 

“  Hem  I”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  coughing  delicately  behind 
her  black  silk  mitten.  “  A  miniature,  I  presume.  A  very 
strongly-marked  countenance  for  the  purpose.  Sir.  Have  you 
ever  sat  before  ?” 

“You  mistake  my  purpose,  I  see.  Ma’am,”  replied  Mr. 
Nickleby,  in  his  usual  blunt  fashion.  “  I  have  no  money  to 
throw  away  on  miniatures.  Ma’am,  and  nobody  to  give  one  to 
(thank  God)  if  I  had.  Seeing  you  on  the  stairs,  I  wanted  to 
ask  a  question  of  you,  about  some  lodgers  here.” 

Miss  La  Creevy  coughed  once  more — this  cough  was  to  con¬ 
ceal  her  disappointment — and  said,  “  Oh,  indeed  I” 

“  I  infer  from  what  you  said  to  your  servant,  that  the  floor 
above  belongs  to  you.  Ma’am  ?”  said  Mr.  Nickleby. 

Yes,  it  did.  Miss  La  Creevy  replied.  The  upper  part  of  the 
house  belonged  to  her,  and  as  she  had  no  necessity  for  the  second- 
floor  rooms  just  then,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  letting  them.  In¬ 
deed,  there  was  a  lady  from  the  country  and  her  two  children  in 
them,  at  that  present  speaking. 

“A  widow.  Ma’am?”  said  Ralph. 

“Yes,  she  is  a  widow,”  replied  the  lady. 

“A  poor  widow.  Ma’am  ?”  said  Ralph,  with  a  powertul  em¬ 
phasis  on  that  little  adjective  which  conveys  so  much. 

“Well,  I  am  afraid  she  is  poor,”  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“I  happen  to  know  that  she  is,  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph.  “Now 
what  business  has  a  poor  widow  in  such  a  house  as  this, 
Ma’am  ?” 

Yery  true,”  replied  Miss  La  Creevy,  not  at  all  displeased 


40 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


with  this  implied  compliment  to  the  apartments.  “Exceed¬ 
ingly  true.” 

“  I  know  her  circumstances  intimately,  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph ; 
“in  fact,  I  am  a  relation  of  the  family;  and  I  should  recom¬ 
mend  you  not  to  keep  them  here.  Ma’am.” 

“  I  should  hope,  if  there  was  any  incompatibility  to  meet  the 
pecuniary  obligations,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy  with  another  cough, 
“  that  the  lady’s  family  would - ” 

“No,  they  wouldn’t.  Ma’am,”  interrupted  Ralph,  hastily. 
“  Don’t  think  it.” 

“  If  I  am  to  understand  that,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  “  the 
case  wears  a  very  different  appearance.” 

“You  may  understand  it  then.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph,  “and 
make  your  arrangements  accordingly.  I  am  the  family.  Ma’am — 
at  least,  I  believe  I  am  the  only  relation  they  have,  and  I 
think  it  right  that  you  should  know  I  can’t  support  them  in 
their  extravagances.  How  long  have  they  taken  these  lodgings 
for  ?” 

“  Only  from  week  to  week,”  replied  Miss  La  Creevy.  “Mrs. 
Nickleby  paid  the  first  week  in  advance.” 

“  Then  you  had  better  get  them  out  at  the  end  of  it,”  said 
Ralph.  “  They  can’t  do  better  than  go  back  to  the  country, 
Ma’am;  they  are  in  every  body’s  way  here.” 

“  Certainly,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  rubbing  her  hands ;  “  if  Mrs. 
Nickleby  took  the  apartments  without  the  means  of  paying  for 
them,  it  was  very  unbecoming  a  lady.” 

“  Of  course,  it  was.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph. 

“And  naturally,”  continued  Miss  La  Creevy,  “I  who  am  ai 
present — hem — an  unprotected  female,  cannot  afford  to  lose  by 
the  apartments.” 

“  Of  course  you  can’t.  Ma’am,”  replied  Ralph. 

“  Though  at  the  same  time,”  added  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was 
])lainly  wavering  between  her  good  nature  and  her  interest,  “  1 
have  nothing  whatever  to  say  again?t  the  lady,  who  is  extremely 
pleasant  and  affable,  though,  poor  thing,  she  seems  terribly  low 
in  her  spirits ;  nor  against  the  young  people  either,  for  nicer,  or 
better-behaved  young  people  cannot  be.” 

“Very  well.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph,  turning  to  the  door,  for 
these  encomiums  on  poverty  irritated  him  ;  “  I  have  done  my 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


41 


duty,  and  perhaps  more  than  I  ought:  of  course  nobody  will 
thank  me  for  saying  what  I  have.” 

“I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  at  least,  Sir,” 
said  Miss  La  Creevy  in  a  gracious  manner.  “Would  you 
do  me  the  favor  to  look  at  a  few  specimens  of  my  portrait 
painting  ?” 

“You’re  very  good,  Ma’am,”  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  making  off 
with  great  speed ;  “  but  as  I  have  a  visit  to  pay  up  stairs,  and 
my  time  is  precious,  I  really  can’t.” 

“  At  any  other  time  when  you  are  passing,  I  shall  be  most 
happy,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “  Perhaps  you  will  have  the 
kindness  to  take  a  card  of  terms  with  you  ?  Thank  you — good 
morning.” 

“  Good  morning.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph,  shutting  the  door  ab¬ 
ruptly  after  him  to  prevent  any  further  conversation.  “Now  for 
my  sister-in-law.  Bah !” 

Climbing  up  another  perpendicular  flight,  composed  with 
great  mechanical  ingenuity  of  nothing  but  corner  stairs,  Mr. 
Ralph  Nickleby  stopped  to  take  breath  on  the  landing,  when  he 
was  overtaken  by  the  handmaid,  whom  the  politeness  of  Miss 
La  Creevy  had  dispatched  to  announce  him,  and  who  had  ap¬ 
parently  been  making  a  variety  of  unsuccessful  attempts  since 
their  last  interview,  to  wipe  her  dirty  face  clean  upon  an  apron 
much  dirtier. 

“What  name?”  said  the  girl. 

“Nickleby,”  replied  Ralph. 

“Oh!  Mrs.  Nickleby,”  said  the  girl,  throwing  open  the  door, 
“here’s  Mr.  Nickleby.” 

A  lady  in  deep  mourning  rose  as  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  entered, 
but  appeared  incapable  of  advancing  to  meet  him,  and  leant 
upon  the  arm  of  a  slight  but  very  beautiful  girl  of  about  seven¬ 
teen,  who  had  been  sitting  by  her.  A  youth,  who  appeared  a 
year  or  two  older,  stepped  forward  and  saluted  Ralph  as  his  uncle. 

“Oh,”  growled  Ralph,  with  an  ill-favored  frown,  “you  ara 
Nicholas,  I  suppose?” 

“That  is  my  name.  Sir,”  replied  the  youth. 

“  Put  my  hat  down,”  said  Ralph,  imperiously.  “Well,  Ma’am, 
how  do  you  do?  You  must  bear  up  against  sorrow,  Ma’am:  f 
alv/ays  do=” 


42 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“Mine  was  no  common  lossl”  said  Mrs.  Nicldeby,  applying 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.” 

“It  was  no  u/icommon  loss,  Ma’am,”  returned  Ralph,  as  he 
coolly  unbuttoned  his  spencer.  “Husbands  die  every  day, 
Ma’am,  and  wives  too.” 

“And  brothers  also,  Sir,”  said  Nicholas,  with  a  glance  of  in¬ 
dignation. 

“Yes,  Sir,  and  puppies,  and  pug-dogs  likewise,”  replied  his 
uncle,  taking  a  chair.  “You  didn’t  mention  in  your  letter  what 
my  brother’s  complaint  was.  Ma’am.” 

“The  doctors  could  attribute  it  to  no  particular  disease,” 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  shedding  tears.  “We  have  too  much  rea¬ 
son  to  fear  that  he  died  of  a  broken  heart.” 

“Pooh I”  said  Ralph,  “there’s  no  such  thing.  I  can  under¬ 
stand  a  man’s  dying  of  a  broken  neck,  or  suffering  from  a  broken 
arm,  or  a  broken  head,  or  a  broken  leg,  or  a  broken  nose ;  but  a 
broken  heart — nonsense,  it’s  the  cant  of  the  day.  If  a  man  can’t 
pay  his  debts,  he  dies  of  a  broken  heart,  and  his  widow’s  a 
martyr.” 

“  Some  people,  I  believe,  have  no  hearts  to  break,”  observed 
Nicholas,  quietly. 

“  How  old  is  this  boy,  for  God’s  sake  ?”  inquired  Ralph,  wheel¬ 
ing  back  his  chair,  and  surveying  his  nephew  from  head  to  foot 
with  intense  scorn. 

“Nicholas  is  very  nearly  nineteen,”  replied  the  widow. 

“Nineteen,  eh!”  said  Ralph,  “and  what  do  you  mean  to  do 
for  your  bread.  Sir?” 

“Not  to  live  upon  my  mother,”  replied  Nicholas,  his  heart 
swelling  as  he  spoke. 

“You’d  have  little  enough  to  live  upon,  if  you  did,”  retorted 
the  uncle,  eying  him  contemptuously. 

“Whatever  it  be,”  said  Nicholas,  flushed  with  anger,  “I shall 
not  look  to  you  to  make  it  more.” 

“Nicholas,  my  dear,  recollect  yourself,”  remonstrated  Mrs 
Nickleby. 

“Dear  Nicholas,  pray,”  urged  the  young  lady. 

“Hold  your  tongue.  Sir,”  said  Ralph.  “Upon  my  wordl 
Fine  beginnings,  Mrs.  Nickleby — fine  beginnings.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  made  no  other  reply  than  entreating  Nicholas 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


43 


by  a  gesture  to  keep  silent,  and  the  uncle  and  nephew  looked  at 
each  other  for  some  seconds  without  speaking.  The  face  of  the 
old  man  was  stern,  hard-featured  and  forbidding;  that  of  the 
young  one  open,  handsome,  and  ingenuous.  The  old  man’s 
eye  was  keen  with  the  twinklings  of  avarice  and  cunning;  the 
young  man’s  bright  with  the  light  of  intelligence  and  spirit.  His 
figure  was  somewhat  slight,  but  manly  and  well-formed ;  and  apart 
from  all  the  grace  of  youth  and  comeliness,  there  was  an  emana¬ 
tion  from  the  warm  young  heart  in  his  look  and  bearing  which 
kept  the  old  man  down. 

However  striking  such  a  contrast  as  this  may  be  to  lookers-on, 
none  ever  feel  it  with  half  the  keenness  or  acuteness  of  perfec¬ 
tion  with  which  it  strikes  to  the  very  soul  of  him  whose  inferiority 
it  marks.  It  galled  Ralph  to  the  heart’s  core,  and  he  hated 
Nicholas  from  that  hour. 

The  mutual  inspection  was  at  length  brought  to  a  close  by 
Ralph  withdrawing  his  eyes  with  a  great  show  of  disdain,  and 
calling  Nicholas  “a  boy.”  This  word  is  much  used  as  a  terra 
of  reproach  by  elderly  gentlemen  towards  their  juniors,  probably 
with  the  view  of  deluding  society  into  the  belief  that  if  they 
could  be  young  again,  they  wouldn’t  on  any  account 

“Well,  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph  impatiently,  “the  creditors  have 
administered,  you  tell  me,  and  there’s  nothing  left  for  you  ?” 

“Nothing,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“  And  you  spent  what  little  money  you  had,  in  coming  all 
the  way  to  London,  to  see  what  I  could  do  for  you  ?”  pursued 
Ralph. 

“I  hoped,”  faltered  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “that  you  might  have  an 
opportunity  of  doing  something  for  your  brother’s  children.  It 
was  his  dying  wish  that  I  should  appeal  to  you  in  their  behalf.” 

“I  don’t  know  how  it  is,”  muttered  Ralph,  walking  up  and 
down  the  room,  “but  whenever  a  man  dies  without  any  pro¬ 
perty  of  his  own,  he  always  seems  to  think  he  has  a  right  to 
dispose  of  other  people’s.  What  is  your  daughter  fit  for, 
Ma’am  ?” 

“Kate  has  been  well  educated,” sobbed  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Tell 
your  uncle,  my  dear,  how  far  you  went  in  French  and  extras.” 

The  poor  girl  was  about  to  murmur  forth  something,  when 
ber  uncle  stopped  her  very  unceremoniously. 


44 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“We  must  try  and  get  you  apprenticed  at  some  boarding- 
scbool,”  said  Ralph.  “  You  have  not  been  brought  up  too  de¬ 
licately  for  that,  I  hope  ?” 

“No,  indeed,  uncle,”  replied  the  weeping  girl.  “I  will  try 
to  do  any  thing  that  will  gain  me  a  home  and  bread.” 

“Well,  well,”  said  Ralph,  a  little  softened,  either  by  hia 
niece’s  beauty  or  her  distress  (stretch  a  point,  and  say  the 
latter).  “  You  must  try  it,  and  if  the  life  is  too  hard,  perhaps 
dress-making  or  tambour-work  will  come  lighter.  ITave  you 
ever  done  any  thing.  Sir  ?”  (turning  to  his  nephew.) 

“  No,”  replied  Nicholas,  bluntly. 

“No,  I  thought  not  I”  said  Ralph.  “This  is  the  way  my 
brother  brought  up  his  children,  Ma’am.” 

“  Nicholas  has  not  long  completed  such  education  as  his 
poor  father  could  give  him,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “and  he 
was  thinking  of — ” 

“  Of  making  something  of  him  some  day,”  said  Ralph.  “  The 
old  story ;  always  thinking,  and  never  doing.  If  my  brother 
had  been  a  man  of  activity  and  prudence,  he  might  have  left 
you  a  rich  woman.  Ma’am:  and  if  he  had  turned  his  son  into 
the  world,  as  my  father  turned  me,  when  I  wasn’t  as  old  as  that 
boy  by  a  year  and  a  half,  he  would  have  been  in  a  situation  to 
help  you,  instead  of  being  a  burden  upon  you,  and  increasing 
your  distress.  My  brother  was  a  thoughtless,  inconsiderate 
man,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  nobody,  I  am  sure,  can  have  better 
reason  to  feel  that,  than  you.” 

This  appeal  set  the  widow  upon  thinking  that  perhaps  she 
might  have  made  a  more  successful  venture  vvith  her  one  thou¬ 
sand  pounds,  and  then  she  began  to  reflect  what  a  comfortable 
sum  it  would  have  been  just  then ;  which  dismal  thoughts  made 
her  tears  flow  faster,  and  in  the  excess  of  these  gincfs  she  (being 
a  well-meaning  woman  enough,  but  rather  weak  withal)  fell  first 
to  deploring  her  hard  fate,  and  then  to  remarking,  with  many 
sobs,  that  to  be  sure  she  had  been  a  slav.p  to  poor  Nicholas,  and 
had  often  told  him  she  might  have  married  better  (as  indeed 
she  had,  very  often),  and  that  she  never  knew  in  his  life-time 
how  the  money  went,  but  tliat  if  he  had  confided  in  her  they 
might  all  have  been  better  olf  that  day ;  with  other  bitter  re¬ 
collections  common  to  most  married  ladies  either  during  their 


NICHOLAS  NIOKLEBF. 


46 


coverture,  or  afterwards,  or  at  both  periods.  Mrs.  Nickleby 
cor.cluded  by  lamenting  that  the  dear  departed  had  never 
deigned  to  profit  by  her  advice,  save  on  one  occasion ;  which 
was  a  strictly  veracious  statement,  inasmuch  as  he  had  only 
acted  upon  it  once,  and  had  ruined  himself  in  consequence. 

Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  heard  all  this  with  a  half  smile;  and 
when  the  widow  had  finished,  quietly  took  up  the  subject  where 
it  had  been  left  before  the  above  outbreak. 

“Are  you  willing  to  work,  Sir?”  he  inquired,  frowning  on 
his  nephew, 

“  Of  course  I  am,”  replied  Nicholas,  haughtily, 

“  Then,  see  here.  Sir,”  said  his  uncle.  “  This  caught  my  eye 
this  morning,  and  you  may  thank  your  stars  for  it.” 

With  this  exordium,  Mr,  Ralph  Nickleby  took  a  newspaper 
from  his  pocket,  and  after  unfolding  it,  and  looking  for  a  short 
time  among  the  advertisements,  read  as  follows  : 

“Education. — At  Mr.  Wackford  Squeer’s  Academy,  Do- 
theboys  Hall,  at  the  delightful  village  of  Dotheboys,  near  Greta 
Bridge  in  Yorkshire,  youth  are  boarded,  clothed,  booked, 
furnished  with  pocket-money,  provided  with  all  necessaries, 
instructed  in  all  languages,  living  and  dead,  mathematics,  or¬ 
thography,  geometry,  astronomy,  trigonometry,  the  use  of  the 
globes,  algebra,  single  stick  (if  required),  writing,  arithmetic, 
fortification,  and  every  other  branch  of  classical  literature. 
Terms,  twenty  guineas  per  annum.  No  extras,  no  vacations, 
and  diet  unparalleled.  Mr.  Squeers  is  in  town,  and  attends 
daily,  from  one  till  four,  at  the  Saracen’s  Head,  Snow  Hill. 
N.  B.  An  able  assistant  wanted.  Annual  salary  £5  A  Mas¬ 
ter  of  Arts  would  be  preferred.” 

“  There,”  said  Ralph,  folding  the  paper  again.  “  Let  him 
get  that  situation,  and  his  fortune  is  made.” 

“  But  he  is  not  a  Master  of  Arts,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“  That,”  replied  Ralph,  “that,  I  think,  can  be  got  over.” 

“  But  the  salary  is  so  small,  and  it  is  such  a  long  way  oflF, 
uncle,”  faltei’ed  Kate. 

“Hush,  Kale,  my  dear,”  interposed  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “your 
uncle  must  know  best.” 

“  I  say,”  repeated  Ralph,  tartly,  “let  him  get  that  situation, 
and  his  fortune  is  made.  If  he  don’t  like  that,  let  him  get  one 


45 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


for  himself.  Without  friends,  money,  recommendation,  or  know¬ 
ledge  of  business  of  any  kind,  let  him  find  honest  employment  in 
London  which  will  keep  him  in  shoe  leather,  and  I’ll  give  him  a 
thousand  pounds.  At  least,”  said  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  check¬ 
ing  himself,  "  I  would  if  I  had  it.” 

“  Poor  fellow  !”  said  the  young  lady.  “  Oh  !  uncle,  must  we 
be  separated  so  soon  1” 

“  Don’t  teaze  your  uncle  with  questions  when  he  is  thinking 
only  for  our  good,  my  love,”  said  Mrs,  Nickleby,  “  Nicholas, 
my  dear,  I  wish  you  would  say  something.” 

“  Yes,  mother,  yes,”  said  Nicholas,  who  had  hitherto  remained 
silent  and  absorbed  in  thought.  “  If  I  am  fortunate  enough  to 
be  appointed  to  this  post.  Sir,  for  which  I  am  so  imperfectly 
qualified,  what  will  become  of  those  I  leave  behind  ?” 

“  Your  mother  and  sister.  Sir,”  replied  Ralph,  “  will  be  pro¬ 
vided  for  in  that  case  (not  otherwise),  by  me,  and  placed  in  some 
sphere  of  life  in  which  they  will  be  able  to  be  independent.  That 
will  be  ray  immediate  care  ;  they  will  not  remain  as  they  are,  one 
week  after  your  departure,  I  will  undertake.” 

“  Then,”  said  Nicholas,  starting  gayly  up,  and  wringing  his 
uncle’s  hand,  “I  am  ready  to  do  any  thing  you  wish  me.  Let 
us  try  our  fortune  with  Mr.  Squeers  at  once ;  he  can  but  re¬ 
fuse.” 

“  He  won’t  do  that,”  said  Ralph.  “  He  will  be  glad  to  have 
you  o.n  my  recommendation.  Make  yourself  of  use  to  him,  and 
you’ll  rise  to  be  a  partner  in  the  establishment  in  no  time. 
Bless  me,  only  think  1  if  he  were  to  die,  why  your  fortune’s 
made  at  once.” 

“  To  be  sure,  I  see  it  all,”  said  poor  Nicholas,  delighted  with 
a  thousand  visionary  ideas,  that  his  good  spirits  and  his  in¬ 
experience  were  conjuring  up  before  him.  “  Or  suppose  some 
young  nobleman  who  is  being  educated  at  the  Hall,  were  to 
take  a  fancy  to  me,  and  get  his  father  to  appoint  me  his  travel¬ 
ing  tutor  when  he  left,  and  when  we  come  back  from  the 
continent,  procured  me  some  handsome  appointment.  Eh  1 
uncle  ?” 

“  Ah,  to  be  sure  !”  sneered  Ralph. 

“  And  who  knows,  but  when  he  came  to  see  me  when  I  was 
settled  (as  he  would  of  course),  he  might  fall  in  love  with  Kate, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


47 


who  wonkl  be  keeping  my  house,  and — and — marry  her,  eli  I 
uncle  ?  Who  knows  ?” 

“  Who,  indeed  I”  snarled  Ralph, 

“  How  happy  we  should  be  1”  cried  Nicholas  with  enthusiasm. 
“  The  pain  of  parting  is  nothing  to  the  joy  of  meeting  again. 
Kale  will  be  a  beautiful  woman,  and  I  so  proud  to  hear  them 
say  so,  and  mother  so  happy  to  be  with  us  once  again,  and  a*, 
these  sad  times  forgotten,  and — ”  The  picture  was  too  bright 
a  one  to  bear,  and  Nicholas,  fairly  overpowered  by  it,  smiled 
faintly,  and  burst  into  tears. 

This  simple  family,  born  and  bred  in  retirement,  and  wholly 
unacquainted  with  what  is  called  the  world — a  conventional 
phrase  which,  being  interpreted,  signifieth  all  the  raseals  in  it — 
mingled  their  tears  together  at  the  thought  of  their  first  separa¬ 
tion  :  and,  this  first  gush  of  feeling  over,  were  proceeding  to 
dilate  with  all  the  buoyancy  of  untried  hope  on  the  bright  pros¬ 
pects  before  them,  when  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  suggested,  that  if 
they  lost  time,  some  more  fortunate  candidate  might  deprive 
Nicholas  of  the  stepping-stone  to  fortune  which  the  advertise¬ 
ment  pointed  out,  and  so  undermine  all  their  air-built  castles. 
This  timely  reminder  effectually  stopped  the  conversation,  and 
Nicholas  having  carefully  copied  the  address  of  Mr.  Squeers, 
the  uncle  and  nephew  issued  forth  together  in  quest  of  that  ac¬ 
complished  gentleman ;  Nicholas  firmly  persuading  himself  that 
he  had  done  his  relative  great  injustice  in  disliking  him  at  first 
sight,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  being  at  some  pains  to  inform  her 
daughter  that  she  was  sure  he  was  a  much  more  kindly  disposed 
person  than  he  seemed,  which  Miss  Nickleby  dutifully  remarked 
he  might  very  easily  be. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  good  lady’s  opinion  had  been  not  a  lit¬ 
tle  influenced  by  her  brother-in-law’s  appeal  to  her  better  under¬ 
standing  and  his  implied  compliment  to  her  high  deserts ;  and 
although  she  had  dearly  loved  her  husband  and  still  doted  on 
her  children,  he  had  struck  so  successfully  on  one  of  those  little 
jarring  chords  in  the  human  heart  (Ralph  was  well  acquainted 
with  its  worst  weaknesses,  though  he  knew  nothing  of  its  best), 
that  she  had  already  begun  seriously  to  consider  herself  the 
amiable  and  suffering  victim  of  her  late  husband’s  imprudence 


CHAPTER  ly. 


\  ■ 


tUCHOLAS  AND  HIS  DNCLE  (tO  SECURE  THE  FORTUNE  WITHOUT 

LOSS  OP  time)  wait  upon  MR.  WACKFORD  SQUEERS,  THE  YORK¬ 
SHIRE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

Snow  Hill  f  What  kind  of  place  can  the  quiet  town’s-people 
who  see  the  words  emblazoned  in  all  the  legibility  of  gilt  letters 
and  dark  shading  on  the  north-country  coaches,  take  Snow  Hill 
to  be  ?  All  people  have  some  undefined  and  shadowy  notion  of 
a  place  whose  name  is  frequently  before  their  eyes  or  often  in 
their  ears,  and  what  a  vast  number  of  random  ideas  there  must 
be  perpetually  floating  about,  regarding  this  same  Snow  Hill ! 
The  name  is  such  a  good  one.  Snow  Hill — Snow  Hill  too, 
coupled  with  a  Saracen’s  Head :  picturing  to  us  by  a  double 
association  of  ideas,  something  stern  and  rugged.  A  bleak, 
desolate  tract  of  country,  open  to  piercing  blasts  and  fierce 
wintry  storms — a  dark,  cold,  and  gloomy  heath,  lonely  by  day, 
and  scarcely  to  be  thought  of  by  honest  folks  at  night — a  place 
which  solitary  wayfarers  shun,  and  where  desperate  robbers  con¬ 
gregate  ; — this,  or  something  like  this,  we  imagine  must  be  the 
prevalent  notion  of  Snow  Hill  in  those  remote  and  rustic  parts, 
through  which  the  Saracen’s  Head,  like  some  grim  apparition, 
rushes  each  day  and  night  with  mysterious  and  ghost-like 
punctuality,  holding  its  swift  and  headlong  course  in  all 
weathers,  and  seeming  to  bid  defiance  to  the  very  elements 
themselves. 

The  reality  is  rather  different,  but  by  no  means  to  be  despised 
notwithstanding.  There,  at  the  very  core  of  London,  in  the 
heart  of  its  business  and  animation,  in  the  midst  of  a  whirl  of 
noise  and  motion  :  stemming  as  it  were  the  giant  currents  of 
life  that  flow  ceaselessly  on  from  different  quarters,  and  meet 
beneath  its  walls,  stands  Newgate  ;  and  in  that  crowded  street 
on  which  it  frowns  so  darkly — within  a  few  feet  of  the  squalid 
tottering  houses — upon  the  very  spot  on  which  the  venders  of 
(48) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  -ly 

Bonp  and  fish  and  damaged  fruit  are  now  plying  their  trades — 
scores  of  human  beings,  amidst  a  roar  of  sounds  to  which  even 
the  tumult  of  a  great  city  is  as  nothing,  four,  six,  or  eight 
strong  men  at  a  time,  have  been  hurried  violently  and  swiftly 
from  the  world,  when  the  scene  has  been  rendered  frightful  with 
excess  of  human  life  ;  when  curious  eyes  have  glared  from 
casement,  and  house-top,  and  wall  and  pillar,  and  when,  in  the 
mass  of  white  and  upturned  faces,  the  dying  wretch,  in  his  all- 
comprehensive  look  of  agony,  has  met  not  one — not  one — that 
bore  the  impress  of  pity  or  compassion. 

Near  to  the  jail,  and  by  consequence  near  to  Smithfield  also, 
and  the  Compter  and  the  bustle  and  noise  of  the  city;  and  just 
on  that  particular  part  of  Snow  Hill  where  omnibus  horses 
going  eastwards  seriously  think  of  falling  down  on  purpose, 
and  where  horses  in  hackney  cabriolets  going  westwards  not 
unfrequently  fall  by  accident,  is  the  coach-yard  of  the  Saracen’s- 
Head  Inn,  its  portal  guarded  by  two  Saracens’  Heads  and 
shoulders,  which  it  wms  once  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  choice 
spirits  of  this  metropolis  to  pull  down  at  night,  but  which  have 
for  some  time  remained  in  undisturbed  tranquillity ;  possibly 
because  this  species  of  humor  is  now  confined  to  Saint  James’s 
parish,  where  door  knockers  are  preferred,  as  being  more 
portable,  and  bell-wires  esteemed  as  ponvenient  tooth-picks. 
Whether  this  be  the  reason  or  not,  there  they  are,  frowning 
upon  you  from  each  side  of  the  gateway,  and  the  inn  itself, 
garnished  with  another  Saracen’s  Head,  frowns  upon  you  from 
the  top  of  the  yard ;  while  from  the  door  of  the  hind  boot  of 
all  the  red  coaches  that  are  standing' therein,  there  glares  a 
small  Saracen’s  Head  with  a  twin  expression  to  the  large  Sara¬ 
cens’  Heads  below,  so  that  the  general  appearance  of  the  pile 
is  of  the  Saracenic  order. 

When  you  walk  up  this  yard,  you  will  see  the  booking-office 
on  your  left,  and  the  towmr  of  Saint  Sepulchre’s  church  darting 
abruptly  up  into  the  sky  on  your  right,  and  a  gallery  of  bed¬ 
rooms  on  both  sides.  Just  before  you,  you  will  observe  a  long 
window  with  the  wmrds  “coffee-room”  legibly  painted  above  it ; 
and  looking  out  of  that  window,  you  would  have  seen  in  addition, 
if  you  had  gone  at  the  right  time,  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers  with 
his  hands  iu  his  pockets. 

4 


60 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Mr.  Sqneers’s  appearance  was  not  prepossessing.  Ho  had 
bat  one  eye,  and  the  popular  prejudice  runs  in  favor  of  two. 
The  eye  he  had  was  unquestionably  useful,  but  decidedly  not 
ornarnental,  being  of  a  greenish  grey,  and  in  shape  resembling 
the  fanlight  of  a  street  door.  The  blank  side  of  his  face  wa.*’ 
much  wrinkled  and  puckered  up,  which  gave  him  a  very  sinister 
appearance,  especially  when  he  smiled,  at  which  times  his  expres¬ 
sion  bordered  closely  on  the  villainous.  His  hair  was  very  flat 
and  shiny,  save  at  the  ends,  where  it  was  brushed  stiffly  up  from 
a  low  protruding  forehead,  which  assorted  well  with  his  harsh 
voice  and  coarse  manner.  He  was  about  two  or  three  and-fifty, 
and  a  trifle  below  the  middle  size ;  he  wore  a  white  neckerchief, 
with  long  ends,  and  a  suit  of  scholastic  black,  but  his  coat  sleeves 
being  a  great  deal  too  long,  and  his  trowsers  a  great  deal  too 
short,  he  appeared  ill  at  ease  in  his  clothes,  and  as  if  he  were  in 
8  perpetual  state  of  astonishment  at  finding  himself  so  respectable. 

Mr.  Squeers  was  standing  in  a  box  by  one  of  the  coffee-room 
fire-places,  fitted  with  one  such  table  as  is  usually  seen  in  coffee- 
rooms,  and  two  of  extraordinary  shapes  and  dimensions  made 
to  suit  the  angles  of  the  partition.  In  a  corner  of  the  seat  was 
a  very  small  deal  trunk,  tied  round  with  a  scanty  piece  of  cord  ; 
and  on  the  trunk  was  perched — his  lace-up  half-boots  and 
corduroy  trowsers  dangling  in  the  air — a  diminutive  boy,  with 
his  shoulders  drawn  up  to  his  ears,  and  his  hands  planted  on 
his  knees,  who  glanced  timidly  at  the  schoolmaster  from  time  to 
time  with  evident  dread  and  apprehension. 

“Half-past  three,”  muttered  Mr.  Squeers,  turning  from  the 
window,  and  looking  sulkily  at  the  coffee-room  clock.  “  There 
will  be  nobody  here  to-day.” 

Much  vexed  by  this  reflection,  Mr.  Squeers  looked  at  the 
little  boy  to  see  whether  he  was  doing  any  thing  he  could  beat 
him  for ;  as  he  happened  not  to  be  doing  any  thing  at  all,  he 
merely  boxed  his  ears,  and  told  him  not  to  do  it  again. 

“At  Midsummer,”  muttered  Mr.  Squeers,  resuming  his  com¬ 
plaint,  “  I  took  down  ten  boys ;  ten  twentys — two  hundred 
])ound.  I  go  back  at  eight  o’clock  to-morrow  morning,  and 
have  got  only  three — three  oughts  an  ought — three  twos  six — 
sixty  pound.  What’s  come  of  all  the  boys  ?  What’s  parents 
got  in  theii  heads?  What  does  it  all  mean  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


6] 


Here  the  little  boy  on  the  top  of  the  trunk  gave  a  violent 
sneeze. 

“  Halloo,  Sir !”  growled  the  schoolmaster,  turning  round 
“  What’s  that,  Sir  ?” 

“Nothing,  please.  Sir,”  replied  the  little  boy. 

“Nothing,  Sir!”  exclaimed  Mr.  Squeers. 

“  Please,  Sir,  I  sneezed,”  rejoined  the  boy,  trembling  till  the 
little  trunk  shook  under  him, 

“  Oh  I  sneezed,  did  you  ?”  retorted  Mr.  Squeers.  “  Then 
what  did  you  say  ‘  nothing’  for,  Sir  ?” 

In  default  of  a  better  answer  to  this  question,  the  little  boy 
screwed  a  couple  of  knuckles  into  each  of  his  eyes  and  began  to 
cry,  wherefore  Mr.  Squeers  knocked  him  oif  the  trunk  with  a 
blow  on  one  side  of  his  face,  and  knocked  him  on  again  with  a 
blow  on  the  other. 

“Wait  till  I  get  you  down  into  Yorkshire,  my  young  gentle¬ 
man,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  “  and  then  I’ll  give  you  the  rest.  Will 
you  hold  that  noise.  Sir  ?” 

“Ye — ye — yes,”  sobbed  the  little  boy,  rubbing  his  face  very 
hard  with  the  Beggar’s  Petition  in  printed  calico. 

“  Then  do  so  at  once,  Sir,”  said  Squeers.  “  Do  you  hear 

As  this  admonition  was  accompanied  with  a  threatening 
gesture,  and  uttered  with  a  savage  aspect,  the  little  boy  rubbed 
his  face  harder,  as  if  to  keep  the  tears  back ;  and,  beyond  alter¬ 
nately  sniffing  and  choking,  gave  no  further  vent  to  his  emo¬ 
tions. 

“Mr.  Squeers,”  said  the  waiter,  looking  in  at  this  juncture; 
“here’s  a  gentleman  asking  for  you  at  the  bar.” 

“  Show  the  gentleman  in,  Richard,”  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  in 
a  soft  voice.  “  Put  your  handkerchief  in  your  pocket,  you  little 
scoundrel,  or  I’ll  murder  you  when  the  gentleman  goes.” 

The  schoolmaster  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  in  a  fierce 
whisper,  when  the  stranger  entered.  Affecting  not  to  see  him, 
Mr.  Squeers  feigned  to  be  intent  upon  mending  a  pen,  and 
offering  benevolent  advice  to  his  youthful  pupil. 

“My  dear  child,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  “all  people  have  their 
trials.  This  early  trial  of  yours  that  is  fit  to  make  your  little 
heart  burst,  and  your  very  eyes  come  out  of  your  head  with 
crying,  what  is  it  f  Nothing ;  less  than  nothing.  ou  are 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


5‘<i 

leaving  your  friends,  but  you  will  have  a  father  in  me,  my  dear, 
and  a  mother  in  Mrs.  Squeers.  At  the  delightful  village  of 
Dotheboys,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  where  youth  are 
boarded,  clothed,  booked,  washed,  furnished  with  pocket-money, 
provided  with  all  necessaries — ” 

“  It  is  the  gentleman,”  observed  the  stranger,  stopping  the 
schoolmaster  in  the  rehearsal  of  his  advertisement.  “Mr. 
Squeers,  I  believe.  Sir  ?” 

“  The  same.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  with  an  assumption  of 
extreme  surprise. 

“  The  gentleman,”  said  the  stranger,  “  that  advertised  in  the 
Times  newspaper  ?” 

— “Morning  Post,  Chronicle,  Herald,  and  Advertiser,  regard¬ 
ing  the  Academy  called  Dotheboys  Hall,  at  the  delightful  village 
of  Dotheboys,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,”  added  Mr. 
Squeers.  “  You  come  on  business.  Sir.  I  see  by  my  young 
friends.  How  do  you  do,  my  little  gentleman  ?  and  how  do 
you  do.  Sir?”  With  this  salutation  Mr.  Squeers  patted  the 
heads  of  two  hollow-eyed,  small-boned  little  boys,  whom  the 
applicant  had  brought  with  him,  and  waited  for  further  commu¬ 
nications. 

“  I  am  in  the  oil  and  color  way.  My  name  is  Snawley,  Sir,” 
said  the  stranger. 

O 

Squeers  inclined  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  “  And  a  remark¬ 
ably  pretty  name,  too.” 

The  stranger  continued.  “  I  have  been  thinking,  Mr. 
Squeers,  of  placing  ray  two  boys  at  your  school.” 

“  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  so.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  “  but  I 
don’t  think  you  could  possibly  do  a  better  thing.” 

“  Hem  !”  said  the  other.  “  Twenty  pounds  per  annewum,  I 
believe,  Mr.  Squeers  ?” 

“  Guineas,”  rejoined  the  schoolmaster,  with  a  persuasive 
smile. 

“  Pounds  for  two,  I  think,  Mr.  Squeers,”  said  Mr.  Snawley, 
solemnly. 

“  I  don’t  think  it  could  be  done.  Sir,”  replied  Squeers,  as  if 
he  had  never  considered  the  proposition  before.  “  Let  me  see  ; 
four  lives  is  twenty,  double  that,  and  deduct  the — well,  a  pound 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


68 


sither  way  shall  not  stand  betwixt  us.  You  must  recommend 
me  to  your  connections,  Sir,  and  make  it  up  that  way.” 

”  They  are  not  great  eaters,”  said  Mr.  Snawley. 

“  Oh  I  that  doesn’t  matter  at  all,”  replied  Squeers.  “  W  o 
don’t  consider  the  boys’  appetites  at  our  establishment  ” 
This  was  strictly  true  ;  they  did  not. 

“Every  wholesome  luxury,  Sir,  that  Yorkshire  can  afford,’' 
continued  Squeers;  “ every  beautiful  moral  that  Mrs.  Squeers 
can  instill ;  every — in  short,  every  comfort  of  a  home  that  a  boy 
could  wish  for,  will  be  theirs,  Mr.  Snawley.” 

“  I  should  wish  their  morals  to  be  particularly  attended  to,’' 
said  Mr.  Snawley. 

“  I  am  glad  of  that.  Sir,”  replied  the  schoolmaster,  drawing 
himself  up.  “  They  have  come  to  the  right  shop  for  morals. 
Sir.” 

“You  are  a  moral  man  yourself,”  said  Mr.  Snawley. 

“  I  rather  believe  I  am.  Sir,”  replied  Squeers. 

“  I  have  the  satisfaction  to  know  you  are.  Sir,”  said  Mr. 
Snawley.  “  I  asked  one  of  your  references,  and  he  said  you 
were  pious.” 

“Well,  Sir,  I  hope  I  am  a  little  in  that  way,”  replied 
Squeers. 

“  I  hope  I  am  also,”  rejoined  the  other.  “  Could  I  say  a  few 
words  with  you  in  the  next  box  ?” 

“By  all  means,”  rejoined  Squeers,  with  a  grin.  “My  dears, 
will  you  speak  to  your  new  playfellow  a  minute  or  two  ?  That 
is  one  of  my  boys.  Sir.  Belling  his  name  is, — a  Taunton  boy 
that.  Sir.” 

“  Is  he,  indeed  ?”  rejoined  Mr.  Snawley,  looking  at  the  poor 
little  urchin  as  if  he  were  some  extraordinary  natural  curiosity. 

“He  goes  down  with  me  to-morrow.  Sir,”  said  Squeers. 
“That’s  his  luggage  that  he  is  sitting  upon  now.  Each  boy  is 
required  to  bring,  Sir,  two  suits  of  clothes,  six  shirts,  six  pair 
of  stockings,  two  nightcaps,  two  pocket-handkerchiefs,  two  pair 
of  shoes,  two  hats,  and  a  razor.” 

“  A  razor  !”  exclaimed  Mr  Snawley,  as  they  walked  into  the 
next  box.  “  What  for  ?” 

“  To  shave  with  ”  replied  Squeers,  in  a  slow  and  measured 
tone. 


« 


54  NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 

There  was  not  much  in  these  three  words,  but  there  must 
have  been  something  in  the  manner  in  which  they  were  said,  to 
attract  attention,  for  the  schoolmaster  and  his  companion  looked 
steadily  at  each  other  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  exchanged  a 
very  meaning  smile.  Snawley  was  a  sleek,  flat-nosed  man,  clad 
in  sombre  garments,  and  long  black  gaiters,  and  bearing  in  his 
countenance  an  expression  of  much  mortification  and  sanctity 
so  that  his  smiling  without  any  obvious  reason  was  the  more  re¬ 
markable. 

“Up  to  what  age  do  you  keep  boys  at  your  school  then?”  he 
asked  at  length. 

“Just  as  long  as  their  friends  make  the  quarterly  payments  to 
my  agent  in  town,  or  until  such  time  as  they  run  away,”  replied 
Squeers.  “Let  us  understand  each  other;  I  see  we  may  safely 
do  so.  What  are  these  boys ; — natural  children  ?” 

“No,”  rejoined  Snawley,  meeting  the  gaze  of  the  school¬ 
master’s  one  eye.  “They  ain’t.” 

“  I  thought  they  might  be,”  said  Squeers,  coolly.  “We  have 
a  good  many  of  them  ;  that  boy’s  one.” 

“Him  in  the  next  box?”  said  Snawley. 

Squeers  nodded  in  the  affirmative,  and  his  companion  took 
another  peep  at  the  little  boy  on  the  trunk,  and  turning  round 
again,  looked  as  if  he  were  quite  disappointed  to  see  him  so  much 
like  other  boys,  and  said  he  should  hardly  have  thought  it. 

“  He  is,”  cried  Squeers.  “  But  about  these  boys  of  yours : 
you  wanted  to  speak  to  me  ?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Snawley.  “  The  fact  is,  I  am  not  their  father, 
Mr.  Squeers.  I’m  only  their  father-in-law.” 

“  Oh  I  is  that  it  ?”  said  the  schoolmaster.  “  That  explains 
it  at  once.  I  was  wondering  what  the  devil  you  were  going  to 
send  them  to  Yorkshire  for.  Ha!  ha  1  Oh,  I  understand  now.” 

“You  see  I  have  married  the  mother,”  pursued  Snawley; 
“it’s  expensive  keeping  boys  at  home,  and  as  she  has  a  little 
money  in  her  own  right,  I  am  afraid  (women  are  so  very  foolish, 
Mr.  Squeers)  that  she  might  be  led  to  squander  it  on  them, 
which  would  be  their  ruin,  you  know.” 

“  I  see,”  returned  Squeers,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
and  waving  his  hand. 

“And  this,”  resumed  Snawley,  “  has  made  me  anxious  to  put 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


55 


them  to  some  school  a  good  distance  off,  where  there  are  no 
holidays — none  of  those  ill-judged  comings  home  twice  a  year 
that  unsettle  children’s  minds  so — and  where  they  may  rough  it 
a  little — you  comprehend  ?” 

“The  payments  regular,  and  no  questions  asked,”  said 
Squeers,  nodding  his  head. 

“That’s  it,  exactly,”  rejoined  the  other.  “Morals  strictly 
attended  to,  though.” 

“  Strictly,”  said  Squeers. 

“Not  too  much  writing  home  allowed,  I  suppose?”  said  the 
father-in-law,  hesitating. 

“  None,  except  a  circular  at  Christmas,  to  say  that  they  never 
were  so  happy,  and  hope  they  may  never  be  sent  for,”  rejoined 
Squeers. 

“Nothing  could  be  better,”  said  the  father-in-law,  rubbing 
his  hands. 

“  Then,  as  we  understand  each  other,”  said  Squeers,  “  wUl 
you  allow  me  to  ask  you  whether  you  consider  me  a  highly 
virtuous,  exemplary  and  well-conducted  man  in  private  life ; 
and  whether,  as  a  person  whose  business  it  is  to  take  charge  of 
youth,  you  place  the  strongest  confidence  in  my  unimpeachable 
integrity,  liberality,  religious  principles  and  ability  ?” 

“  Certainly  I  do,”  replied  the  father-in-law,  reciprocating  the 
schoolmaster’s  grin. 

“  Perhaps  you  won’t  object  to  say  that,  if  I  make  you  a 
reference  ?” 

“  Not  the  least  in  the  world.” 

“That’s  your  sort,”  said  Squeers,  taking  op  a  pen  ;  “this  Is 
doing  business,  and  that’s  what  I  like.” 

Having  entered  Mr.  Snawley’s  address,  the  schoolmaster  had 
next  to  perform  the  still  more  agreeable  office  of  entering  the 
receipt  of  the  first  quarter’s  payment  in  advance,  which  he  had 
scarcely  completed,  when  another  voice  was  heard  inquiring  for 
Mr.  Squeers. 

“  Here  he  is,”  replied  the  schoolmaster ;  “  what  is  it  ?’ 

“  Only  a  matter  of  business.  Sir,”  said  Ralph  Nickleby,  pr^"- 
eenting  himself,  closely  followed  by  Nicholas.  “  There  was 
an  advertisement  of  yours  in  the  papers  this  morning  ?” 

“There  was,  Sir.  This  way,  if  you  please,”  Said  Squeers, 


5o 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


v/ho  YixC.  bj  this  time  got  back  to  the  box  by  the  fire-place 
“  Won’t  you  be  seated 

“  Why,  I  think  I  will,”  replied  llalph,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word,  and  placing  his  hat  on  the  table  before  him.  “  This 
is  my  nephew.  Sir,  Mr.  Nicholas  Nickleby.” 

“How  do  you  do.  Sir?”  said  Squeers. 

Nicholas  bowed:  said  he  was  very  well,  and  seemed  verr 
much  astonished  at  the  outward  appearance  of  the  proprietor  of 
Dotheboys  Hall,  as  indeed  he  was. 

“  Perhaps  you  recollect  me  ?”  said  Ralph,  looking  narrowly 
at  the  schoolmaster. 

“You  paid  me  a  small  account  at  each  of  my  half-yearly 
visits  to  town,  for  some  years,  I  think.  Sir,”  replied  Squeers. 

“  I  did,”  rejoined  Ralph. 

“For  the  parents  of  a  boy  named  Dorker,  who  unfortu¬ 
nately — ” 

“■ — Unfortunately  died  at  Dotheboys  Hall,”  said  Ralph,  finish¬ 
ing  the  sentence. 

“  I  remember  very  well,  Sir,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “Ah  1  Mrs. 
Squeers,  Sir,  was  as  partial  to  that  lad  as  if  he  had  been  her 
own  ;  the  attention.  Sir,  that  was  bestowed  upon  that  boy  in  his 
illness — dry  toast  and  warm  tea  offered  him  every  night  and 
morning  when  he  couldn’t  swallow  any  thing — a  candle  in  his 
bed-room  on  the  very  night  he  died — the  best  dictionary  sent 
up  for  him  to  lay  his  head  upon.  I  don’t  regret  it  though.  It 
is  a  pleasant  thing  to  reflect  that  one  did  one’s  duty  by  him.” 

Ralph  smiled  as  if  he  meant  any  thing  but  smiling,  and  looked 
round  at  the  strangers  present. 

“  These  are  only  some  pupils  of  mine,”  said  Wackford  Squeers, 
pointing  to  the  little  boy  on  the  trunk  and  the  two  little  boys  on 
the  floor,  who  had  been  staring  at  each  other  without  uttering  a 
word,  and  writhing  their  bodies  into  most  remarkable  contor¬ 
tions,  according  to  the  custom  of  little  boys  when  they  first 
become  acquainted.  “  This  gentleman.  Sir,  is  a  parent  who  is 
kind  enough  to  compliment  me  upon  the  course  of  education 
adopted  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  which  is  situated.  Sir,  at  the  de¬ 
lightful  village  of  Dotheboys,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire, 
where  youth  are  boarded,  clothed,  booked,  washed,  furnished 
with  pocket-money - ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


67 


“Yes,  we  know  all  about  that,  Sir,”  interrupted  Ralph,  testily. 
“It’s  in  the  advertisement.” 

“  You  are  very  right.  Sir ;  it  is  in  the  advertisement,”  replied 
Squeers. 

“  And  in  the  matter  of  fact  besides,”  interrupted  Mr.  Snaw- 
ley.  “  I  feel  bound  to  assure  you.  Sir,  and  I  am  proud  to  have 
this  opportunity  of  assuring  you,  that  I  consider  Mr.  Squeers 
a  gentleman  highly  virtuous,  exemplary,  well-conductcd,  and — ” 

“  I  make  no  doubt  of  it.  Sir,”  interrupted  Ralph,  checking 
the  torrent  of  recommendation  ;  “  no  doubt  of  it  at  all.  Suppose 
we  come  to  business  ?” 

“With  all  my  heart.  Sir,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “‘Never  post¬ 
pone  business,’  is  the  very  first  lesson  we  instill  into  our  com¬ 
mercial  pupils.  Master  Belling,  my  dear,  always  remember 
that ;  do  you  hear  ?” 

“  Yes,  Sir,”  repeated  Master  Belling. 

“  He  recollects  what  it  is,  does  he  ?’  said  Ralph. 

“Tell  the  gentleman,”  said  Squeers. 

“  ‘Never,’”  repeated  Master  Belling. 

“Very  good,”  said  Squeers;  “go  on.” 

“Never,”  repeated  Master  Belling  again. 

“  Very  good  indeed,”  said  Squeers.  “Yes.” 

“  P,”  suggested  Nicholas,  good-naturedly. 

“Perform — business!”  said  Master  Belling.  “Never — per¬ 
form — business !” 

“Very  well.  Sir,”  said  Squeers,  darting  a  withering  look  at 
the  culprit.  “You  and  I  will  perform  a  little  business  on  our 
private  account  by-and-by.” 

“And  just  now,”  said  Ralph,  “we  had  better  transact  our 
own,  perhaps.” 

“  If  you  please,”  said  Squeers. 

“  Well,”  resumed  Ralph,  “it’s  brief  enough;  soon  broached, 
and  I  hope  easily  concluded.  You  have  advertised  for  an  able 
assistant.  Sir  ?” 

“  Precisely  so,”  said  Squeers. 

'■  And  you  really  want  one  ?” 

'•  Oertainly,”  answered  Squeers. 

“  Here  he  is,”  said  Ralph.  “  My  nephew  Nicholas,  hot 
from  school  with  every  thing  he  learnt  there,  fermenting  in  his 


68 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


head,  and  nothing  fermenting  in  his  pocket,  is  just  the  man  you 
want.” 

“I  am  afraid  ”  said  Squeers,  perplexed  with  such  an  applica¬ 
tion  from  a  youth  of  Nicholas’s  figure,  “I  am  afraid  the  young 
man  won’t  suit  me.” 

“Yes,  he  will,”  said  Ralph;  “I  know  better,  Don’t  bo  cast 
down,  Sir ;  you  will  be  teaching  all  the  young  noblemen  in 
Dotheboys  Hall  in  less  than  a  week’s  time,  unless  this  gentle¬ 
man  is  more  obstinate  than  I  take  him  to  be.” 

“I  fear.  Sir,”  said  Nicholas,  addressing  Mr.  Squeers,  “that 
you  object  to  my  youth,  and  my  not  being  a  Master  of  Arts  ?” 

“  The  absence  of  a  college  degree  is  an  objection,”  replied 
Squeers,  looking  as  grave  as  he  could,  and  considerably  puzzled, 
no  less  by  the  contrast  between  the  simplicity  of  the  nephew  and 
the  worldly  manner  of  the  uncle,  than  by  the  incomprehensible 
allusion  to  the  young  noblemen  under  his  tuition, 

“Look  here.  Sir,”  said  Ralph;  “I’ll  put  this  matter  in  its 
true  light  in  two  seconds.” 

“  If  you’ll  have  the  goodness,”  rejoined  Squeers. 

“  This  is  a  boy  or  a  youth,  or  a  lad,  or  a  young  man,  or  a 
hobbledehoy,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  him,  of  eighteen  or 
nineteen,  or  thereabouts,”  said  Ralph. 

“  That  I  see,”  observed  the  schoolmaster. 

“  So  I  do,”  said  Mr.  Snawley,  thinking  it  as  well  to  back  his 
new  friend  occasionally. 

“  His  father  is  dead,  he  is  wholly  ignorant  of  the  world,  has 
no  resources  whatever,  and  wants  something  to  do,”  said  Ralph. 
“  I  recommend  him  to  this  splendid  establishment  of  yours,  as 
an  opening  which  will  lead  him  to  fortune,  if  he  turns  it  to  proper 
account.  Do  you  see  that  ?” 

“  Every  body  must  see  that,”  replied  Squeers,  half  imitating 
the  sneer  with  which  the  old  gentleman  was  regarding  his  un¬ 
conscious  relative. 

“  I  do,  of  course,”  said  Nicholas  eagerly. 

“  He  does,  of  course,  you  observe,”  said  Ralph,  in  the  same 
dry,  hard  manner.  “  If  any  caprice  of  temper  should  induce 
him  to  cast  aside  this  golden  opportunity  before  he  has  brought 
it  to  perfection,  I  consider  myself  absolved  from  extending  any 
assistance  to  his  mother  and  sister.  Look  at  him,  and  thinl? 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


69 


of  the  use  he  may  be  to  you  in  half  a  dozen  ways.  Now  the 
question  is,  whether,  for  some  time  to  come  at  all  events,  he 
won’t  serve  your  purpose  better  than  twenty  of  tlio  kind  of 
people  you  would  get  under  ordinary  circumstances.  Isn’t  that 
a  question  for  consideration  ?” 

“Yes,  it  is,”  said  Squeers,  answering  a  nod  of  Ralph’s  head 
with  a  nod  of  his  own. 

“Good,”  rejoined  Ralph.  “Let  me  have  two  words  with 
you.” 

The  two  words  were  had  apart,  and  in  a  couple  of  minutes 
Mr.  Wackford  Squeers  announced  that  Mr.  Nicholas  Nickleby 
was  from  that  moment  thoroughly  nominated  to,  and  installed 
in,  the  office  of  first  assistant-master  at  Dotheboys  Hall. 

“Your  uncle’s  recommendation  has  done  it,  Mr.  Nickleby,” 
said  Wackford  Squeers. 

Nicholas,  overjoyed  at  his  success,  shook  his  uncle’s  hand 
warmly,  and  could  have  worshiped  Squeers  upon  the  spot. 

“He  is  an  odd-looking  man,”  thought  Nicholas.  “What  of 
that?  Porson  was  an  odd -looking  man,  and  so  was  Doctor 
Johnson;  all  these  bookworms  are.” 

“At  eight  o’clock  to-morrow  morning,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said 
Squeers,  “  the  coach  starts.  Y ou  must  be  here  at  a  quarter  before, 
as  we  take  these  boys  with  us.” 

“Certainly,  Sir,”  said  Nicholas 

“And  your  fare  down,  I  have  paid,”  growled  Ralph.  “So 
you’ll  have  nothing  to  do  but  keep  yourself  warm.” 

Here  was  another  instance  of  his  uncle’s  generosity.  Nicholas 
felt  his  unexpected  kindness  so  much,  that  he  could  scarcely 
find  words  to  thank  him ;  indeed,  he  had  not  found  half  enough, 
when  they  took  leave  of  the  schoolmaster  and  emerged  from  the 
Saracen’s  Head  gateway. 

“I  shall  be  here  in  the  morning  to  see  you  fairly  off,”  said 
Ralph.  “No  skulking!” 

“Thank  you.  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas;  “I  never  shall  forget 
this  kindness.” 

‘Take  care  you  don’t,”  replied  his  uncle.  “You  had  better 
go  home  now,  and  pack  up  what  you  have  got  to  pack.  Do 
you  think  you  could  find  your  way  to  Golden  Square  first?” 

“Certainly,”  said  Nicholas,  “I  can  easily  inquire  ’’ 


60 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


"Leave  these  papers  with  my  clerk,  then,”  said  Ralph,  pro¬ 
ducing  a  small  parcel,  "and  tell  him  to  wait  till  I  come  home.’ 

Nicholas  cheerfully  undertook  the  errand,  and  bidding  hva 
worthy  uncle  an  affectionate  farewell,  which  that  warm-hearted 
old  gentleman  acknowledged  by  a  growl,  hastened  away  to  exe¬ 
cute  his  commission. 

He  found  Golden  Square  in  due  course;  and  Mr.  Noggs,  who 
had  stepped  out  for  a  minute  or  so  to  the  public  house,  waa 
opening  the  door  with  a  latch-key  as  he  reached  the  steps. 

“What’s  that?”  inquired  Noggs,  pointing  to  the  parcel. 

"Papers  from  my  uncle,”  replied  Nicholas;  “and  you’re  to 
have  the  goodness  to  wait  till  he  comes  home,  if  you  please.” 

"Uncle  1”  cried  Noggs. 

"  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Nicholas  in  explanation. 

"  Come  in,”  saiil  Newman. 

Without  another  word  he  led  Nicholas  into  the  passage,  and 
thence  into  the  official  pantry  at  the  end  of  it,  where  he  thrust 
him  into  a  chair,  and  mounting  upon  his  high  stool,  sat  with 
his  arms  hanging  straight  down  by  his  sides,  gazing  fixedly 
upon  him  as  from  a  tower  of  observation. 

"  There  is  no  answer,”  said  Nicholas,  laying  the  parcel  on  a 
table  beside  him. 

Newman  said  nothing,  but  folding  his  arms,  and  thrusting 
his  head  forward  so  as  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  of  Nicholas’s  face, 
scanned  his  features  closely. 

"No  answer,”  said  Nicholas,  speaking  very  loud,  under  tire 
impression  that  Newman  Noggs  was  deaf. 

Newman  placed  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and  without  utter¬ 
ing  a  syllable,  continued  the  same  close  scrutiny  of  his  com¬ 
panion’s  face. 

This  was  such  a  very  singular  proceeding  on  the  part  of  an 
utter  stranger,  and  his  appearance  was  so  extremely  peculiar, 
that  N  icholas,  who  had  a  sufficiently  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous, 
could  not  refrain  from  breaking  into  a  smile  as  he  inquii'ed 
whether  Mr.  Noggs  had  any  commands  for  him. 

Noggs  shook  his  head  and  sighed;  upon  which  Nicliolas 
rose,  and  remarking  that  he  required  no  rest,  bade  him  good 
morning. 

It  was  a  great  exertion  for  Newman  Noggs,  and  nobody 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


6] 


knows  to  this  day  how  he  ever  came  to  make  it,  the  other  party 
being  wholly  unknown  to  him,  but  he  drew  a  long  breath  and 
actually  said  out  loud,  without  once  stopping,  that  if  the  young 
gentleman  did  not  object  to  tell,  he  should  like  to  know  what 
his  uncle  was  going  to  do  for  him. 

Nicholas  had  not  the  least  objection  in  the  world,  but  on  the 
contrary  was  rather  pleased  to  have  an  opportunity  of  talking 
on  the  subject  which  occupied  his  thoughts;  so  he  sat  down 
again,  and  (his  sanguine  imagination  warming  as  he  spoke) 
entered  into  a  fervent  and  glowing  description  of  all  the  honors 
and  advantages  to  be  derived  from  his  appointment  at  that 
seat  of  learning,  Dotheboys  Hall. 

“  But,  what’s  the  matter — are  you  ill  ?”  said  Nicholas,  sud¬ 
denly  breaking  off,  as  his  companion,  after  throwing  himself 
into  a  variety  of  uncouth  attitudes,  thrust  his  hands  under  the 
stool  and  cracked  his  finger-joints  as  if  he  were  snapping  all 
the  bones  in  his  hands. 

Newman  Noggs  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  cracking  his  finger-joints,  smiling  horribly  all  the 
time,  and  looking  steadfastly  at  nothing,  out  of  the  tops  of  his 
eyes,  in  a  most  ghastly  manner. 

At  first  Nicholas  thought  the  mysterious  man  was  in  a  fit, 
but  on  further  consideration  decided  that  he  was  in  liquor, 
under  which  circumstances  he  deemed  it  prudent  to  make  off  at 
once,  lie  looked  back  when  he  had  got  the  street  door  open. 
Newman  Noggs  was  still  indulging  in  the  same  extraordinary 
gestures,  and  the  cracking  of  his  fingers  sounded  louder  than 
ever. 


CHAPTER  y. 


NICHOLAS  STARTS  FOR  YORKSHIRE. — OP  HIS  LEAVE-T.».KINa  AND 
HIS  FELLOW-TRAVELERS,  AND  WHAT  BEFELL  THEM  ON  THE 
ROAD. 

If  tears  dropped  into  a  trunk  were  charms  to  preserve  its 
owner  from  sorrow  and  misfortune,  Nicholas  Nickleby  would 
have  commenced  his  expedition  under  most  happy  auspices. 
There  was  so  much  to  be  done,  and  so  little  time  to  do  it  in,  so 
many  kind  words  to  be  spoken,  and  such  bitter  pain  in  the 
hearts  in  which  they  rose  to  impede  their  utterance,  that  the 
little  prepartions  for  his  journey  were  made  mournfully  indeed. 
A  hundred  things  which  the  anxious  care  of  his  mother  and 
sister  deemed  indispensable  for  his  comfort,  Nicholas  insisted 
on  leaving  behind,  as  they  might  prove  of  some  after  use,  or 
might  be  convertible  into  money  if  occasion  required.  A  hun¬ 
dred  affectionate  contests  on  such  points  as  these,  took  place 
on  the  sad  night  which  preceded  his  departure;  and,  as  the  ter¬ 
mination  of  every  angerless  dispute  brought  them  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  close  of  their  slight  preparations,  Kate  grew 
busier  and  busier,  and  wept  more  silently. 

The  box  was  packed  at  last,  and  then  there  came  supper, 
with  some  little  delicacy  provided  for  the  occasion,  and  as  a 
set-off  against  the  expense  of  which,  Kate  and  her  mother  had 
feigned  to  dine  when  Nicholas  was  out.  The  poor  lad  nearly 
choked  himself  by  attempting  to  partake  of  it,  and  almost  suffo¬ 
cated  himself  in  affecting  a  jest  or  two,  and  forcing  a  melancholy 
laugh.  Thus  they  lingered  on  till  the  hour  of  separating 
for  the  night  was  long  past :  and  then  they  found  that  they 
might  as  well  have  given  vent  to  their  real  feelings  before,  fur 
they  could  not  suppress  them,  do  what  they  would.  So  they 
let  them  have  their  way,  and  even  that  was  a  relief. 

Nicholas  slept  well  till  six  next  morning ;  dreamed  of  home,  or 
of  what  was  home  once — no  matter  which,  for  things  that  are 
(62) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


changed  or  gone  will  come  back  as  they  used  to  be,  thank  God, 
in  sleep — and  rose  quite  brisk  and  gay.  He  wrote  a  few  lines 
in  pencil  to  say  the  good-by  which  he  was  afraid  to  pro¬ 
nounce  himself,  and  laying  them  with  half  his  scanty  stock  of 
money  at  his  sister’s  door,  shouldered  his  box  and  crept  softly 
down  stairs. 

“  Is  that  you,  Hannah  ?”  cried  a  voice  from  Miss  La  Creevy’g 
sitting-room,  whence  shone  the  light  of  a  feeble  candle. 

“It  is  I,  Miss  La  Creevy,”  said  Nicholas,  putting  down  the 
box  and  looking  in. 

“  Bless  us  !”  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy,  starting  and  putting 
her  hand  to  her  curl-papers;  “you’re  up  very  early,  Mr. 
Nickleby.” 

“  So  are  you,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  It’s  the  fine  arts  that  bring  me  out  of  bed,  Mr,  Nickleby,” 
returned  the  lady.  “  I’m  waiting  for  the  light  to  carry  out  an 
idea.” 

Miss  La  Creevy  had  got  up  early  to  put  a  fancy  nose  into  a 
miniature  of  an  ugly  little  boy,  destined  for  his  grandmother  in 
the  country,  who  was  expected  to  bequeath  him  property  if  he 
was  like  the  family. 

“To  carryout  an  idea,”  repeated  Miss  La  Creevy;  “and 
that’s  the  great  convenience  of  living  in  a  thoroughfare  like  the 
Strand.  When  I  want  a  nose  or  an  eye  for  any  particular 
sitter,  I  have  only  to  look  out  of  window  and  wait  till  I  get 
one.” 

“  Does  it  take  long  to  get  a  nose,  now  ?”  inquired  Nicholas, 
smiling. 

“Why,  that  depends  in  a  great  measure  on  the  pattern,”  re¬ 
plied  Miss  La  Creevy.  “  Snubs  and  Romans  are  plentiful  enough, 
and  there  are  flats  of  all  sorts  and  sizes  when  there’s  a  meeting 
at  Exeter  Hall ;  but  perfect  aquilines,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  are 
scarce,  and  we  generally  use  them  for  uniforms  or  public  cha¬ 
racters.” 

“ Indeed  !”  said  Nicholas.  “If  I  should  meet  with  any  in 
my  travels.  I’ll  endeavor  to  sketch  them  for  you.” 

“You  don’t  mean  lo  say  that  you  are  really  going  all  the 
way  down  into  Yorkshire  this  cold  winter’s  weather,  Mr. 


64 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Nicldeby  ?”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “  I  heard  something  of  it 
last  night.” 

“  I  do,  indeed,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  Needs  must,  you  know, 
when  somebody  drives.  Necessity  is  my  driver,  and  that  is 
only  another  name  for  the  same  gentleman.” 

“  Well,  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  that’s  all  I  can  say,”  said  Miss 
La  Creevy;  “as  much  on  your  mother’s  and  sister’s  account  as 
on  yours.  Your  sister  is  a  very  pretty  young  lady,  Mr. 
Nickleby,  and  that  is  an  additional  reason  why  she  should  have 
somebody  to  protect  her.  I  persuaded  her  to  give  me  a  sitting 
or  two,  for  the  street-door  case.  Ah!  she’ll  make  a  sweet 
miniature.”  As  Miss  La  Creevy  spoke,  she  held  up  an  ivory 
countenance  intersected  with  very  perceptible  sky-blue  veins, 
and  regarded  it  with  so  much  complaisance,  that  Nicholas  quite 
envied  her. 

“  If  you  ever  have  an  opportunity  of  showing  Kate  some 
little  kindness,”  said  Nicholas,  presenting  his  hand,  “  I  think  you 
will.” 

“  Depend  upon  that,”  said  the  good-natured  miniature 
painter;  “and  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Nickleby;  and  I  wish  you 
well.” 

It  was  very  little  that  Nicholas  knew  of  the  world,  but  he 
guessed  enough  about  its  ways  to  think,  that  if  he  gave  Miss  La 
Creevy  one  little  kiss,  perhaps  she  might  not  be  the  less  kindly 
disposed  towards  those  he  was  leaving  behind.  So  he  gave  her 
three  or  four  with  a  kind  of  jocose  gallantry,  and  Miss  La 
Creevy  evinced  no  greater  symptoms  of  displeasure  than  declar¬ 
ing,  as  she  adjusted  her  yellow  turban,  that  she  had  never  heard 
of  such  a  thing,  and  couldn’t  have  believed  it  possible. 

Having  terminated  the  unexpected  interview  in  this  satisfac¬ 
tory  manner,  Nicholas  hastily  withdrew  himself  from  the  house. 
By  the  time  he  had  found  a  man  to  carry  his  box,  it  was  only 
seven  o’clock,  so  he  walked  slowly  on,  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
porter,  and  very  probably  with  not  half  as  light  a  heart  in  his 
breast  as  the  man  had,  although  he  had  no  vvaistcoat  to  cover 
it  with,  and  had  evidently,  from  the  appearance  of  his  other  gar¬ 
ments,  been  spending  the  night  in  a  stable,  and  taking  his  break¬ 
fast  at  a  pump. 

Regarding  with  no  small  curiosity  and  interest  all  the  busy 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


6£ 

preparations  for  the  coming  day  which  every  street  and  alnaost 
every  house  displayed ;  and  thinking  now  and  then  that  it  seemed 
rather  hard  that  so  many  people  of  all  ranks  and  stations  couid 
earn  a  livelihood  in  London,  and  that  he  should  be  compelled 
to  journey  so  far  in  search  of  one,  Nicholas  speedily  arrived  at 
the  Saracen’s  Head,  Snow  Hill.  Having  dismissed  his  atten¬ 
dant,  and  seen  the  box  safely  deposited  in  the  coach-office,  he 
looked  into  the  colfee-roora  in  search  of  Mr.  Squeers. 

He  found  that  learned  gentleman  sitting  at  breakfast,  with 
the  three  little  boys  before  noticed,  and  two  others  who  had 
turned  up  by  some  lucky  chance  since  the  interview  of  the  pre¬ 
vious  day,  ranged  in  a  row  on  the  opposite  seat.  Mr.  Squeers 
had  before  him  a  small  measure  of  coffee,  a  plate  of  hot  toast, 
and  a  cold  round  of  beef ;  but  he  was  at  that  moment  intent 
on  preparing  breakfast  for  the  little  boys. 

“  This  is  twopenn’orth  of  milk,  is  it,  waiter  ?”  said  Mr, 
Squeers,  looking  down  into  a  large  blue  mug,  and  slanting  it 
gently  so  as  to  get  an  accurate  view  of  the  quantity  of  liquid 
contained  in  it. 

That’s  twopenn’orth.  Sir,”  replied  the  waiter. 

“What  a  rare  article  milk  is,  to  be  sure,  in  London  !”  said 
Mr.  Squeers  with  a  sigh.  “  Just  fill  that  mug  up  with  lukewarm 
water,  William,  will  you  ?” 

“  To  the  wery  top.  Sir  ?”  inquired  the  waiter.  “  Why,  the 
milk  will  be  drownded.  ” 

“  Never  you  mind  that,”  replied  Mr.  Squeers.  “  Serve  it 
right  for  being  so  dear.  You  ordered  that  thick  bread  and 
butter  for  three,  did  you  ?” 

“  Coming  directly.  Sir.” 

“  You  needn’t  hurry  yourself,”  said  Squeers  ;  “  there’s  plenty 
of  time.  Conquer  your  passions,  boys,  and  don’t  be  eager  after 
vittles.”  As  he  uttered  this  moral  precept,  Mr.  Squeers  took 
a  large  bite  out  of  the  cold  beef,  and  recognized  Nicholas. 

“  Sit  down,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Squeers.  “Here  we  are,  a 
breakfasting,  you  see.” 

Nicholas  did  not  see  that  any  body  was  breakfasting  except 
Mr.  Squeers ;  but  he  bowed  with  all  becoming  reverence,  and 
looked  as  cheerful  as  he  could. 

“  Oh  !  that’s  the  milk  and  water,  is  it,  William  ?”  said 

.fs 


66 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Squeers.  “  Y ery  good ;  don’t  forget  the  bread  and  batter 
presently.” 

At  this  fresh  mention  of  the  bread  and  butter,  the  five  little 
boys  looked  very  eager,  and  followed  the  waiter  out  with  their 
eyes ;  meanwhile  Mr.  Squeers  tasted  the  milk  and  water. 

“Ah  !”  said  that  gentleman,  smacking  his  lips,  “  here’s  rich¬ 
ness  1  Think  of  the  many  beggars  and  oi’phans  in  the  streets 
that  would  be  glad  of  this,  little  boys.  A  shocking  thing  hun¬ 
ger  is,  isn’t  it,  Mr.  Nickleby  ?” 

“  Very  shocking.  Sir,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  When  I  say  number  one,”  pursued  Mr.  Squeers,  putting  the 
mug  before  the  children,  “  the  boy  on  the  left  hand  nearest  the 
window  may  take  a  drink ;  and  when  I  say  number  two  the  boy 
next  him  will  go  in,  and  so  till  we  come  to  number  five,  which 
is  the  last  boy.  Are  you  ready  ?” 

“  Yes,  Sir,”  cried  all  the  little  boys  with  great  eagerness. 

“  That’s  right,”  said  Squeers,  calmly  getting  on  with  his 
breakfast;  “keep  ready  till  I  tell  you  to  begin.  Subdue  your 
appetites,  my  dears,  and  you’ve  conquered  human  natur.  This 
is  the  way  we  inculcate  strength  of  mind,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said 
the  schoolmaster,  turning  to  Nicholas,  and  speaking  with  his 
mouth  very  full  of  beef  and  toast. 

Nicholas  murmured  something — he  knew  not  what — in  reply, 
and  the  little  boys  dividing  their  gaze  between  the  mug,  the 
bread  and  butter  (which  had  by  this  time  arrived),  and  every 
morsel  which  Mr.  Squeers  took  into  his  mouth,  remained  with 
strained  eyes  in  torments  of  expectation. 

“  Thank  God  for  a  good  breakfast,”  said  Squeers  when  he  had 
finished.  “  Number  one  may  take  a  drink.” 

Number  one  seized  the  mug  ravenously,  and  had  just  drunk 
enough  to  make  him  wish  for  more,  when  Mr.  Squeers  gave  the 
signal  for  number  two,  who  gave  up  at  the  same  interesting 
moment  to  number  three,  aud  the  process  was  repeated  till  the 
miUt  and  water  terminated  with  number  five. 

“And  now,”  said  the  schoolmaster,  dividing  the  bread  and 
butter  for  three  into  as  many  portions  as  there  were  children, 
“  you  had  better  look  sharp  with  your  breakfast,  for  the  horn  will 
blow  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  every  boy  leaves  oif.” 

Permissiofl  being  thus  given  to  fall  to,  the  boys  began  to  eat 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


67 


voraciously,  and  in  desperate  haste,  while  the  schoolmaster  (who 
was  in  high  good  humor  after  his  meal)  picked  his  teeth  with 
a  fork  and  looked  smilingly  on.  In  a  very  short  time  the  horn 
was  heard. 

“I  thought  it  wouldn’t  be  long,”  said  Squeers,  jumping  up 
and  producing  a  little  basket  from  under  the  seat ;  “  put  what 
you  haven’t  had  time  to  eat,  in  here,  boys  1  You’ll  want  it  on 
the  road  I” 

Nicholas  was  considerably  startled  by  these  very  economical 
arrangements,  but  he  had  no  time  to  reflect  upon  them,  for  the 
little  boys  had  to  be  got  up  to  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  their 
bo.ves  had  to  be  brought  out  and  put  in,  and  Mr.  Squeers’s  lug¬ 
gage  was  to  be  seen  carefully  deposited  in  the  boot,  and  all  these 
offices  were  in  his  department.  He  was  in  the  full  heat  and 
bustle  of  concluding  these  operations,  when  his  uncle,  Mr.  Ralph 
Nickleby,  accosted  him. 

“  Oh  !  here  you  are.  Sir  ?”  said  Ralph.  “  Here  are  your 
mother  and  sister.  Sir.” 

“  Where  1”  cried  Nicholas,  looking  hastily  round. 

“  Here  !”  replied  his  uncle.  “  Having  too  much  money  and 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it,  they  were  paying  a  hackney  coach 
as  I  came  up.  Sir.” 

“We  were  afraid  of  being  too  late  to  see  him  before  he  went 
away  from  us,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  embracing  her  son,  heedless 
of  the  unconcerned  lookers-on  in  the  coach-yard. 

“  Very  good.  Ma’am,”  returned  Ralph,  “  you’re  the  best  judge 
of  course.  I  merely  said  that  you  were  paying  a  hackney  coach 
1  never  pay  a  hackney  coach.  Ma’am,  I  never  hire  one.  I 
haven’t  been  in  a  hackney  coach  of  my  own  hiring  for  thirty 
years,  and  I  hope  I  sha’n’t  be  for  thirty  more,  if  I  live  as  long.” 

“  I  should  never  have  forgiven  myself  if  I  had  not  seen  him.” 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  Poor  dear  boy — going  away  without  hig 
breakfast  too,  because  he  feared  to  distress  us.” 

“  Mighty  fine,  certainly,”  said  Ralph,  with  great  testiness. 
“When  I  first  went  to  business.  Ma’am,  I  took  a  penny  loaf 
and  a  ha’porth  of  milk  for  my  breakfast,  as  I  walked  to  the 
city  every  morning;  \^hat  do  you  say  to  that.  Ma’am?  Break- 
fasti  Pshaw  1” 

“Now,  Nickleby,”  said  Squeers,  coming  up  at  the  moment, 


6B 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


buttoning  his  great  coat ;  “  I  think  you’d  better  get  up  behind. 
I’m  afraid  of  one  of  them  boys  falling  off,  and  then  there’s  twenty 
pound  a  year  gone.” 

“Dear  Nicholas,”  whispered  Kate,  touching  her  brotner’s 
arm,  “  wlio  is  that  vulgar  man  ?” 

“  Eh  !”  growled  Ralph,  whose  quick  ears  had  caught  the 
inquiry.  “  Do  you  wish  to  be  introduced  to  Mr.  Squeers,  my 
dear  ?” 

“  That  the  schoolmaster  I  No,  uncle.  Oh,  no  1”  replied  Kate, 
shrinking  back. 

“  I’m  sure  I  heard  you  say  as  much,  my  dear,”  retorted  Ralph 
in  his  cold  sarcastic  manner.  “  Mr.  Squeers,  here’s  my  niece, 
Nicholas’s  sister  ?” 

“  Very  glad  to  make  your  acquaiutance.  Miss,”  said  Squeers, 
raising  his  hat  an  inch  or  two.  “I  wish  Mrs.  Squeers  took 
gals,  and  we  had  you  for  a  teacher.  I  don’t  know  though 
whether  she  mightn’t  grow  jealous  if  we  had.  Ha  1  ha  !  ha  1” 

If  the  proprietor  of  Dotheboys  Hall  could  have  known  what 
was  passing  in  his  assistant’s  breast  at  that  moment,  he  would 
have  discovered  with  some  surprise,  that  he  was  as  near  being 
soundly  pummeled  as  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  Kate 
Nickleby  having  a  quicker  perception  of  her  brother’s  emo¬ 
tions  led  him  gently  aside,  and  thus  prevented  Mr.  Squeers 
from  being  impressed  with  the  fact  in  a  peculiarly  disagreeable 
manner. 

“  My  dear  Nicholas,”  said  the  young  lady,  “  who  is  this  man  ? 
What  kind  of  place  can  it  be  that  you  are  going  to  ?” 

“  I  hardly  know,  Kate,”  replied  Nicholas,  pressing  his  sister’s 
hand.  “  I  suppose  the  Yorkshire  folks  are  rather  rough  and 
uncultivated,  that’s  all.” 

“  But  this  person,”  urged  Kate. 

“  Is  my  employer,  or  master,  or  whatever  the  proper  name 
may  be,”  replied  Nicholas  quickly,  “  and  I  was  an  ass  to  take 
his  coarseness  ill.  They  are  looking  this  way,  and  it  is  time  I 
was  in  my  place.  Bless  you,  love,  and  good-by.  Mother ; 
look  forward  to  our  meeting  again  some  day.  Uncle,  farewell ! 
Thank  you  heartily  for  all  you  have  done  and  all  you  mean  to 
do.  Quite  ready.  Sir.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


69 


With  these  hasty  adieus,  Nicholas  mounted  nimbly  to  his  seat, 
and  waved  his  hand  as  gallantly  as  if  his  heart  went  with  it. 

At  this  moment,  when  the  coachman  and  guard  were  com¬ 
paring  notes  for  the  last  time  before  starting,  on  the  subject  of 
the  way-bill ;  when  porters  were  screwing  out  the  last  reluctant 
sixpences,  itinerant  newsmen  making  the  last  offer  of  a  morning 
paper,  and  the  horses  giving  the  last  impatient  rattle  to  their 
harness,  Nicholas  felt  somebody  pulling  softly  at  his  leg.  lie 
looked  down,  and  there  stood  Newman  Noggs,  who  pushed  up 
into  his  hand  a  dirty  letter. 

“  What’s  this  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  Hush  1”  rejoined  Noggs,  pointing  to  Mr.  Ralph  Nick- 
leby,  who  was  saying  a  few  earnest  words  to  Squeers  a  short 
distance  off.  “Take  it.  Read  it.  Nobody  knows.  That’s 
all.” 

“  Stop  !”  cried  Nicholas. 

“No,”  replied  Noggs, 

Nicholas  cried  stop,  again,  but  Newman  Noggs  was  gone. 

A  minute’s  bustle,  a  banging  of  the  coach  doors,  a  swaying 
of  the  vehicle  to  one  side,  as  the  heavy  coachman,  and  still 
heavier  guard,  climbed  into  their  seats ;  a  cry  of  all  right,  a 
few  notes  from  the  horn,  a  hasty  glance  of  two  sorrowful 
faces  below  and  the  hard  features  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby — ■ 
and  the  coach  was  gone  too,  and  rattling  over  the  stones  of 
Smithfield. 

The  little  boys’  legs  being  too  short  to  admit  of  their  feet 
resting  upon  any  thing  as  they  sat,  and  the  little  boys’  bodies 
being  consequently  in  imminent  hazard  of  being  jerked  off  the 
coach,  Nicholas  had  enough  to  do  to  hold  them  on  :  and  be¬ 
tween  the  manual  exertion  and  the  mental  anxiety  attendant 
upon  this  task,  he  was  not  a  little  relieved  when  the  coach  stop¬ 
ped  at  the  Peacock  at  Islington.  He  was  still  more  relieved 
when  a  hearty-looking  gentleman,  with  a  very  good-humored 
face,  and  a  very  fresh  color,  got  up  behind  and  proposed  to  take 
the  other  corner  of  the  seat. 

“  If  we  put  some  of  these  youngsters  in  the  middle,’’  said 
the  new-comer,  “  they’ll  be  safer  in  case  of  their  going  to  sleep; 

eh  ?” 

“  If  you’ll  have  the  goodness.  Sir  ”  replied  Squeers,  “  that’ll 


70 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


be  the  very  thing.  Mr.  Nickleby,  take  three  of  them  boys  be¬ 
tween  you  and  the  gentleman.  Belling  and  the  youngest  Snaw- 
ley  ean  sit  between  me  and  the  guard.  Three  children,”  said 
Squeers,  explaining  to  the  stranger,  “  books  as  two.” 

“  I  have  not  the  least  objection  I  am  sure,”  said  the  fresh- 
colored  gentleman  :  “  I  have  a  brother  who  wouldn’t  object  to 
book  his  six  children  as  tw^o  at  any  butcher’s  or  baker’s  in  the 
kingdom,  I  dare  say.  Far  from  it.” 

“  Six  children.  Sir  1”  exclaimed  Squeers. 

“  l!’es,  and  all  boys,”  replied  the  stranger. 

“Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Squeers,  in  great  haste,  “catch  hold  of 
that  basket.  Let  me  give  you  a  card,  Sir,  of  an  establishment 
where  those  six  boys  can  be  brought  up  in  an  enlightened, 
liberal,  and  moral  manner,  with  no  mistake  at  all  about  it,  for 
twenty  guineas  a  year  each — twenty  guineas.  Sir;  or  I’ll  take 
all  the  boys  together  upon  a  average  right  through,  and  say  a 
hundred  pound  a  year  for  the  lot.” 

“  Oh  1”  said  the  gentleman,  glancing  at  the  card,  “you  are 
the  Mr.  Squeers  mentioned  here,  I  presume  ?” 

“  Yes,  I  am.  Sir,”  replied  the  worthy  pedagogue ;  “  Mr. 
Wackford  Squeers  is  my  name,  and  I’m  very  far  from  being 
ashamed  of  it.  These  are  some  of  my  boys.  Sir ;  that’s  one 
of  my  assistants.  Sir — Mr.  Nickleby,  a  gentleman’s  son,  and  a 
good  scholar,  mathematical,  classical,  and  commercial.  We 
don’t  do  things  by  halves  at  our  shop.  All  manner  of  learning 
my  boys  take  down.  Sir ;  the  expense  is  never  thought  of,  and 
they  get  paternal  treatment  and  washing  in.” 

“  Upon  my  word,”  said  the  gentleman,  glancing  at  Nicholas 
with  a  half  smile,  and  a  more  than  half  expression  of  surprise, 

these  are  advantages  indeed.” 

“  You  may  say  that.  Sir,”  rejoined  Squeers,  thrusting  his 
bands  into  his  great-coat  pockets.  “  The  most  unexception¬ 
able  references  are  given  and  required.  I  wouldn’t  take  a 
reference  wdth  any  boy  that  was  not  responsible  for  the  pay¬ 
ment  of  five  pound  five  a  quarter,  no,  not  if  you  went  down  on 
your  knees,  and  asked  me  with  the  tears  running  down  your 
face  to  do  it.” 

“  Highly  considerate,”  said  the  passenger. 

“  It’s  my  great  aim  and  end  to  be  considerate.  Sir,”  rejoined 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


71 


Squcers.  “  Snawley,  junior,  if  you  don’t  leave  off  chattering 
your  teeth,  and  shaking  with  the  cold,  I’ll  warm  you  with  a 
severe  thrashing  in  about  half  a  minute’s  time.” 

“  Sit  fast  here,  geuelmen,”  said  the  guard  as  he  clam¬ 
bered  up. 

“  All  right  behind  there,  Dick  ?”  cried  the  coachman. 

“  All  right,”  was  the  reply.  “  Off  she  goes.”  And  off  she 
did  go — if  coaches  be  feminine — amidst  a  loud  flourish  from 
the  guard’s  horn,  and  the  calm  approval  of  all  the  judges  of 
coaches  and  coach-horses  congregated  at  the  Peacock,  but  more 
especially  of  the  helpers,  who  stood  with  the  cloths  over  their 
arms,  watching  the  coach  till  it  disappeared,  and  then  lounged 
admiringly  stablewards,  bestowing  various  gruff  encomiums  on 
the  beauty  of  the  turn-out. 

When  the  guard  (who  was  a  stout  old  Yorkshireman)  had 
blown  himself  quite  out  of  breath,  he  put  the  horn  into  a  little 
tunnel  of  a  basket  fastened  to  the  coach-side  for  the  purpose, 
and  giving  himself  a  plentiful  shower  of  blows  on  the  chest  and 
shoulders,  observed  it  was  uncommon  cold,  after  which  he 
demanded  of  every  person  separately  whether  he  was  going 
right  through,  and  if  not  where  he  was  going.  Satisfactory 
replies  being  made  to  these  queries,  he  surmised  that  the  roads 
were  pretty  heavy  arter  that  fall  last  night,  and  took  the  liberty 
of  asking  whether  any  of  them  gentlemen  carried  a  snuff-box. 
It  happening  that  nobody  did,  he  remarked  with  a  mysterious 
air  that  he  had  heard  a  medical  gentleman  as  went  down  to 
Grantham  last  week  say  how  that  snuff-taking  was  bad  for  the 
eyes ;  but  for  his  part  he  had  never  found  it  so,  and  what  he 
said  was,  that  every  body  should  speak  as  they  found.  Nobody 
attempting  to  controvert  this  position,  he  took  a  small  brown 
paper  parcel  out  of  his  hat,  and  putting  on  a  pair  of  horn  spec¬ 
tacles  (the  writing  being  crabbed)  read  the  direction  half  a 
dozen  times  over,  having  done  which  he  consigned  the  parcel 
to  its  old  place,  put  up  his  spectacles  again,  and  stared  at  every 
bodv  in  turn.  After  this,  he  took  another  blow  at  the  horn  by 
way  of  refreshment,  and  having  now  exhausted  his  usual  topics 
of  conversation  folded  his  arms  as  well  as  he  could  in  so  many 
coats,  and  falling  into  a  solemn  silence,  looked  carelessly  at  the 
familiar  objects  which  met  his  eye  on  every  side  as  the  coach 


72 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


rolled  on  ;  the  only  things  he  seemed  to  care  for  being  hones 
and  droves  of  cattle,  which  he  scrutinized  with  a  critical  air  as 
they  were  passed  upon  the  road. 

The  weather  was  intensely  and  bitterly  cold  ;  a  great  deal  of 
snow  fell  from  time  to  time,  and  the  wind  was  intolerably  keen. 
Mr.  Squeers  got  down  at  almost  every  stage — to  stretch  his 
legs,  as  he  said,  and  as  he  always  came  back  from  such  excursions 
with  a  very  red  nose,  and  composed  himself  to  sleep  directly, 
there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  he  derived  great  benefit  from 
the  process.  The  little  pupils  having  been  stimulated  with  the 
remains  of  their  breakfast,  and  further  invigorated  by  sundry 
small  sups  of  a  curious  cordial  carried  by  Mr.  Squeers,  which 
tasted  very  like  toast  and  water  put  into  a  brandy  bottle  by 
mistake,  went  to  sleep,  woke,  shivered,  and  cried,  as  their  feel¬ 
ings  prompted.  Nicholas  and  the  good-tempered  man  found 
so  many  things  to  talk  about,  that  between  conversing  together, 
and  cheering  up  the  boys,  the  time  passed  with  them  as  rapidly 
as  it  could,  under  such  adverse  circumstances. 

So  the  day  wore  on.  At  Eton  Slocomb  there  was  a  good 
coach  dinner,  of  which  the  box,  the  four  front  outsides,  the  one 
inside,  Nicholas,  the  good-tempered  man,  and  Mr.  Squeers, 
partook ;  while  the  five  little  boys  were  put  to  thaw  by  the 
fire,  and  regaled  with  sandwiches.  A  stage  or  two  further  on, 
the  lamps  were  lighted,  and  a  great  to-do  occasioned  by  the 
taking  up  at  a  road-side  inn  of  a  very  fastidious  lady  with  an 
infinite  variety  of  cloaks  and  small  parcels,  who  loudly  lamented 
for  the  behoof  of  the  outsides  the  non-arrival  of  her  own  car¬ 
riage  which  was  to  have  taken  her  on,  and  made  the  guard 
solemnly  promise  to  stop  every  green  chariot  he  saw  coming ; 
which,  as  it  was  a  dark  night  and  he  was  sitting  with  his  face 
the  other  way,  that  officer  undertook,  with  many  fervent  asse¬ 
verations,  to  do.  Lastly,  the  fastidious  lady,  finding  there  was 
a  solitary  gentleman  inside,  had  a  small  lamp  lighted  which  she 
carried  in  her  reticule ;  and  being  after  much  trouble  shut  in, 
the  horses  were  put  into  a  brisk  canter  and  the  coach  was  on(  e 
more  in  rapid  motion. 

The  night  and  the  snow  came  on  together,  and  dismal  enough 
they  were.  There  was  no  sound  to  be  heard  but  the  howling 
of  the  wind  ;  for  the  noise  of  the  wheels  and  the  tread  of  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


7f 


horses’  feet  were  rendered  inaudible  by  the  thick  coating  of 
snow  which  covered  the  earth,  and  was  fast  increasing  every 
moment.  The  streets  of  Stamford  were  deserted  as  they  passed 
through  the  town,  and  its  old  churches  rose  frowning  and  dark 
from  the  whitened  ground.  Twenty  miles  further  on,  two  ol 
the  front  outside  passengers  wisely  availing  themselves  of  then 
arrival  at  one  of  the  best  inns  in  England,  turned  in  for  the 
bight  at  the  George  at  Grantham,  The  remainder  wrapped 
themselves  more  closely  in  their  coats  and  cloaks,  and  leaving 
the  light  and  warmth  of  the  town  behind  them,  pillowed  them¬ 
selves  against  the  luggage,  and  prepared,  with  many  half- 
'Suppressed  moans,  again  to  encounter  the  piercing  blast  which 
swept  across  the  open  country. 

They  were  little  more  than  a  stage  out  of  Grantham,  or  about 
half  way  between  it  and  Newark,  when  Nicholas,  who  had  been 
asleep  for  a  short  time,  was  suddenly  roused  by  a  violent  jerk 
which  nearly  threw  him  from  his  seat.  Grasping  the  rail,  he 
found  that  the  coach  had  sunk  greatly  on  one  side,  though  it 
was  still  dragged  forward  by  the  horses;  and  while — confused 
by  their  plunging  and  the  loud  screams  of  the  lady  inside — he 
hesitated  for  an  instant  whether  to  jump  off  or  Hot,  the  vehicle 
turned  easily  over,  and  relieved  him  from  all  further  uncertamty 
by  flinging  him  into  the  road. 


CHAPTER  YI. 


IN  WHICH  THE  OCCURRENCE  OF  THE  ACCIDENT  MENTIONED  IN 

THE  LAST  CHAPTER,  AFFORDS  AN  OPPORTUNITY  TO  A  COUPLE 

OF  GENTLEMEN  TO  TELL  STORIES  AGAINST  EACH  OTHER. 

“Wo  ho  !”  cried  the  guard,  on  his  legs  in  a  minute,  and  run¬ 
ning  to  the  leaders’  heads.  “  Is  there  ony  genelmen  there,  as 
can  len’  a  hand  here  ?  Keep  quiet,  dang  ye.  Wo  ho  1” 

“What’s  the  matter?”  demanded  Nicholas,  looking  sleepily 
up. 

“  Matther,  mun,  matther  eneaf  for  one  neight,”  replied  the 
guard ;  “  dang  the  wall-eyed  bay,  he’s  gane  mad  wi’  glory  I 
tliink,  carse  t’coorch  is  over.  Here,  can’t  ye  len’  a  bond  ? 
Dom  it,  I’d  ha’  dean  it  if  all  my  boans  were  brokken,” 

“Here  I”  cried  Nicholas,  staggering  to  his  feet,  “I’m  ready. 
I’m  only  a  little  abroad,  that’s  all.” 

“  Hoold  ’em  toight,”  cried  the  guard,  “  while  ar  coot  treaces. 
Hang  on  tiv  ’em  sumhoo.  Weel  deame,  my  lad.  That’s  it. 
Let  ’em  goa  noo.  Dang’  em,  they’ll  gang  whoam  fast  eneaf.” 

In  truth,  the  animals  were  no  sooner  released  than  they  trotted 
back  with  much  deliberation  to  the  stable  they  had  just  left, 
which  was  distant  not  a  mile  behind. 

“  Can  you  bio’  a  barn  ?”  asked  the  guard,  disengaging  one 
of  the  coach-lamps. 

“  I  dare  say  I  can,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“Tlien  just  bio’  away  into  that  ’un  as  lies  on  the  grund,  fit 
to  wakken  the  deead,  will’ee,”  said  the  man,  “while  I  stop  sum 
o’  this  liere  squealing  inside.  Cumin’,  cumin’ ;  dean’t  make 
that  noise,  wooman.” 

As  the  man  spoke  he  proceeded  to  wrench  open  the  upper¬ 
most  door  of  the  coach,  wdiile  Nicholas  seizing  the  horn,  awoke 
the  echoes  far  and  wide  with  one  of  the  most  e.xtraordinary  per¬ 
formances  on  that  instrument  ever  heard  by  mortal  ears.  It 
had  its  effect,  however,  not  only  in  rousing  such  of  the  pas- 
(T4) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


75 


sengers  as  were  recovering  from  the  stunning  effects  of  their  fall, 
but  in  summoning  assistance  to  their  relief,  for  lights  gleamed 
in  the  distance,  and  the  people  were  already  astir. 

In  fact,  a  man  on  horseback  galloped  down  before  the  pas¬ 
sengers  were  well  collected  together,  and  a  careful  investigation 
being  instituted  it  appeared  that  the  lady  inside  had  broken  her 
lamp,  and  the  gentleman  his  head ;  that  the  two  front  outsides 
bad  escaped  with  black  eyes,  the  box  with  a  bloody  nose,  the 
coachman  with  a  contusion  on  the  temple,  Mr.  Squeers  with  a 
portmanteau  bruise  on  his  back,  and  the  remaining  passengers 
without  any  injury  at  all — thanks  to  the  softness  of  the  snow¬ 
drift  in  which  they  had  been  overturned.  These  facts  were  no 
sooner  thoroughly  ascertained  than  the  lady  gave  several  indica¬ 
tions  of  fainting,  but  being  forewarned  that  if  she  did,  she  must 
be  carried  on  some  gentleman’s  shoulders  to  the  nearest  public 
house,  she  prudently  thought  better  of  it,  and  walked  back  with 
the  rest 

They  found  on  reaching  it,  that  it  was  a  lonely  place  with  no 
very  great  accommodation  in  the  way  of  apartments — that  portion 
of  its  resources  being  all  comprised  in  one  public  room  with  a 
sanded  floor,  and  a  chair  or  two.  Ilowever,  a  large  faggot  and 
a  plentiful  supply  of  coals  being  heaped  upon  the  fire,  the  ap¬ 
pearance  of  things  was  not  long  in  mending,  and  by  the  time 
they  had  washed  off  all  effacable  marks  of  the  late  accident, 
the  room  was  warm  and  light,  which  was  a  most  agreeable  ex¬ 
change  for  the  cold  and  darkness  out  of  doors. 

“Well,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Squeers,  insinuating  himself  into 
the  warmest  corner,  “you  did  very  right  to  catch  hold  of  them 
horses.  I  should  have  done  it  myself  if  I  had  come  to  in  time, 
but  I  am  very  glad  you  did  it.  You  did  it  very  well;  very 
well.” 

“  So  well,”  said  the  merry -faced  gentleman,  who  did  not 
seem  to  approve  very  much  of  the  patronizing  tone  adopted  by 
Squeers,  “that  if  they  had  not  been  firmly  checked  when  they 
were,  you  would  most  probably  have  had  no  brains  left  to  teach 
with.” 

This  remark  called  up  a  discourse  relative  to  the  promptitude 
Nicholas  had  displayed,  and  he  was  overwhelmed  with  compli¬ 
ments  and  commendations. 


70 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“I  am  very  glad  to  have  escaped,  of  course/’  observed 
.'Squeers  ;  “  every  man  is  glad  when  he  escapes  from  danger,  but 
if  any  one  of  my  charges  had  been  hurt — if  I  had  been  prevented 
from  restoring  any  one  of  these  little  boys  to  his  parents  whole 
and  sound  as  I  received  him — what  would  have  been  my  feelings  ? 
Why  the  wheel  a-top  of  my  head  would  have  been  far  preferable 
to  it.” 

“  Are  they  all  brothers.  Sir  ?”  inquired  the  lady  who  had 
carried  the  “  Davy”  or  safety-lamp, 

“  In  one  sense  they  are.  Ma’am,”  replied  Squeers,  diving  into 
his  great-coat  pocket  for  cards.  “  They  are  all  under  the  same 
parental  and  affectionate  treatment.  Mrs.  Squeers  and  myself 
are  a  mother  and  father  to  every  one  of  ’em.  Mr.  Nickleby^ 
hand  the  lady  them  cards,  and  offer  these  to  the  gentlemen. 
Perhaps  they  might  know  of  some  parents  that  would  be  glad 
to  avail  themselves  of  the  establishment,”  f 

Expressing  himself  to  this  effect,  Mr.  Squeers,  who  lost  no 
opportunity  of  advertising  gratuitously,  placed  his  hands  upon 
his  knees  and  looked  at  the  pupils  with  as  much  benignity  as  he 
■could  possibly  affect,  while  Nicholas,  blushing  with  shame, 
handed  round  the  cards  as  directed. 

I  hope  you  suffer  no  inconvenience  from  the  overturn, 
''Ma’am  ?”  said  the  merry-faced  gentleman,  addressing  the 
fastidious  lady,  as  though  he  were  charitably  desirous  to  change 
the  subject, 

"No  bodily  inconvenience,”  replied  the  lady. 

'  "No  mental  inconvenience,  I  hope  ?” 

"  The  subject  is  a  very  painful  one  to  my  feelings.  Sir,”  replied 
the  lady  with  strong  emotion  ;  "  and  I  beg  you,  as  a  gentleman, 
not  to  refer  to  it.” 

"  Dear  me,”  said  the  merry-faced  gentleman,  looking  merrier 
still,  "  I  merely  intended  to  inquire - ” 

"  I  hope  no  inquiries  will  be  made,”  said  the  lady,  “or  I  shall 
bo  compelled  to  throw  myself  on  the  protection  of  the  other 
gentlemen.  Landlord,  pray  direct  a  boy  to  keep  watch  outside 
the  door — and  if  a  green  chariot  passes  in  the  direction  of 
Grantham,  to  stop  it  instantly.” 

The  people  of  the  house  were  evidently  overcome  by  this  re¬ 
quest,  and  when  the  lady  charged  the  boy  to  remember,  as  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


7Z 


means  of  identifying  the  expected  green  chariot,  that  it  would 
have  a  coachman  with  a  gold-laced  hat  on  the  box,  and  a  foot¬ 
man  most  probably  in  silk  stockings  behind,  the  attentions  of 
the  good  woman  of  the  inn  v/ere  redoubled.  Even  the  box- 
passenger  caught  the  infection,  and  growing  wonderfully  defer¬ 
ential,  immediately  inquired  whether  there  was  not  very  good 
society  in  that  neighborhood,  to  which  the  lady  replied  yes, 
there  was,  in  a  manner  which  sufficiently  implied  that  she  moved 
at  the  very  tip-top  and  summit  of  it  all. 

“As  the  guard  has  gone  on  horseback  to  Grantham  to  get 
another  coach,”  said  the  good-tempered  gentleman  when  they 
had  been  all  sitting  round  the  fire  for  some  time  in  silence,  “and 
as  he  must  be  gone  a  couple  of  hours  at  the  very  least,  I  pro¬ 
pose  a  bowl  of  hot  punch.  What  say  you.  Sir  ?” 

This  question  was  addressed  to  the  broken-headed  inside, 
who  was  a  man  of  very  genteel  appearance,  dressed  in  mourn¬ 
ing.  He  was  not  past  the  middle  age,  but  his  hair  was  grey ; 
it  seemed  to  have  been  prematurely  turned  by  care  or  sorrow. 
He  readily  acceded  to  the  proposal,  and  appeared  to  be  pre-' 
possessed  by  the  frank  good  nature  of  the  individual  from  whom 
it  emanated. 

This  latter  pei’sonage  took  upon  himself  the  office  of  tapster 
when  the  punch  was  ready,  and  after  divspensing  it  all  round, 
led  the  conversation  to  the  antiquities  of  York,  with  which  both 
he  and  the  grey-haired  gentleman  appeared  well  acquainted. 
When  this  topic  flagged,  he  turned  with  a  smile  to  the  grey¬ 
headed  gentleman  and  asked  if  he  could  sing. 

“  I  cannot  indeed,”  replied  the  gentleman,  smiling  in  his 
turn. 

“That’s  a  pity,”  said  the  owner  of  the  good-humored  counte¬ 
nance.  “  Is  there  nobody  here  who  can  sing  a  song  to  lighten 
the  time  ?” 

The  passengers  one  and  all  protested  that  they  could  not; 
that  they  wished  they  could,  that  they  couldn’t  remember  the 
words  of  any  thing  without  the  book,  and  so  forth. 

“  Perhaps  the  lady  would  not  object,”  said  the  president  with 
great  respect,  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye.  “  Some  little 
Italian  thing  out  of  the  last  opera  brought  out  in  town,  would 
be  most  acceptable,  I  am  sure.”  ^  . . . 


78 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


As  the  lady  condescended  to  make  no  reply,  but  tossed  her 
head  contemptuously,  and  murmured  some  further  expression 
of  surprise  regarding  the  absence  of  the  green  chariot,  one  or 
two  voices  urged  upon  the  president  himself  the  propriety  of 
making  an  attempt  for  the  general  benefit. 

“  I  would  if  I  could,”  said  he  of  the  good-tempered  face ; 
“  for  I  hold  that  in  this,  as  in  all  other  cases  where  people  who 
are  strangers  to  each  other  are  thrown  unexpectedly  together, 
they  should  endeavor  to  render  themselves  as  pleasant  for  the 
joint  sake  of  the  little  community  as  possible.” 

“I  wish  the  maxim  were  more  generally  acted  on  in  all 
cases,”  said  the  grey-headed  gentleman. 

“  I’m  glad  to  hear  it,”  returned  the  other.  “Perhaps,  as  you 
can’t  sing,  you’ll  tell  us  a  story  ?” 

“Nay.  I  should  ask  you.” 

“  After  you,  I  will,  with  pleasure.” 

“  Indeed  1”  said  the  grey-haired  gentleman,  smiling.  “Well, 
let  it  be  so.  I  fear  the  turn  of  my  thoughts  is  not  calculated  to 
lighten  the  time  you  must  pass  here ;  but  you  have  brought  this 
upon  yourselves,  and  shall  judge.  We  were  speaking  of  York 
Minster  just  now.  My  story  shall  have  some  reference  to  it. 
Let  us  call  it 

“THE  FIVE  SISTERS  OF  YORK.” 

After  a  murmur  of  approbation  from  the  other  passengers, 
during  which  the  fastidious  lady  drank  a  glass  of  punch  unob¬ 
served,  the  grey-headed  gentleman  thus  went  on  : — 

“A  great  many  years  ago — for  the  fifteenth  century  was 
scarce  two  years  old  at  the  time,  and  King  Henry  the  Fourth 
sat  upon  the  throne  of  England — there  dwelt  in  the  ancient  city 
ofY  ork,  five  maiden  sisters,  the  subjects  of  my  tale. 

“  These  five  sisters  were  all  of  surpassing  beauty.  The  eldest 
was  in  her  twenty-third  year,  the  second  a  year  younger,  the 
third  a  year  younger  than  the  second,  and  the  fourth  a  year 
younger  than  the  third.  They  were  tall,  stately  figures,  with 
dark  flashing  eyes  and  hair  of  jet ;  dignity  and  grace  were  in 
their  every  movement,  and  the  fame  of  their  great  beauty  h.ad 
spread  through  all  the  country  round. 

“  But  if  the  four  elder  sisters  were  lovely,  how  beautiful  was 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


79 


the  youngest,  a  fair  creature  of  sixteen  !  The  blushing  tints  in 
the  soft  bloora  on  the  fruit,  or  the  delicate  painting  on  the 
flower,  are  not  more  exquisite  than  was  the  blending  of  the  rose 
and  lily  in  her  gentle  face,  or  the  deep  blue  of  her  eye.  The 
vine  ill  all  its  elegant  luxuriance  is  not  more  graceful,  than 
were  the  clusters  of  rich  brown  hair  that  sported  around  hei 
brow. 

“  If  we  all  had  hearts  like  those  which  beat  so  lightly  in  the 
bosoms  of  the  young  and  beautiful,  what  a  heaven  this  earth 
would  be  1  If,  while  our  bodies  grew  old  and  withered,  our 
hearts  could  but  retain  their  early  youth  and  freshness,  of  what 
avail  would  be  our  sorrows  and  sufferings  1  But  the  faiiit  image 
of  Eden  which  is  stamped  upon  them  in  childhood,  chafes  and 
rubs  in  our  rough  struggles  with  the  world,  and  soon  wears 
away :  too  often  to  leave  nothing  but  a  mournful  Iilank  re¬ 
maining. 

“  The  heart  of  this  fair  girl  bounded  with  joy  and  gladness. 
Devoted  attachment  to  her  sisters,  and  a  fervent  love  of  all 
beautiful  things  in  nature,  were  its  pure  affections.  Her  glee- 
some  voice  and  merry  laugh  were  the  sweetest  music  of  their 
home.  She  was  its  very  light  and  life.  The  brightest  flowers 
in  the  garden  were  reared  by  her ;  the  caged  birds  sang  when 
they  heard  her  voice,  and  pined  when  they  missed  its  sweetness. 
Alice,  dear  Alice ;  what  living  thing  within  the  sphere  of  her 
gentle  witchery,  could  fail  to  love  her  ! 

“You  may  seek  in  vain,  now,  for  the  spot  on  which  these 
sisters  lived,  for  their  very  names  have  passed  away,  and  dusty 
antiquaries  tell  of  them  as  of  a  fable.  But  they  dwelt  in  an 
old  wooden  house — old  even  in  those  days — with  overhanging 
gables  and  balconies  of  rudely-carved  oak,  which  stood  within  a 
pleasant  orchard,  and  was  surrounded  by  a  rough  stone  wall, 
whence  a  stout  archer  might  have  winged  an  arrow  to  Saint 
Mary’s  abbey.  The  old  abbey  flourished  then,  and  the  five 
sisters  living  on  its  fair  domains,  paid  yearly  dues  to  the  black 
monks  of  Saint  Benedict,  to  which  fraternity  it  belonged. 

“  It  was  a  bright  and  sunny  morning  in  the  pleasant  time  of 
summer  when  one  of  these  black  monks  emerged  from  the 
abbey  portal,  and  bent  his  steps  towards  the  house  of  the  fair 
sisters.  Heaven  above  was  blue,  and  earth  beneath  was  green; 


80 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


the  river  glistened  like  a  path  of  diamonds  in  the  sun,  the  birds 
poured  forth  their  songs  from  the  shady  trees,  the  lark  soared 
high  above  the  waving  corn,  and  the  deep  buzz  of  insects  filled 
the  air.  Every  thing  looked  gay  and  smiling ;  but  the  holy 
man  walked  gloomily  on,  with  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground. 
The  beauty  of  the  earth  is  but  a  breath,  and  man  is  but  a 
shadow.  What  sympathy  should  a  holy  preacher  have  with 
either  ? 

“  With  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground,  then,  or  only  raised  enough 
to  prevent  his  stumbling  over  such  obstacles  as  lay  in  his  way, 
the  religious  man  moved  slowly  forward  Until  he  reached  a 
small  postern  in  the  wall  of  the  sisters’  orchard,  through  which 
he  passed,  closing  it  behind  him.  The  noise  of  soft  voices  in 
conversation  and  of  merry  laughter  fell  upon  his  ear  ere  he  had 
advanced  many  paces ;  and  raising  his  eyes  higher  than  was  his 
humble  wont,  he  descried,  at  no  great  distance,  the  five  sisters 
seated  on  the  grass,  with  Alice  in  the  centre,  all  busily  plying 
their  customary  task  of  embroidering. 

“  ‘  Save  you,  fair  daughters,’  said  the  friar ;  and  fair  in  truth 
they  were.  Even  a  monk  might  have  loved  them  as  choice 
master-pieces  of  his  Maker’s  hand. 

“The  sisters  saluted  the  holy  man  with  becoming  reverence, 
and  the  eldest  motioned  him  to  a  mossy  seat  beside  them.  But 
the  good  friar  shook  his  head,  and  bumped  himself  down  on  a 
very  hard  stone, — at  which,  no  doubt,  approving  angels  were 
gratified. 

“  ‘  Ye  were  merry,  daughters,’  said  the  monk. 

“‘You  know  how  light  of  heart  sweet  Alice  is,’  replied  the 
eldest  sister,  passing  her  fingers  through  the  tresses  of  the 
smiling  girl. 

“  ‘  And  what  joy  and  cheerfulness  it  wakes  up  within  us,  to 
see  all  nature  beaming  in  brightness  and  sunshine,  father,’  added 
Alice,  blushing  beneath  the  stern  look  of  the  recluse. 

“  The  monk  answered  not,  save  by  a  grave  inclination  of  the 
head,  and  the  sisters  pursued  their  task  in  silence. 

“  ‘  Still  wasting  the  precious  hours,’  said  the  monk  at  length, 
turning  to  the  eldest  sister  as  he  spoke,  ‘still  wasting  the 
precious  hours  on  this  vain  trifling.  Alas,  alas  1  that  the  few 
bubbles  on  the  surface  of  eternity — all  that  Heaven  wills  we 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.;  8l 

should  see  of  that  dark  deep  stream — should  be  so  lightly 
scattered !’ 

“‘Father,’  urged  the  maiden,  pausing,  as  did  each  of  the 
others,  iu  her  busy  task,  we  have  prayed  at  matins,  our  daily 
aims  have  been  distributed  at  the  gate,  the  sick  pousants  have 
been  tended, — all  our  morning  tasks  have  been  performed.  I 
hope  our  occupation  is  a  blameless  one  V  ) 

“  ‘  See  here,’  said  the  friar,  taking  the  frame  from  her  hand, 
‘an  intricate  winding  of  gaudy  colors  without  purpose  or  object, 
unless  it  be  that  one  day  it  is  destined  for  some  vain  ornament, 
to  minister  to  the  pride  of  your  frail  and  giddy  sex.  Day  after 
day  has  been  employed  upon  this  senseless  task,  and  yet  it  is  not 
half  accomplished.  The  shade  of  each  departed  day  falls  upon 
our  graves,  and  the  worm  exults  as  he  beholds  it,  to  know  that 
we  are  hastening  thither.  Daughters,  is  there  no  better  way  to 
pass  the  fleeting  hours  ?’ 

“  The  four  elder  sisters  cast  down  their  eyes  as  if  abashed  by 
the  holy  man’s  reproof,  but  Alice  raised  hers,  and  bent  them 
mildly  on  the  friar. 

“  ‘  Our  dear  mother,’  said  the  maiden ;  ‘  Heaven  rest  her 
soul.’ 

“  ‘Amen  !’  cried  the  friar  in  a  deep  voice. 

“‘Our  dear  mother,’  faltered  the  fair  Alice,  ‘was  living  when, 
these  long  tasks  began,  and  bade  us,  when  she  should  be  no 
more,  ply  them  in  all  discretion  and  cheerfulness  in  our  leisure' 
hours  :  she  said  that  if  in  harmless  mirth  and  maidenly  pursuits 
we  passed  those  hours  together,  they  would  prove  the  happiest! 
and  most  peaceful  of  our  lives,  and  that  if  in  later  times  we 
went  forth  into  the  world,  and  mingled  with  its  cares  and  trials 
—if,  allured  by  its  temptations  and  dazzled  by  its  glitter,  we 
ever  forgot  that  love  and  duty  which  should  bind  in  holy  ties 
the  children  of  one  loved  parent — a  glance  at  the  old  work  oF 
our  common  girlhood  would  awaken  good  thoughts  of  by-gone 
days,  and  soften  our  hearts  to  affection  and  love.’ 

“‘Alice  speaks  truly,  father,’  said  the  elder  sister,  somewhat 
proudly.  And  so  saying  she  resumed  her  work,  as  did  the 
others. 

“  It  was  a  kind  of  sampler  of  large  size,  that  each  sister  had 
before  her ;  the  device  was  of  a  complex  and  intricate  descripr,* 

.  6  . . . 


82 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


tion,  and  the  pattern  and  colors  of  all  five  were  the  same 
The  sisters  bent  gracefully  over  their  work,  and  the  monk 
resting  his  chin  upon  his  hands,  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in 
silence. 

“‘Ilowmuch  better,’ he  said  et  length,  ‘to  shun  all  such 
thoughts  and  chances,  and  in  the  peaceful  shelter  of  the  church 
devote  your  lives  to  Heaven  1  Infancy,  childhood,  the  prime 
of  life,  and  old  age,  wither  as  rapidly  as  they  crowd  upon  each 
other.  Think  how  human  dust  rolls  onward  to  the  tomb,  and 
turning  your  faces  steadily  towards  that  goal,  avoid  the  cloud 
which  takes  its  rise  among  the  pleasures  of  the  world  and  cheats 
the  senses  of  their  votaries.  The  vail,  daughters,  the  vail  1’ 

“  ‘Never,  sisters,’  cried  Alice.  ‘Barter  not  the  light  and  air 
of  heaven,  and  the  freshness  of  earth  and  ail  the  beautiful  things 
which  breathe  upon  it,  for  the  cold  cloister  and  the  cell.  Na¬ 
ture’s  own  blessings  are  the  proper  goods  of  life,  and  we  may 
share  them  sinlessly  together.  To  die  is  our  heavy  portion,  but, 
oh,  let  us  die  with  life  about  us ;  when  our  cold  hearts  cease  to 
beat,  let  warm  hearts  be  beating  near ;  let  our  last  look  be  upon 
the  bounds  which  God  has  set  to  his  own  bright  skies,  and  not 
on  stone  walls  and  bars  of  iron.  Dear  sisters,  let  us  live  and 
die,  if  you  list,  in  this  green  garden’s  compass ;  only  shun  the 
gloom  and  sadness  of  a  cloister,  and  we  shall  be  happy.’ 

“  The  tears  fell  fast  from  the  maiden’s  eyes  as  she  closed  her 
impassioned  appeal,  and  hid  her  face  in  the  bosom  of  her  sister. 

“  ‘  Take  comfort,  Alice,’  said  the  eldest,  kissing  her  fair  fore 
head.  ‘  The  vail  shall  never  cast  its  shadow  on  thy  young  brow 
How  say  you,  sisters?  For  yourselves  you  speak,  and  not  fo: 
Alice,  or  for  me.’ 

“  The  sisters,  as  with  one  accord,  cried  that  their  lot  was  cast 
together,  and  that  there  were  dwellings  for  peace  and  virtue 
beyond  the  convent’s  walls. 

“  ‘Father,’  said  the  eldest  lady,  rising  with  dignity,  ‘you  hear 
our  final  resolve.  The  same  pious  care  which  enriched  the 
abbey  of  Saint  Mary,  and  left  us,  orphans,  to  its  holy  guardian¬ 
ship,  directed  that  no  constraint  should  be  imposed  upon  our 
inclinations,  but  that  we  should  be  free  to  live  according  to  our 
choice.  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  this,  we  pray  you.  Sisters,  it 
is  nearly  noon.  Let  us  take  shelter  until  evening.’  With  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


83 


reverence  to  the  friar,  the  lady  rose  and  walked  towards  the 
house  hand  in  hand  with  Alice;  and  the  other  sisters  followed. 

“  The  holy  man,  who  had  often  urged  the  same  point  before, 
but  had  never  met  with  so  direct  a  repulse,  walked  some  little 
distance  behind,  with  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  earth,  and  his  lips 
moving  as  if  in  prayer.  As  the  sisters  reached  the  porch,  he 
quickened  his  pace  and  called  upon  them  to  stop. 

“  ‘  Stay,’  said  the  monk,  raising  his  right  hand  in  the  air,  and 
directing  an  angry  glance  by  turns  at  Alice  and  the  eldest  sister, 

‘  Stay,  and  hear  from  me  what  these  recollections  are,  which  you 
would  cherish  above  eternity,  and  avsmken — if  in  mercy  they 
slumbered — by  means  of  idle  toys.  The  memory  of  earthly 
things  is  charged  in  after  life  with  bitter  disappointment,  afflic¬ 
tion,  and  death  ;  with  dreary  change  and  wasting  sorrow.  The 
time  will  one  day  come  when  a  glance  at  those  unmeaning 
baubles  shall  tear  open  deep  wounds  in  the  hearts  of  some  among 
you,  and  strike  to  your  inmost  souls.  When  that  hour  arrives — 
and,  mark  me,  come  it  will — turn  from  the  world  to  which  you 
clung,  to  the  refuge  which  you  spurned.  Find  me  the  cell  which 
shall  be  colder  than  the  fire  of  mortals  grows  when  dimmed  by 
calamity  and  trial,  and  there  weep  for  the  dreams  of  youth. 
These  things  are  Heaven’s  will,  not  mine,’  said  the  friar,  sub¬ 
duing  his  voice  as  he  looked  round  upon  the  shrinking  girls. 
‘  The  Virgin’s  blessing  be  upon  you,  daughters  1’ 

“  With  these  words  he  disappeared  through  the  postern,  and 
the  sisters  hastening  into  the  house  were  seen  no  more  that  day. 

“  But  nature  will  smile  though  priests  may  frown,  and  next 
day  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  on  the  next,  and  the  next  again. 
And  in  the  morning’s  glare  and  the  evening’s  soft  repose,  the 
five  sisters  still  walked,  or  worked,  or  beguiled  the  time  by 
cheerful  conversation  in  their  quiet  orchard. 

“  Time  passed  away  as  a  tale  that  is  told ;  faster  indeed  than 
many  tales  that  are  told,  of  which  number  I  fear  this  may  be 
one.  The  house  of  the  five  sisters  stood  where  it  did,  and  the 
same  trees  cast  their  pleasant  shade  upon  the  orchard  grass. 
The  sisters  too  were  there,  and  lovely  as  at  first,  but  a  change 
hud  come  over  their  dwelling.  Sometimes  there  was  the  clash 
of  armor,  and  the  gleaming  of  the  moon  on  caps  of  steel,  and 
at  others  jaded  coursers  were  spurred  up  to  the  gate,  and  a 


84 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


female  form  glided  hurriedly  forth  as  if  eager  to  demand  tidings 
of  the  weary  messenger.  A  goodly  train  of  knights  and  ladie? 
lodged  one  night  within  the  abbey  walls,  and  next  day  rode 
away  with  two  of  the  fair  sisters  among  them.  Then  horsemen 
began  to  come  less  frequently,  and  seemed  to  bring  bad  tidings 
when  they  did,  and  at  length  they  ceased  to  come  at  all,  and 
foot-sore  peasants  slunk  to  the  gate  after  sunset  and  did  their 
errand  there  by  stealth.  Once  a  vassal  was  dispatched  in  haste 
to  the  abbey  at  dead  of  night,  and  when  morning  came  there 
were  sounds  of  woe  and  wailing  in  the  sisters’  house ;  and  after 
this  a  mournful  silence  fell  upon  it,  and  knight  or  lady,  horse  or 
armor,  was  seen  about  it  no  more. 

“  There  was  a  sullen  darkness  in  the  sky,  and  the  sun  had 
gone  angrily  down,  tinting  the  dull  clouds  with  the  last  traces 
of  his  wrath,  when  the  same  black  monk  walked  slowly  on  with 
folded  arms,  within  a  stone’s-throw  of  the  abbey.  A  blight 
had  fallen  on  the  trees  and  shrubs ;  and  the  wind  at  length  be¬ 
ginning  to  break  the  unnatural  stillness  that  had  prevailed  all 
day,  sighed  heavily  from  time  to  time,  as  though  foretelling  in  ' 
grief  the  ravages  of  the  coming  storm.  The  bat  skimmed  in' 
fantastic  flights  through  the  heavy  air,  and  the  ground  was  alive 
with  crawling  things,  whose  instinct  brought  them  forth  to  swell 
and  fatten  in  the  rain. 

“No  longer  were  the  friar’s  eyes  directed  to  the  earth  ;  they 
were  cast  abroad,  and  roamed  from  point  to  point,  as  if  the 
gloom  and  desolation  of  the  scene  found  a  quick  response  in  his 
own  bosom.  Again  he  paused  near  the  sisters’  house,  and  again 
he  entered  by  the  postern. 

“  But  not  again  did  his  ear  encounter  the  sound  of  laughter, 
or  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  beautiful  figures  of  the  five  sisters.  All 
was  silent  and  deserted.  The  boughs  of  the  trees  were  bent 
and  broken,  and  the  grass  had  grown  long  and  rank.  No  light 
feet  had  pressed  it  for  many,  many  a  day. 

“  With  the  indifference  or  abstraction  of  one  w'ell  accustom¬ 
ed  to  the  change,  the  monk  glided  into  the  house,  and  entered 
a  low,  dark  room.  Four  sisters  sat  there.  Their  black  gar¬ 
ments  made  their  pale  faces  whiter  still,  and  time  and  sor¬ 
row  had  worked  deep  ravages.  They  were  stately  yet ;  but 
the  flush  and  pride,  of  beauty,  were-gone*^  • . 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY: 


85 


.  “And  Alice — where  was  she  ?  In  heaven, 

“The  monk — even  the  monk — could  bear  with  some  grief 
here ;  for  it  was  long  since  these  sisters  had  met,  and  there 
were  furrows  in  their  blanched  faces  which  years  could  never 
plow.  He  took  his  seat  in  silence,  and  motioned  them  to 
continue  their  speech. 

“  ‘  They  are  here,  sisters,’  said  the  elder  lady  in  a  trembling 
voice.  ‘I  have  never  borne  to  look  upon  them  since,  and 
now  I  blame  myself  for  my  weakness.  What  is  there  in  her 
memory  that  we  should  dread  ?  To  call  up  our  old  days  shall 
be  a  solemn  pleasure  yet.’ 

“  She  glanced  at  the  monk  as  she  spoke,  and,  opening  a 
cabinet,  brought  forth  the  five  frames  of  work,  completed  long 
before.  Her  step  was  firm,  but  her  hand  trembled  as  she 
produced  the  last  one ;  and  when  the  feelings  of  the  other 
sisters  gushed  forth  at  sight  of  it,  her  pent-up  tears  made  way, 
and  she  sobbed  ‘God  bless  her!’ 

“The  monk  rose  and  advanced  towards  them.  ‘It  was 
almost  the  last  thing  she  touched  in  health,’  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

“  ‘  It  was,’  cried  the  elder  lady,  weeping  bitterly. 

“  The  monk  turned  to  the  second  sister. 

“‘The  gallant  youth  who  looked  into  thine  eyes,  and  hung 
upon  thy  very  breath  when  first  he  saw  thee  intent  upon  this 
pastime,  lies  buried  on  a  plain  whereof  the  turf  is  red  with 
blood.  Rusty  fragments  of  armor  once  brightly  burnished,  lie 
rotting  on  the  ground,  and  are  as  little  distinguishable  for  his, 
as  are  the  bones  that  crumble  in  the  mould  1’ 

“  The  lady  groaned  and  wrung  her  hands. 

“‘The  policy  of  courts,’ he  continued,  turning  to  the  two 
other  sisters,  ‘drew  ye  from  your  peaceful  home  to  scenes  of 
revelry  and  splendor.  The  same  policy,  and  the  restless  ambiy 
tion  of  proud  and  fiery  men,  have  sent  ye  back,  widowed 
maidens,  and  humbled  outcasts.  Do  I  speak  truly  ?’ 

“  The  sobs  of  the  two  sisters  were  their  only  reply. 

“  ‘There  is  little  need,’  said  the  monk,  with  a  meaning  look, 
‘to  fritter  away  the  time  in  gewgaws  which  shall  raise  up  the 
pale  ghosts  of  hopes  of  early  years.  Bury  them,  heap  penance 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Bd 

and  mortification  on  their  heads,  keep  them  down,  and  let  th 
convent  be  their  grave  I’ 

“  Tlie  sisters  asked  for  three  days  to  deliberate,  and  felt  that 
night  as  though  the  vail  were  indeed  the  fitting  shroud  for  their 
dead  joys.  But  morning  came  again,  and  though  the  boughs 
of  the  orchard  trees  drooped  and  ran  wild  upon  the  ground,  it 
was  the  same  orchard  still.  The  grass  was  coarse  and  high, 
but  there  was  yet  the  spot  on  which  they  had  so  often  sat 
together  when  change  and  sorrow  were  but  names.  There  was 
every  walk  and  nook  which  Alice  had  made  glad,  and  in  the 
minster  nave  was  one  flat  stone  beneath  which  she  slept  in 
peace. 

“  And  could  they,  remembering  how  her  young  heart  had 
sickened  at  the  thought  of  cloistered  walls,  look  upon  her  grave 
in  garbs  which  would  chill  the  very  ashes  within  it  ?  Could 
they  bow  down  in  prayer,  and  when  all  Heaven  turned  to  hear 
them,  bring  the  dark  shade  of  sadness  on  one  angePs  face?  No. 

“  They  sent  abroad  to  artists  of  great  celebrity  in  those  times, 
and  having  obtained  the  church’s  sanction  to  their  work  of  piety, 
caused  to  be  executed  in  five  large  compartments  of  richly- 
stained  glass  a  faithful  copy  of  their  old  embroidery  work.  These 
were  fitted  into  a  large  window  until  that  time  bare  of  orna¬ 
ment,  and  when  the  sun  shone  brightly,  as  she  had  so  s\"ell  loved 
to  see  it,  the  familiar  patterns  were  reflected  in  their  original 
colors,  and  throwing  a  stream  of  brilliant  light  upon  the  pave¬ 
ment,  fell  warmly  on  the  name  of  'Alice. 

,  “  For  many  hours  in  every  day  the  sisters  paced  slowly  up 
and  down  the  nave,  or  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  flat  broad  stone. 
Only  three  were  seen  in  the  customary  place  after  many  years, 
then  but  two,  and  for  a  long  time  afterwards,  but  one  solitary 
female,  bent  with  age.  At  length  she  came  no  more,  and  the 
stone  bore  five  plain  Christian  names. 

“That  stone  has  worn  ijway  and  been  replaced  by  others, 
and  many  generations  have  come  and  gone  since  then.  Time 
has  softened  down  the  colors,  but  the  same  stream  of  light  still 
falls  upon  the  forgotten  tomb,  of  which  no  trace  remains;  and 
to  this  day  the  stranger  is  shown  in  York  cathedral  an  old 
window  called  The  Five  Sisters.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


87 


“  That’s  a  melancholy  tale,”  said  the  merry-faced  gentleman, 
emptying  his  glass. 

“It  is  a  tale  of  life,  and  life  is  made  up  of  such  sorrows,” 
returned  the  other,  courteously,  but  in  a  grave  and  sad  tone  of 
voice. 

“  There  are  shades  in  all  good  pictures,  but  there  are  lights 
too,  if  we  choose  to  contemplate  them,”  said  the  gentleman 
with  the  merry  face.  “  The  youngest  sister  in  your  tale  was 
always  light-hearted.” 

“  And  died  early,”  said  the  other,  gently. 

“  She  would  have  died  earlier,  perhaps,  had  she  been  less 
happy,”  said  the  first  speaker,  with  much  feeling.  “  Do  you 
think  the  sisters  who  loved  her  so  well,  would  have  grieved  the 
less  if  her  life  had  been  one  of  gloom  and  sadness?  If  any  thing 
could  soothe  the  first  sharp  pain  of  a  heavy  loss,  it  would  be — • 
with  me — the  reflection,  that  those  I  mourned,  by  being  inno¬ 
cently  happy  here,  and  loving  all  about  them,  had  prepared 
themselves  for  a  purer  and  happier  world.  The  sun  does  not 
shine  upon  this  fair  earth  to  meet  frowning  eyes,  depend  upon  it.” 

“  I  believe  you  are  right,”  said  the  gentleman  who  had  told 
the  story. 

“  Believe  I”  retorted  the  other,  “  can  any  body  doubt  it  ?  Take' 
any  subject  of  sorrowful  regret,  and  sec  with  how  much  of 
pleasure  it  is  associated.  The  recollection  of  past  pleasure  may 
become  pain - ” 

“  It  does,”  interposed  the  other. 

“AVell ;  it  does.  To  remember  happiness  which  cannot  be 
restored  is  pain,  but  of  a  softened  kind.  Our  recollections  are 
unfortunately  mingled  with  much  that  we  deplore,  and  with  many 
actions  which  we  bitterly  repent ;  still  in  the  most  checkered 
life  I  firmly  think  there  are  so  many  little  rays  of  sunshine  to 
look  back  upon,  that  I  do  not  believe  any  mortal  (unless  he  had 
put  himself  without  the  pale  of  hope)  would  deliberately  drain 
a  goblet  of  the  waters  of  Lethe,  if  he  had  it  in  his  power.  ” 

“  Possibly  you  are  correct  in  that  belief,”  said  the  grey-haired 
gentleman,  after  a  short  reflection.  “  I  am  inclined  to  think  you 
are.” 

“Why,  then,”  replied  the  other,  “the  good  in  tin's  state  of 
existence  preponderates  over  the  bad,  let  miscalled  philosophers 


'68 


NrCHOLAS  NrCKLEBT. 


jtell  us  wliat  they  will.  If  our  affections  be  tried,  our  affectionE 
are  our  consolation  and  comfort ;  and  memory,  however  sad, 
is  the  best  and  purest  link  between  this  world  and  a  better. 

“But  come;  I’ll  tell  you  a  story  of  another  kind.” 

After  a  very  brief  silence  the  merry-faced  gentleman  sent 
Tound  the  punch,  and  glancing  slyly  at  the  fastidious  lady,  who 
seemed  desperately  apprehensive  that  he  was  going  to  relate 
something  improper,  began 

THE  BARON  OF  GROGZWIG. 

'  “  The  Baron  V on  Koeldwethout,  of  Grogzwig,  in  Germany, 
was  as  likely  a  young  baron  as  you  would  wish  to  see.  I  needn’t 
say  that  he  lived  in  a  castle,  because  that’s  of  course ;  neither 
need  I  say  that  he  lived  in  an  old  castle,  for  what  German  baron 
ever  lived  in  a  new  one  ?  There  were  many  strange  circum¬ 
stances  connected  with  this  venerable  building,  among  which  not 
Ahe  least  startling  and  mysterious  were,  that  when  the  wind  blew, 
it  rumbled  in  the  chimneys,  or  even  howled  among  the  trees  in 
the  neighboring  forest ;  and  that  when  the  moon  shone,  she 
found  her  way  through  certain  small  loopholes  in  the  wall,  and 
actually  made  some  parts  of  the  wide  halls  and  galleries  quite 
light,  while  she  left  others  in  gloomy  shadow.  I  believe 
that  one  of  the  baron’s  ancestors,  being  short  of  money,  had 
inserted  a  dagger  in  a  gentleman  who  called  one  night  to  ask 
his  way,  and  it  was  supposed  that  these  miraculous  occurrences 
took  place  in  consequence.  And  yet  I  hardly  know  how  that 
could  have  been,  either,  because  the  baron’s  ancestor,  who  was 
an  amiable  man,  felt  very  sorry  afterwards  for  having  been  so 
rash,  and  laying  violent  hands  upon  a  quantity  of  stone  and 
timber  which  belonged  to  a  weaker  baron,  built  a  chapel  as 
an  apology,  and  so  took  a  receipt  from  Heaven  in  full  of  all 
demands. 

“Talking  of  the  baron’s  ancestor  puts  me  in  mind  of  the 
baron’s  great  claims  to  respect  on  the  score  of  his  pedigree.  I 
am  afraid  to  say,  I  am  sure,  how  many  ancestors  the  baron  had  ; 
but  I  know  that  he  had  a  great  many  more  than  any  other  man  of 
his  time,  and  I  only  wish  that  he  had  lived  in  these  latter  days 
that  he  might  have  had  more.  It  is  a  very  hard  thing  upon  the 
great  men  of  past  centuries,  that  they  should  have  ccmie  into 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


89 


tbe  world  so  soon,  because  a  man  who  was  bom  three  or  four 
hundred  years  ago,  cannot  reasonably  be  expected  to  have  had 
as  many  relations  before  him  as  a  man  who  is  born  now.  The 
last  man,  whoever  he  is — and  he  may  be  a  cobbler  or  some  low 
vulgar  dog  for  aught  we  know — will  have  a  longer  pedigree 
than  the  greatest  nobleman  now  alive :  and  I  contend  that  this 
is  not  fair. 

“Well,  but  the  Baron  Yon  Koeldwethout,  of  Grogzwig — he 
was  a  fine  swarthy  fellow,  with  dark  hair  and  large  mustaches, 
who  rode  a-hunting  in  clothes  of  Lincoln  green,  with  russet  boots 
on  his  feet,  and  a  bugle  slung  over  his  shoulder  like  the  guard 
of  a  long  stage.  When  he  blew  this  bugle,  four-and-twenty 
other  gentlemen  of  inferior  rank,  in  Lincoln  green  a  little 
coarser,  and  russet  boots  with  a  little  thicker  soles,  turned  out 
directly,  and  away  galloped  the  whole  train,  with  spears  in  their 
hands  like  lackered  area  railings,  to  hunt  down  the  boars,  or 
perhaps  encounter  a  bear,  in  which  latter  case  the  baron  killed 
him  first  and  greased  his  whiskers  with  him  afterwards. 

“  This  was  a  merry  life  for  the  Baron  of  Grogzwig,  and  a 
merrier  still  for  the  baron’s  retainers,  who  drank  Rhine  wine 
every  night  till  they  fell  under  the  table,  and  then  had  the  bot¬ 
tles  on  the  floor,  and  called  for  pipes.  Never  were  such  jolly, 
roystering,  rollicking,  merry-making  blades,  as  the  jovial  crew 
of  Grogzwig. 

“  But  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  or  the  pleasures  of  under  the 
table,  require  a  little  variety ;  especially  when  the  same  five- 
aud-tweuty  people  sit  daily  down  to  the  same  board,  to  discuss 
the  same  subjects,  and  tell  the  same  stories.  The  baron  grew 
weary,  and  wanted  excitement.  lie  took  to  quarreling  with  his 
gentlemen,  and  tried  kicking  two  or  three  of  them  every  day 
after  dinner.  This  was  a  pleasant  change  at  first ;  but  it  became 
monotonous  after  a  week  or  so,  and  the  baron  fell  quite  out  of 
sorts,  and  cast  about  in  despair  for  some  new  amusement. 

“  One  night,  after  a  day’s  sport  in  which  he  had  outdone 
Nimrod  or  Gillingwatcr,  and  slaughtered  ‘  another  fine  bear’  and 
lirought  him  home  in  triumph,  the  Baron  Von  Koeldwethout  sat 
moodily  at  the  head  of  his  table,  eying  the  smoky  roof  of  the 
hall  with  a  discontented  aspect.  He  swallowed  huge  bumpers 
of  wine,  but  the  more  he  swallowed,  the  more  he  frowned :  the 


90 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


gentlemen  who  liarl  been  honored  with  the  dangerous  distinction 
of  sittiim  on  liis  riijht  and  left,  imitated  him  to  a  miracle  in  the 
drinking,  and  frowned  at  each  other. 

‘  I  will !’  cried  the  baron  suddenly,  smiting  the  table  with 
liis  ri<rht  hand,  and  twirlins  his  mustache  with  his  left.  ‘Fill 
to  the  lady  of  Grogzwig.’ 

‘‘  Tlie  four-aiul-tvveniy  Lincoln  greens  turned  pale,  with  the 
exception  of  their  four-and-twenty  noses,  which  were  uncliauge- 
able. 

“‘I  said  to  the  Lady  of  Grogzwig,’  repeated  the  baron,  look¬ 
ing  round  the  board. 

‘‘  ‘  To  the  Lady  of  Grogzwig !’  shouted  the  Lincoln  greens ; 
and  down  their  four-and-twenty  throats  went  four-and-twenty 
imperial  pints  of  such  rare  old  hock,  that  they  smacked  their 
eight-and-forly  lips,  and  winked  again. 

“‘The  fair  daughter  of  the  Baron  Yon  Svvillenhausen,’  said 
Koeldwetliout,  condescending  to  explain.  ‘We  will  demand 
her  in  marriage  of  her  father,  ere  the  sun  goes  down  to-morrow. 
If  he  refuse  our  suit,  we  will  cut  off  his  nose,’ 

“A  hoarse  murmur  arose  from  the  company,  and  every  man 
touched,  first  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  then  the  tip  of  his  nose, 
with  appalling  significance. 

“  What  a  pleasant  thing  filial  piety  is  to  contemplate  I  If  the 
daughter  of  the  Baron  Von  Swillenhausen  had  pleaded  a  pre¬ 
occupied  heart,  or  fallen  at  her  father’s  feet  and  corned  them  in 
tears,  or  only  fainted  away,  and  complimented  the  old  gentleman 
in  frantic  ejaculations,  the  odds  ai’e  a  hundred  to  one,  but  Swil¬ 
lenhausen  castle  would  have  been  turned  out  at  window,  or 
rather  the  baron  turned  out  at  window,  and  the  castle  demolished. 
The  damsel  held  her  peace  however  when  an  early  messenger 
bore  the  request  of  Yon  Koeldwetliout  next  morning,  and  mo¬ 
destly  retired  to  her  chamber,  from  the  casement  of  which  she 
watched  the  coming  of  the  suitor  and  his  retinue.  She  was  no 
sooner  assured  that  the  horseman  with  the  large  mustaches 
was  her  proflered  husband,  than  she  hastened  to  her  father’s 
presence,  and  expressed  her  readiness  to  sacrifice  herself  to  secure 
his  peace.  The  venerable  baron  caught  his  child  to  his  arms, 
and  shed  a  wink  of  joy. 

“  There  was  great  feasting  at  the  castle  that  day.  The  four* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


91 


and-twenty  Lincoln  greens  of  Von  Koeldwethout  exchanged 
rows  of  eternal  friendship  with  twelve  Lincoln  greens  of  Von 
Svvillenhausen,  and  promised  the  old  baron  that  they  would 
drink  his  wine  ‘Till  all  was  bine’ — meaning  probably  until 
their  whole  countenances  had  acquired  the  same  tint  as  their 
noses.  Every  body  slapped  every  body  else’s  back  when  tho 
time  for  parting  came;  and  the  Baron  Von  Koeldwethout  aud 
his  followers  rode  gayly  home. 

“  For  six  mortal  Aveeks  the  bears  and  boars  had  a  holiday. 
The  houses  of  Koeldwethout  and  Swillenhausen  were  united ; 
the  spears  rusted,  aud  the  baron’s  bugle  grew  hoarse  for  lack  of 
blowing. 

“  These  were  great  times  for  the  four-and-twenty  ;  but  alas  ! 
their  high  and  palmy  days  had  taken  boots  to  themselves,  and 
were  already  walking  off. 

“  ‘  My  dear,’  said  the  baroness. 

“  ‘  My  love,’  said  the  baron. 

“  ‘  Those  coarse,  noisy  men — ’ 

“  ‘  Which,  Ma’am  V  said  the  baron  starting. 

“The  baroness  pointed  from  the  window  at  which  they  stood, 
to  the  court-yard  beneath,  where  the  unconscious  Lincoln  greens 
were  taking  a  copious  stirrup-cup  preparatory  to  issuing  forth 
after  a  boar  or  tw  o. 

My  hunting  train.  Ma’am,’  said  the  baron. 

“‘Disband  them,  love,’  murmured  the  baroness. 

“‘Disband  them  I’  cried  the  baron,  in  amazement. 

“‘To  please  me,  love,’  replied  the  baroness. 

“‘To  please  the  devil.  Ma’am,’  answered  the  baron. 

“Whereupon  the  baroness  uttered  a  great  cry,  and  swooned 
away  at  the  baron’s  feet. 

“  Wh  at  could  the  baron  do  ?  He  called  for  the  lady’s  maid, 
and  roared  for  the  doctor ;  and  then  rushing  into  the  yard, 
ki(!ked  the  two  Lincoln  greens  who  were  the  most  used  to  it, 

and  cursing  the  others  all  round,  bade  them  go  to - but  never 

mind  where.  I  don’t  know  the  German  for  it,  or  I  Avould  put 
it  delicately  that  way. 

“It  is  not  for  me  to  say  by  Avhat  means  or  by  what  degrees, 
some  wives  manage  to  keep  down  some  husbands  as  they  do, 
although  I  may  have  my  private  opinion  on  the  subject,  and 


92 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


may  think  that  no  Member  of  Parliament  ought  to  be  married, 
inasmuch  as  three  married  members  out  of  every  four,  must  vote 
according  to  their  wives’  consciences  (if  there  be  such  things), 
and  n-ot  according  to  their  own.  All  I  need  say  just  now  is, 
that  the  Baroness  Von  Koeldwethout  somehow  or  other  ac¬ 
quired  great  control  over  the  Baron  Von  Koeldwethout,  and 
that  little  by  little,  and  bit  by  bit,  and  day  by  day,  and  year  by 
year,  the  baron  got  the  worst  of  some  disputed  question,  or  was 
slyly  unhorsed  from  some  old  hobby ;  and  that  by  the  time  he 
was  a  fat  hearty  fellow  of  forty-eight  or  thereabouts,  he  had  no 
feasting,  no  revelry,  no  hunting  train,  and  no  hunting — nothing, 
in  short,  that  he  liked,  or  used  to  have ;  and  that,  although  he 
was  as  fierce  as  a  lion  and  as  bold  as  brass,  he  was  decidedly 
snubbed  and  put  down  by  his  own  lady,  in  his  own  castle  of 
Grogzwig. 

“Nor  was  this  the  whole  extent  of  the  baron’s  misfortunes. 
About  a  year  after  his  nuptials  there  came  into  the  world  a  lusty 
young  baron,  in  whose  honor  a  great  many  fireworks  were  let 
off,  and  a  great  many  dozens  of  wine  drunk ;  but  next  year  there 
came  a  young  baroness,  and  next  year  another  young  baron, 
and  so  on  every  year  either  a  baron  or  baroness  (and  one  year 
both  together),  until  the  baron  found  himself  the  father  of  a 
small  family  of  twelve.  Upon  every  one  of  these  anniversaries 
the  venerable  Baroness  Von  Swillenhausen  was  nervously  sensi¬ 
tive  for  the  well-being  of  her  child  the  Baroness  Von  Koeld¬ 
wethout,  and  although  it  was  not  found  that  the  good  lady  ever 
did  any  thing  material  towards  contributing  to  her  child’s  re¬ 
covery,  still  she  made  it  a  point  of  duty  to  be  as  nervous  as 
possible  at  the  castle  of  Grogzwig,  and  to  divide  her  time  be¬ 
tween  moral  observations  on  the  baron’s  housekeeping,  and 
bewailing  the  hard  lot  of  her  unhappy  daughter.  And  if  the 
Baron  of  Grogzwig,  a  little  hurt  and  irritated  at  this,  took 
heart  and  ventured  to  suggest  that  his  wife  was  at  least  no  worse 
off  than  the  wives  of  other  barons,  the  Baroness  Von  Swillen¬ 
hausen  begged  all  persons  to  take  notice,  that  nobody  but  she 
sympathized  with  her  dear  daughter’s  sufferings  ;  upon  which 
her  relations  and  friends  remarked,  that  to  be  sure  she  did  cry  a 
great  deal  more  than  her  son-in-law,  and  that  if  there  was  a  hard¬ 
hearted  brute  alive,  it  was  that  Baron  of  Grogzwig. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


98 


“  The  poor  baron  bore  it  all  as  long  as  he  could,  and  when 
he  could  bear  it  no  longer  lost  his  appetite  and  his  spirits,  and 
sat  himself  gloomily  and  dejectedly  down.  But  there  were  worse 
troubles  yet  in  store  for  him,  and  as  they  came  on,  his  melan¬ 
choly  and  sadness  increased.  Times  changed.  He  got  into 
debt.  The  Grogzwig  coffers  ran  low,  though  the  Swillenhausen 
family  had  looked  upon  them  as  inexhaustible,  and  just  when 
the  baroness  was  on  the  point  of  making  a  thirteenth  addition  to 
the  family  pedigree.  Von  Koeldwethout  discovered  that  he  had 
no  means  of  replenishing  them. 

“  ‘1  don’t  see  what  is  to  be  done,’  said  the  baron.  ‘I  think 
I’ll  kill  myself.’ 

“  This  was  a  bright  idea.  The  baron  took  an  old  hunting- 
knife  from  a  cupboard  hard  by,  and  having  sharpened  it  on  his 
boot,  made  what  boys  call  ‘  an  offer’  at  his  throat. 

“  ‘Hem  !’  said  the  baron,  stopping  short.  ‘Perhaps  it’s  not 
sharp  enough.’ 

“  The  baron  sharpened  it  again,  and  made  another  offer,  when 
his  hand  was  arrested  by  a  loud  screaming  among  the  young 
barons  and  baronesses,  who  had  a  nursery  in  an  up-stairs  tower 
with  iron  bars  outside  the  window,  to  prevent  their  tumbling 
out  into  the  moat. 

“‘If  I  had  been  a  bachelor,’  said  the  baron,  sighing,  ‘I 
might  have  done  it  fifty  times  over,  without  being  interrupted. 
Halloo.  Put  a  flask  of  wine  and  the  largest  pipe  in  the  little 
vaulted  room  behind  the  hall.’ 

“  One  of  the  domestics  in  a  very  kind  manner  executed  the 
baron’s  order  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  Von 
Koeldwethout  being  apprized  thereof,  strode  to  the  vaulted 
room,  the  walls  of  which  being  of  dark  shining  wood  gleamed 
in  the  light  of  the  blazing  logs  which  were  piled  upon  the 
hearth.  The  bottle  and  pipe  were  ready,  and  upon  the  whole 
the  place  looked  very  comfortable. 

“  ‘  Leave  the  lamp,’  said  the  baron. 

“  ‘Any  thing  else,  my  lord  ?’  inquired  the  domestic. 

“  ‘The  room,’  replied  the  baron.  The  domestic  obeyed,  and 
the  baron  locked  the  door. 

“  ‘I’ll  smoke  a  last  pipe,’  said  the  baron,  ‘and  then  I’ll  be  off.’ 
So,  putting  the  knife  upon  the  table  till  he  wanted  it,  and  toss- 


94 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ing  off  a  goodly  measure  of  wine,  the  Lord  of  Grogzwig  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  stretched  his  legs  out  before  the  fire, 
uud  puffed  away. 

“  lie  thought  about  a  great  many  things — about  his  present 
troubles  and  past  days  of  bachelorship,  and  about  the  Lincoln 
greens  long  since  dispersed  up  and  down  the  country  no  one 
knew  whiiher,  with  the  exception  of  two  who  had  been  unfor¬ 
tunately  beheaded,  and  four  who  had  killed  themselves  with 
drinking.  Ilis  mind  was  running  upon  bears  and  boars,  when 
in  the  process  of  draining  his  glass  to  the  bottom  he  raised  his 
eyes,  and  saw  for  the  first  time,  and  with  unbounded  astonish¬ 
ment,  that  he  was  not  alone. 

“  No,  he  was  not;  for  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire  there  sat 
with  folded  arms,  a  wrinkled,  hideous  figure,  with  deeply-sunk 
and  bloodshot  eyes,  and  an  immensely  long  cadaverous  face, 
shadowed  by  jagged  and  matted  locks  of  coarse  black  hair, 
lie  wore  a  kind  of  tunic  of  a  dull  bluish  color,  which  the  baron 
observed,  on  regarding  it  attentively,  was  clasped  or  ornamented 
down  the  front  with  coffin  handles.  Ills  legs  too,  were  eneased 
in  coffin  plates  as  though  in  armor,  and  over  his  left  shoulder 
he  wore  a  short,  dusky  cloak,  which  seemed  made  of  a  remnant 
of  some  pall,  lie  took  no  notice  of  the  baron,  but  was  intently 
eying  the  fire. 

‘“Halloo  I’  said  the  baron,  stamping  his  foot  to  attract  atten¬ 
tion. 

“  ‘  Halloo  I’  replied  the  stranger,  moving  his  eyes  towards  the 
baron,  but  not  his  face  or  himself.  ‘  What  now  V 

“  ‘  What  now  I’  replied  the  baron,  nothing  daunted  by  his  hol¬ 
low  voice  and  lustreless  eyes.  ‘  1  should  ask  that  question 
How  did  you  get  here 

“  ‘Through  the  door,’  replied  the  figure. 

“  ‘  What  are  you  ?’  says  the  baron. 

“  '  A  man,’  replied  the  figure. 

“  ‘  I  don’t  believe  it,’  says  the  baron. 

“  ‘  Disbelieve  it,  then,’  says  the  figure. 

“  ‘I  will,’  rejoined  the  baron. 

“The  figure  looked  at  the  bold  Baron  of  Grogzwig  for  some 
time,  and  then  said  familiarly, 

‘  There’s  no  coming  over  you,  I  see.  I’m  not  a  man  1’ 


NIC HULAS  NICKLEBY. 


96 


“  ‘  What  are  yon,  then  ?’  asked  the  baron. 

“  ‘  A  genius,’  replied  the  figure. 

'“You  don’t  look  much  like  one,’  returned  the  baron,  ecorn- 
fully. 

“  ‘  I  am  the  Genius  of  Despair  and  Suicide,’  said  the  appari¬ 
tion.  ‘  Now  you  know  me.’ 

“With  these  words  the  apparition  turned  towards  the  baron, 
as  if  composing  himself  for  a  talk — and  what  was  very  remark¬ 
able  was,  that  he  threw  his  cloak  aside,  and  displaying  a  stake 
which  was  run  through  the  centre  of  his  body,  pulled  it  out  with 
a  jerk,  and  laid  it  on  the  table  as  composedly  as  if  it  had  been 
his  walking-stick. 

“  ‘Now,’  said  the  figure,  glancing  at  the  hunting-knife,  ‘are 
you  ready  for  me  ?’ 

“  ‘  Not  quite,’  rejoined  the  baron ;  ‘  I  must  finish  this  pipe 
first’ 

“  ‘  Look  sharp,  then,’  said  the  figure. 

“  ‘  You  seem  in  a  hurry,’  said  the  baron. 

“‘Why,  yes,  I  am,’  answered  the  figure;  ‘they’re  doing  a 
pretty  brisk  business  in  my  way  over  in  England  and  France 
just  now,  and  my  time  is  a  good  deal  taken  up.’ 

“  ‘  Do  you  drink  ?’  said  the  baron,  touching  the  bottle  with  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe. 

“  ‘  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  and  then  very  hard,’  rejoined  the 
figure,  dryly. 

“  ‘  Never  in  moderation  ?’  asked  the  baron. 

“‘Never,’  replied  the  figure,  with  a  shudder;  ‘that  breeds 
cheerfulne.ss.’ 

“  The  baron  took  another  look  at  his  new  friend,  whom  he 
thought  an  uncommonly  queer  customer,  and  at  length  inquired 
whether  he  took  any  active  part  in  such  little  proceedings  as  that 
which  he  had  in  contemplation. 

“‘No,’  replied  the  figure,  evasively;  ‘but  I  am  always 
present.’ 

“‘Just  to  see  fair,  I  suppose,’  said  the  baron. 

“‘Just  that,’  replied  the  figure,  playing  with  his  stake,  and 
examining  the  ferrule.  ‘  De  as  quick  as  you  can,  will  you,  for 
there’s  a  young  gentleman  who  is  afflicted  with  too  much  money 
and  leisure  wanting  me  now,  I  find.’ 


96 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“‘Goiug  to  kill  himself  because  he  has  too  much  money  I’ 
exclaimed  the  baron,  quite  tickled.  ‘  Ha  I  ha  I  that’s  a  good 
one.’  (This  was  the  first  time  the  baron  had  laughed  for  many 
a  long  day.) 

“  ‘  I  say,’  expostulated  the  figure,  looking  very  much  scared  • 
don’t  do  that  again.’ 

“  ‘  Why  not  ?”  demanded  the  baron. 

“  ‘  Because  it  gives  me  a  pain  all  over,’  replied  the  figure. 
Sigh  as  much  as  you  please ;  that  does  me  good.’ 

“  The  baron  sighed  mechanically  at  the  mention  of  the  word, 
and  the  figure  brightening  up  again,  handed  him  the  hunting- 
knife  with  most  winning  politeness. 

“  ‘  It’s  not  a  bad  idea  though,’  said  the  baron,  feeling  the 
edge  of  the  weapon  ;  ‘  a  man  killing  himself  because^  he  has  too 
much  money.’ 

“  ‘  Pooh  !”  said  the  apparition,  petulantly,  ‘no  better  than  a 
man’s  killing  himself  because  he  has  got  none  or  little.’ 

“  Whether  the  genius  unintentionally  committed  himself  in 
saying  this,  or  whether  he  thought  the  baron’s  mind  was  so 
thoroughly  made  up  that  it  didn’t  matter  what  he  said,  I  have 
no  means  of  knowing.  I  only  know  that  the  baron  stopped  his 
hand  all  of  a  sudden,  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  looked  as  if 
quite  a  new  light  had  come  upon  him  for  the  first  time. 

“  ‘  Why,  certainly,’  said  Von  Koeldwethout,  ‘  nothing  is  too 
bad  to  be  retrieved.’ 

“  ‘  Except  empty  cofi’ers,’  cried  the  genius. 

“‘Well;  but  they  may  be  one  day  filled  again,’  said  the 
baron. 

“  ‘  Scolding  wives,’  snarled  the  genius. 

“  ‘  Oh  !  They  may  be  made  quiet,’  said  the  baron. 

“  ‘  Thirteen  children,’  shouted  the  genius. 

“  ‘  Can’t  all  go  wrong,  surely,’  said  the  baron. 

“  The  genius  was  evidently  growing  very  savage  with  the 
baron  for  holding  these  opinions  all  at  once,  but  he  tried  to 
laugh  it  off,  and  said  if  he  would  let  him  know  when  he  had 
left  off  joking  he  should  feel  obliged  to  him, 

“‘But  I  am  not  joking;  I  was  never  farther  from  it,’  re¬ 
monstrated  the  baron. 

“  ‘  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,’  said  the  genius,  looking 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


97 


vcrj’  grim,  ‘  because  a  joke,  without  any  figure  of  speech,  is  the 
death  of  me.  Come.  Quit  this  dreary  world  at  once.’ 

“‘I  don’t  know,’  said  the  baron,  playing  with  the  knife; 
‘  it’s  a  dreary  one  certainly,  but  I  don’t  think  yours  is  much  bet¬ 
ter,  for  you  have  not  the  appearance  of  being  particularly  com¬ 
fortable.  That  puts  me  in  mind — what  security  have  I  that  I 
shall  be  any  the  better  for  going  out  of  the  world  after  all  1’  he 
cried,  starting  up  ;  ‘I  never  thought  of  that.’ 

“  ‘  Dispatch,’  cried  the  figure,  gnashing  its  teeth. 

“  ‘Keep  off,’  said  the  baron.  ‘I’ll  brood  over  miseries  no 
longer,  but  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter,  and  try  the  fresh  air 
and  the  bears  again ;  and  if  that  don’t  do,  I’ll  talk  to  the 
"baroness  soundly,  and  cut  the  Yon  Swillenhausens  dead.’ 
With  this,  the  baron  fell  into  his  chair  and  laughed  so  loud  and 
boisterously,  that  the  room  rang  with  it. 

“  The  figure  fell  back  a  pace  or  two,  regarding  the  baron 
meanwhile  with  a  look  of  intense  terror,  and  when  he  had 
ceased,  caught  up  the  stake,  plunged  it  violently  into  its  body, 
uttered  a  frightful  howl,  and  disappeared. 

“Yon  Koeldwethout  never  saw  it  again.  Having  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  action,  he  soon  brought  the  baroness  and  the 
Yon  Swillenhausens  to  reason,  and  died  many  years  afterwards, 
not  a  rich  man  that  I  am  aware  of,  but  certainly  a  happy  one  : 
leaving  behind  him  a  numerous  family,  who  had  been  carefully 
educated  in  bear  and  boar-hunting  under  his  own  personal  eye. 
And  my  advice  to  all  men  is,  that  if  ever  they  become  hipped 
and  melancholy  from  similar  causes  (as  very  many  men  do), 
they  look  at  both  sides  of  the  question,  applying  a  magnifying 
glass  to  the  best  one ;  and  if  they  still  feel  tempted  to  retire 
without  leave,  that  they  smoke  a  large  pipe  and  drink  a  full 
bottle  first,  and  profit  by  the  laudable  example  of  the  Baron  of 
Grogzwig.” 


“  The  fresh  coach  is  ready,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  if  you 
please,”  said  a  new  driver,  looking  in. 

This  intelligence  caused  the  punch  to  be  finished  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  prevented  any  discussion  relative  to  the  last  story. 
Mr.  Squeers  was  observed  to  draw  the  grey-headed  gentle- 
7 


98 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


man  on  one  side  and  to  ask  a  question  with  great  apparent 
interest;  it  bore  reference  to  tlie  Five  Sisters  of  York,  and 
was  in  fact  an  inquiry  whether  he  could  inform  him  how  much 
per  annum  the  Yorkshire  convents  got  in  those  days  with  their 
boarders. 

The  journey  was  then  resumed.  Nicholas  fell  asleep  towards 
morning,  and  when  he  awoke  found,  with  great  regret,  that 
during  his  nap  both  the  Baron  of  Grogzwig  and  the  grey-haired 
gentleman  had  got  down  and  were  gone.  The  day  dragged 
on  uncomfortably  enough,  and  about  six  o’clock  that  night  he 
and  Mr.  Squeers,  and  the  little  boys,  and  their  united  luggage, 
were  all  put  down  together  at  the  George  and  Ne»  Inn,  Greta 
Bridge. 


CHAPTER  YII. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  SQUEERS  AT  HOME. 

Mr.  Squeers  being  safely  landed,  left  Nicholas  and  the  boys 
standing  with  the  luggage  in  the  road,  to  amuse  themselves  by 
looking  at  the  coach  as  it  changed  horses,  while  he  ran  into 
the  tavern  and  went  through  the  leg-stretching  process  at  the 
bar.  After  some  minutes  he  returned  with  his  legs  thoroughly 
stretched,  if  the  hue  of  his  nose  and  a  short  hiccup  afforded 
any  criterion,  and  at  the  same  time  there  came  out  of  the  yard 
a  rusty  pony-chaise  and  a.  cart,  driven  by  two  laboring  men. 

“  Put  the  boys  and  the  boxes  into  the  cart,”  said  Squeers, 
rubbing  his  hands ;  “  and  this  young  man  and  me  will  go  on  in 
the  chaise.  Get  in,  Nickleby.” 

Nicholas  obeyed,  and  Mr.  Squeers  with  some  difficulty 
inducing  the  pony  to  obev  also,  they  started  off,  leaving  the 
cart-load  of  infant  misery  to  follow  at  leisure. 

“  Are  you  cold,  Nickleby  ?”  inquired  Squeers,  after  they  had 
traveled  some  distance  in  silence. 

“Rather,  Sir,  I  mi>st  say.” 

“  Well,  I  don’t  find  fault  with  that,”  said  Squeers ;  “  it’s  a 
long  journey  this  weather.” 

“  Is  it  much  further  to  Dotheboys  Hall,  Sir  ?”  asked 
Nicholas. 

“  About  three  mile  from  here,”  replied  Squeers.  “But  yon 
needn’t  call  it  a  Hall  down  here.” 

Nicholas  coughed,  as  if  he  would  like  to  know  why. 

“  The  fact  is,  it  ain’t  a  Hall,”  observed  Squeers  dryly. 

“  Oh,  indeed  1”  said  Nicholas,  whom  this  piece  of  intelligence 
much  astonished. 

“No,”  replied  Squeers.  “We  call  it  a  Hall  up  in  London, 
because  it  sounds  better,  but  they  don’t  know  it  by  that  name 
n  these  parts.  A  man  may  call  his  house  an  island  if  he  likes; 
there’s  no  act  of  Parliament  against  that,  I  believe.” 

(99) 


100 


NICHOLA!:^  NiCKLEBY. 


"I  believe  not,  Sir,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

Squeers  eyed  his  companion  slyly  at  the  conclusion  of  this 
little  dialogue,  and  finding  that  he  had  grown  thoughtful  and 
appeared  in  nowise  disposed  to  volunteer  any  observations,  con¬ 
tented  himself  with  lashing  the  pony  until  they  reached  their 
journey’s  end. 

“Jump  out,”  said  Squeers.  Halloo  there!  come  and  but 
this  horse  up.  Be  quick,  will  you  ?” 

While  the  schoolmaster  was  uttering  these  and  other  im¬ 
patient  cries,  Nicholas  had  time  to  observe  that  the  school  was 
a  long  cold-looking  house,  one  story  high,  with  a  few  straggling 
outbuildings  behind,  and  a  barn  and  stable  adjoining.  After 
the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  two,  the  noise  of  somebody  unlocking 
the  yard  gate  was  heard,  and  presently  a  tall  lean  boy,  with  a 
lantern  in  his  hand,  issued  forth. 

“  Is  that  you,  Smike  ?”  cried  Squeers. 

“  Yes,  Sir,”  replied  the  boy. 

“  Then  why  the  devil  didn’t  you  come  before  ?” 

“  Please,  Sir,  I  fell  asleep  over  the  fire,”  answered  Smike, 
with  humility. 

•  “  Fire  !  what  fire  ?  Where’s  there  a  fire  ?”  demanded  the 
schoolmaster,  sharply. 

“  Only  in  the  kitchen.  Sir,”  replied  the  boy.  “  Missus  said 
as  I  was  sitting  up,  I  might  go  in  there,  for  a  warm.” 

“Your  missus  is  a  fool,”  retorted  Squeers.  “You’d  have 
been  a  deuced  deal  more  wakeful  in  the  cold.  I’ll  engage.” 

By  this  time  Mr.  Squeers  had  dismounted ;  and  after  order¬ 
ing  the  boy  to  see  to  the  pony,  and  to  take  care  that  he  hadn’t  any 
more  corn  that  night,  he  told  Nicholas  to  wait  at  the  front  door 
a  minute  while  he  went  round  and  let  him  in. 

A  host  of  unpleasant  misgivings,  which  had  been  crowding 
upon  Nicholas  during  the  whole  journey,  thronged  into  his  mind 
with  redoubled  force  when  he  was  left  alone.  His  great  dis¬ 
tance  from  home  and  the  impossibility  of  reaching  it,  except  on 
foot,  should  he  feel  ever  so  anxious  to  return,  presented  itself  to 
him  in  most  alarming  colors ;  and  as  he  looked  up  at  the  dreary 
house  and  dark  windows,  and  upon  the  wild  country  round 
covered  with  snow,  he  felt  a  depression  of  heart  and  spirit  which 
he  had  never  experienced  before. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


101 


“  Now  then,”  cried  Squeers,  poking  his  head  out  at  the  front 
door.  “  Where  are  you,  Nickleby  ?” 

“  Here,  Sir  ?”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Come  in  then,”  said  Squeers,  “  the  wind  blows  in  at  this 
door  fit  to  knock  a  man  olf  his  legs.” 

Nicholas  sighed  and  hurried  in.  Mr.  Squeers  having  bolted 
the  door  to  keep  it  shut,  ushered  him  into  a  small  parlor  scantily 
furnished  with  a  few  chairs,  a  yellow  map  hung  against  the 
wall,  and  a  couple  of  tables,  one  of  which  bore  some  prepara¬ 
tions  for  supper ;  while  on  the  other,  a  tutor’s  assistant,  a 
Murray’s  grammar,  half  a  dozen  cards  of  terms,  and  a  worn 
letter  directed  to  Wackford  Squeers,  Esquire,  were  arranged  iu 
picturesque  confusion. 

They  had  not  been  in  this  apartment  a  couple  of  minutes 
when  a  female  bounced  into  the  room,  and  seizing  Mr.  Squeers 
by  the  throat  gave  him  two  loud  kisses,  one  close  after  the 
other,  like  a  postman’s  knock.  The  lady,  who  was  of  a  large 
raw-boned  figure,  was  about  half  a  head  taller  than  Mr.  Squeers, 
and  was  dressed  in  a  dimity  night  jacket  with  her  hair  in  papers ; 
she  had  also  a  dirty  night-cap  on,  relieved  by  a  yellow  cotton 
handkerchief  which  tied  it  under  the  chin. 

“  How  is  my  Squeery  ?”  said  this  lady  in  a  playful  manner, 
and  a  very  hoarse  voice. 

“Quite  well,  my  love,”  replied  Squeers.  “How  are  the 
cows  ?” 

“  All  right,  every  one  of  ’em,”  answered  the  lady. 

“  And  the  pigs  ?”  said  Squeers.- 

“As  well  as  they  were  when  you  went  away.” 

“  Come ;  that’s  a  blessing,”  said  Squeers,  pulling  off  his 
great-coat.  “The  boys  are  all  as  they  were,  I  suppose?” 

“Oh,  yes,  they’re  well  enough,”  replied  Mrs.  Squeers,  snap¬ 
pishly.  “  That  young  Pitcher’s  had  a  fever.” 

“No  1”  exclaimed  Squeers.  “  Damn  that  boy,  he’s  always  at 
something  of  that  sort.” 

“Never  was  such  a  boy,  I  do  believe,”  said  Mrs.  Squerrs; 
“  whatever  he  has,  is  always  catching  too.  I  say  it’s  obstinacy, 
and  nothing  shall  ever  convince  me  that  it  isn’t.  I’d  beat  it  out 
of  him,  and  I  told  you  that  six  months  ago.” 


102 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“So  you  did,  my  love,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “We’ll  try  what 
can  be  done.” 

Pending  these  little  endearments,  Nicholas  had  stood  awk¬ 
wardly  enough  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  not  very  well  knowing 
whether  he  was  expected  to  retire  into  the  passage,  or  to  remain 
where  he  was.  lie  was  now  relieved  from  his  perplexity  by 
Mr.  Squeers. 

“  This. is  the  new  young  man,  my  dear,”  said  that  gentleman, 

“Oh,”  replied  Mrs.  Squeers,  nodding  her  head  at  Nicholas, 
and  eying  him  coldly  from  top  to  toe. 

“  Tie’ll  take  a  meal  with  us  to-night,”  said  Squeers,  “and  go 
among  the  boys  to-morrow  morning.  You  can  give  him  a  shako 
down  here  to-night,  can’t  you  ?” 

“We  must  manage  it  somehow,”  replied  the  lady.  “You 
don’t  much  mind  how  you  sleep,  I  suppose,  Sir  ?” 

“No,  indeed,”  replied  Nicholas;  “I  am  not  particular.” 

“  That’s  lucky,”  said  Mrs.  Squeers.  And  as  the  lady’s  humor 
was  considered  to  lie  chiefly  in  retort,  Mr.  Squeers  laughed 
heartily,  and  seemed  to  expect  that  Nicholas  should  do  the 
same. 

After  some  further  conversation  between  the  master  and  mis¬ 
tress  relative  to  the  success  of  Mr.  Squcers’s  trip,  and  the  peo¬ 
ple  who  had  paid,  and  the  people  who  had  made  a  default  in 
payment,  a  young  servant  girl  brought  in  a  Yorkshire  pie  and 
some  cold  beef,  which  being  set  upon  the  table,  the  boy  Sraiki 
appeared  with  a  Jug  of  ale. 

Mr.  Squeers  was  emptying  his  great-coat  pockets  of  letters  to 
different  boys,  and  other  small  documents,  which  he  had  brought 
down  in  them.  The  boy  glanced  with  an  anxious  and  timid 
expression  at  the  papers,  as  if  with  a  sickly  hope  that  one  among 
them  might  relate  to  him.  The  look  was  a  very  painful  one, 
and  went  to  Nicholas’s  heart  at  once,  for  it  told  a  long  and  very 
sad  history. 

It  induced  him  to  consider  the  boy  more  attentively,  and  he 
was  surprised  to  observe  the  extraordinary  mixture  of  garments 
which  formed  his  dress.  Although  he  could  not  have  been  less 
than  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  old,  and  was  tall  for  that  age, 
he  wore  a  skeleton  suit,  such  as  is  usually  put  upon  very  little 
boys,  and  which,  though  most  absurdly  short  in  the  arms  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


103 


legs,  was  quite  wide  enough  for  his  attenuated  frame.  In  order 
that  the  lower  part  of  his  legs  might  be  in  perfect  keeping  with 
this  singular  dress,  he  had  a  very  large  pair  of  boots  originally 
made  for  tops,  which  might  have  been  once  worn  by  some  stout 
farmer,  but  were  now  too  patched  and  tattered  for  a  beggar. 
God  knows  how  long  he  had  been  there,  but  he  still  wore  the 
same  linen  which  he  had  first  taken  down;  for  round  his  neck 
was  a  tattered  child’s  frill,  only  half  concealed  by  a  coarse  man’s 
neckerchief.  He  was  lame ;  and  as  he  feigned  to  be  busy  in 
arranging  the  table,  glanced  at  the  letters  with  a  look  so  keen, 
and  yet  so  dispirited  and  hopeless,  that  Nicholas  could  hardly 
bear  to  watch  him. 

“  What  are  you  bothering  about  there,  Smike  ?”  cried  Mrs. 
Squeers  ;  “  let  the  things  alone,  can’t  you  ?” 

“  Eh  1”  said  Squeers,  looking  up.  “  Oh  !  it’s  you,  is  it  ?” 

“Yes,  Sir,”  replied  the  youth,  pressing  his  hands  together, 
as  though  to  control  by  force  the  nervous  wandering  of  his  fin¬ 
gers  ;  “is  there — ” 

“AVell  I”  said  Squeers. 

“  Have  you — did  any  body — has  nothing  been  heard — about 
me  ?” 

“  Devil  a  bit,”  replied  Squeers  testily. 

The  lad  withdrew  his  eyes,  and  putting  his  hand  to  his  face 
moved  towards  the  door. 

“  Not  a  word,”  resumed  Squeers,  “and  never  will  be.  Now, 
this  is  a  pretty  sort  of  thing,  isn’t  it,  that  you  should  have  been 
left  here  all  these  years  and  no  money  paid  after  the  first  six — 
nor  no  notice  taken,  nor  no  clue  to  be  got  who  you  belong  to  ? 
It’s  a  pretty  sort  of  thing  that  I  should  have  to  feed  a  great 
fellow  like  you,  and  never  hope  to  get  one  penny  for  it, 
isn’t  it  ?” 

The  boy  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  he  were  making  an 
effort  to  recollect  something,  and  then  looking  vacantly  at  his 
questioner,  gradually  broke  into  a  smile  and  limped  away. 

“  I’ll  tell  you  what,  Squeers,”  remarked  his  wife  as  the  door 
closed,  “  I  think  that  young  chap’s  turning  silly. 

“  1  hope  not,”  said  the  schoolmaster;  “for  he’s  a  handy  fel¬ 
low  out  of  doors,  and  worth  his  meat  and  drink  any  way.  I 
should  think  he’d  have  wit  enough  for  us  though,  if  he  W£^ 


104 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


But  come ;  let’s  have  supper,  for  I  am  hungry  and  tired,  and 
want  to  get  to  bed.” 

This  reminder  brought  in  an  exclusive  steak  for  Mr.  Squeers, 
who  speedily  proceeded  to  do  it  ample  justice.  Nicholas  drew 
up  his  chair,  but  his  appetite  was  effectually  taken  away. 

“  How’s  the  steak,  Squeers  ?”  said  Mrs.  S. 

'•  Tender  as  a  lamb,”  replied  Squeers.  “  Have  a  bit.” 

“  I  couldn’t  eat  a  morsel,”  replied  his  wife.  “  What’ll  the 
young  man  take,  my  dear  ?” 

“  Whatever  he  likes  that’s  present,”  rejoined  Squeers,  in  a 
most  unusual  burst  of  generosity. 

“What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Knuckleboy  ?”  inquired  Mrs. 
Squeers. 

“  I’ll  take  a  little  of  the  pie,  if  you  please,”  replied  Nicholas 
“  A  very  little,  for  I’m  not  hungry.” 

“Well,  it’s  a  pity  to  cut  the  pie  if  you’re  not  hungry,  isn’t 
it  ?”  said  Mrs.  Squeers.  “Will  you  try  a  piece  of  the  beef?” 

“Whatever  you  please,”  replied  Nicholas  abstractedly;  “it’s 
all  the  same  to  me.” 

Mrs.  Squeers  looked  vastly  gracious  on  receiving  this  reply ; 
and  nodding  to  Squeers,  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  was  glad  to 
find  the  young  man  knew  his  station,  assisted  Nicholas  to  a 
slice  of  meat  with  her  own  fair  hands. 

“  Ale,  Squeery  ?”  inquired  the  lady,  winking  and  frowning 
to  give  him  to  understand  that  the  question  propounded  was, 
whether  Nicholas  should  have  ale,  and  not  whether  he  (Squeers) 
would  take  any. 

“  Certainly,”  said  Squeers,  re-telegraphing  in  the  same  man¬ 
ner.  “A  glassful.” 

So  Nicholas  had  a  glassful,  and  being  occupied  with  his  own 
reflections,  drank  it  in  happy  innocence  of  all  the  foregone 
proceedings. 

“  Uncommon  juicy  steak  that,”  said  Squeers,  as  he  laid  down 
his  knife  and  fork,  after  plying  it  in  silence  for  some  time. 

“  It’s  prime  meat,”  rejoined  his  lady.  “  I  bought  a  good 
large  piece  of  it  myself  on  purpose  for - ” 

“  For  what !”  exclaimed  Squeers  hastily.  “Not  for  the — ” 

“No,  no!  not  for  them,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers;  “on  pur- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


105 


pose  for  you  against  you  came  home.  Lor’  1  you  didn’t  think 
I  could  have  made  such  a  mistake  as  that  1” 

“Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  didn’t  know  what  you  were 
going  to  say,”  said  Squeers,  who  had  turned  very  pale. 

“You  needn’t  make  yourself  uncomfortable,”  remarked  his 
wife,  laughing  heartily.  “To  think  that  I  should  be  such  a 
noddy !  Well !” 

This  part  of  the  conversation  was  rather  unintelligible ;  but 
popular  rumor  in  the  neighborhood  asserted  that  Mr.  Squeers, 
being  amiably  opposed  to  cruelty  to  animals,  not  unfrequently 
purchased  for  boy  consumption  the  bodies  of  horned  cattle  who 
had  died  a  natural  death,  and  possibly  he  was  apprehensive  of 
having  unintentionally  devoured  some  choice  morsel  intended 
for  the  young  gentlemen. 

Supper  being  over,  and  removed  by  a  small  servant  girl  with 
a  hungry  eye,  Mrs.  Squeers  retired  to  lock  it  up,  and  also  to 
take  into  safe  custody  the  clothes  of  the  five  boys  who  had  just 
arrived,  and  who  were  half  way  up  the  troublesome  flight  of 
steps  which  leads  to  death’s  door,  in  consequence  of  exposure 
to  the  cold.  They  were  then  regaled  with  a  light  supper  of 
porridge,  and  stowed  away  side  by  side  in  a  small  bedstead,  to 
warm  each  other  and  dream  of  a  substantial  meal  with  some¬ 
thing  hot  after  it  if  their  fancies  set  that  way,  which  it  is  not  at 
all  improbable  they  did. 

Mr.  Squeers  treated  himself  to  a  stiff  tumbler  of  brandy  and 
water,  made  on  the  liberal  half  and  half  principle,  allowing  for 
the  dissolution  of  the  sugar ;  and  his  amiable  helpmate  mixed 
Nicholas  the  ghost  of  a  small  glassful  of  the  same  compound. 
This  done,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  drew  close  up  to  the  fire,  and 
sitting  with  their  feet  on  the  fender  talked  confidentially  in 
whispers ;  while  Nicholas,  taking  up  the  tutor’s  assistant,  read 
the  interesting  legends  in  the  miscellaneous  questions,  and  all 
the  figures  into  the  bargain,  with  as  much  thought  or  con¬ 
sciousness  of  what  he  was  doing,  as  if  he  had  been  in  a  mag¬ 
netic  slumber. 

At  length  Mr.  Squeers  yawned  fearfully,  and  opined  that  it 
was  high  time  to  go  to  bed  ;  upon  which  signal  Mrs.  Squeers 
and  the  girl  dragged  in  a  small  straw  mattress  and  a  couple  of 
blankets,  and  arranged  them  into  a  couch  for  Nicholas. 


106 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“We’ll  put  you  into  your  regular  bed-room  to-morrow, 
Nickleby,’’  said  Squeers.  “Let  me  see,  who  sleeps  in  Brooks’s 
bed,  my  dear  ?” 

“  In  Brooks’s,”  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  pondering.  “  There’s 
Jennings,  little  Bolder,  Graymarsh,  and  what’s  his  name.” 

“So  there  are,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “Yes!  Brooks  is  full.” 

“Full!”  thought  Nicholas,  “I  should  think  he  was.” 

“There’s  a  place  somewhere  I  know,”  said  Squeers;  “but  I 
can’t  at  this  moment  call  to  mind  where  it  is.  However,  we’ll 
have  that  all  settled  to-morrow.  Good  night,  Nickleby.  Seven 
o’clock  in  the  morning,  mind.” 

“  I  shall  be  ready,  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  Good  night.” 

“  I’ll  come  in  myself  and  show  you  where  the  well  is,”  said 
Squeers.  “  You’ll  always  find  a  little  bit  of  soap  in  the  kitchen 
window  ;  that  belongs  to  you.” 

Nicholas  opened  his  eyes,  but  not  his  mouth ;  and  Squeers  was 
again  going  away,  when  he  once  more  turned  back. 

“  I  don’t  know,  I  am  sure,”  he  said,  “  whose  towel  to  put  you 
on  ;  but  if  you’ll  make  sliift  with  something  to-morrow  morning, 
Mrs.  Squeers  will  arrange  that,  iu  the  course  of  the  day.  My 
dear,  don’t  forget.” 

“  I’ll  take  care,”  replied  Mrs.  Squeers  ;  “  and  mind  you  take 
care,  young  man,  and  get  first  wash.  The  teacher  ought  always 
to  have  it ;  but  they  get  the  better  of  him  if  they  can.” 

Mr.  Squeers  then  nudged  Mrs.  Squeers  to  bring  away  the 
brandy  bottle,  lest  Nicholas  should  help  himself  in  the  night;  and 
the  lady  having  seized  it  with  great  precipitation,  they  retired 
together. 

Nicholas  being  left  alone,  took  half  a  dozen  turns  up  and 
down  the  room  in  a  condition  of  much  agitation  and  excite¬ 
ment,  but  growing  gradually  calmer,  sat  himself  down  in  a 
chair  and  mentally  resolved  that,  come  what  come  miglit,  he 
would  endeavor  for  a  time  to  bear  whatever  wretchedness  might 
be  in  store  for  him,  and  that,  remembering  the  helplessness 
of  his  mother  and  sister,  he  would  give  his  uncle  no  plea  for 
deserting  them  in  their  need.  Good  resolutions  seldom  fail  of 
producing  some  good  effects  in  the  mind  from  which  they 
spring.  He  grew  less  desponding,  and — so  sanguine  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


107 


buoyant  is  youth — even  hoped  that  affairs  at  Dotheboys  Hall 
might  yet  prove  better  that  they  promised. 

He  was  preparing  for  bed  with  something  like  renewed  cheer¬ 
fulness,  when  a  sealed  letter  fell  from  his  coat  pocket.  In  the 
hurry  of  leaving  London  it  had  escaped  his  attention  and  had 
not  occurred  to  him  since,  but  it  at  once  brought  back  to  him 
the  recollection  of  the  mysterious  behavior  of  Newman  Noggs 

“Dear  me!”  said  Nicholas;  “what  an  extraordinary  handl” 

It  was  directed  to  himself,  was  written  upon  very  dirty  paper, 
and  in  such  cramped  and  crippled  writing  as  to  be  almost 
illegible.  After  great  difficulty  and  much  puzzling,  he  con¬ 
trived  to  read  as  follows  : — 

“My  dear  young  Man, 

“I  know  the  world.  Your  father  did  not,  or  he  would 
not  have  done  me  a  kindness  when  there  was  no  hope  of  return. 
You  do  not,  or  you  would  not  be  bound  on  such  a  journey. 

“  If  ever  you  want  a  shelter  in  London  (don’t  be  angry  at 
this,  I  once  thought  I  never  should),  they  know  where  I  live  at 
the  sign  of  the  Crown,  in  Silver  Street,  Golden  Square.  It  is 
at  the  corner  of  Silver  Street  and  James  Street,  with  a  bar 
door  both  ways.  You  can  come  at  night.  Once  nobody  was 
ashamed — never  mind  that.  It’s  all  over. 

“Excuse  errors.  I  should  forget  not  to  wear  a  whole  coat 
now.  I  have  forgotten  all  my  old  ways.  My  spelling  may 
have  gone  with  them.  Newman  Noggs. 

“P.  S.  If  you  should  go  near  Barnard  Castle,  there  is  good 
ale  at  the  King’s  Head.  Say  you  know  me,  and  I  am  sure 
they  will  not  charge  you  for  it.  You  may  say  Mr.  Noggs  there, 
for  I  was  a  gentleman  then.  I  was  indeed.” 

It  may  be  a  very  undignified  circumstance  to  record,  but  after 
he  had  folded  this  letter  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book, 
Nicholas  Nicklehy’s  eyes  were  dimmed  with  a  moisture  that 
might  have  been  taken  for  tears. 


CHATTER  VIII. 


OF  THE  INTERNAL  ECONOMY  OP  DOTHEBOY8  HALL. 

A  RILE  of  two  hundred  and  odd  miles  in  severe  weather,  is 
one  of  the  best  softeners  of  a  hard  bed  that  ingenuity  can 
devise.  Perhaps  it  is  even  a  sweetener  of  dreams,  for  those 
whieh  hovered  over  the  rough  couch  of  Nicholas,  and  whispered 
their  airy  nothings  in  his  ear,  were  of  an  agreeable  and  happy 
kind.  He  was  making  his  fortune  very  fast  indeed,  when  the 
faint  glimmer  of  an  expiring  candle  shone  before  his  eyes,  and 
a  voice  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  as  part  and  parcel  of 
Mr.  Squeers,  admonished  him  that  it  was  time  to  rise. 

“  Past  seven,  Nickleby,”  said  Mr.  Squeers. 

“Has  morning  come  already?”  asked  Nicholas,  sitting  up  in 
bed. 

“Ahl  that  has  it,”  replied  Squeers,  “and  ready  iced  too. 
Now,  Nickleby,  come  ;  tumble  up,  will  you  ?” 

Nicholas  needed  no  further  admonition,  but  “tumbled  up” 
at  once,  and  proceeded  to  dress  himself  by  the  light  of  the  taper 
which  Mr.  Squeers  carried  in  his  hand. 

“Here’s  a  pretty  go,”  said  that  gentleman;  “the  pump’s 
froze.” 

“  Indeed  1”  said  Nicholas,  not  much  interested  in  the  intel¬ 
ligence. 

“Yes,”  replied  Squeers.  “You  can’t  wash  yourself  this 
morning.” 

“Not  wash  myself!”  exclaimed  Nicholas. 

“No,  not  a  bit  of  it,”  rejoined  Squeers,  tartly.  “So  you 
must  be  content  with  g’ving  yourself  a  dry  polish  till  we  break 
the  ice  in  the  well,  and  can  get  a  bucketful  out  for  the  boys 
Don’t  stand  staring  at  me,  but  do  look  sharp,  Avill  you  ?” 

OiTering  no  further  observation,  Nicholas  huddled  on  his 
clothes,  and  Squeers  meanwhile  opened  the  shutters  and  blew 
(108) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


109 


tlie  candle  out,  when  the  voice  of  his  amiable  consort  was  heard 
in  the  passage,  demanding  admittance. 

“  Come  in,  my  love,”  said  Squeers. 

Mrs.  Squeers  came  in,  still  habited  in  the  primitive  night- 
jacket  which  had  displayed  the  symmetry  of  her  figure  on  the 
previous  night,  and  further  ornamented  with  a  beaver  bonnet  of 
some  antiquity,  which  she  wore  with  much  ease  and  lightness 
upon  the  top  of  the  nightcap  before  mentioned. 

‘‘Drat  the  things,”  said  the  lady,  opening  the  cupboard ;  “t 
can’t  find  the  school  spoon  any  where.” 

“Never  mind  it,  my  dear,”  observed  Squeers  iu  a  soothing 
manner;  “  it’s  of  no  consequence.” 

“No  consequence,  why  how  you  talk  I”  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers 
sharply;  “isn’t  it  brimstone  morning?” 

“  I  forgot,  my  dear,”  rejoined  Squeers  ;  “  yes,  it  certainly  is. 
We  purify  the  boys’  bloods  now  and  then,  Nickleby,” 

“Purify  fiddlesticks’  ends,”  said  his  lady.  “Don’t  think, 
young  man,  that  we  go  to  the  expense  of  flower  of  brimstone 
and  molasses  just  to  purify  them;  because  if  you  think  we  carry 
on  the  business  in  that  way,  you’ll  find  yourself  mistaken,  and 
BO  I  tell  you  plainly.” 

“  My  dear,”  said  Squeers  frowning.  “  Hem  !” 

“  Oh  1  nonsense,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers.  “  If  the  young 
man  comes  to  be  a  teacher  here,  let  him  understand  at  once  that 
we  don’t  want  any  foolery  about  the  boys.  They  have  the 
brimstone  and  treacle,  partly  because  if  they  hadn’t  something 
or  other  in  the  way  of  medicine  they’d  be  always  ailing  and 
giving  a  world  of  trouble,  and  partly  because  it  spoils  their  appe¬ 
tites  and  comes  cheaper  than  breakfast  and  dinner.  So  it  does 
them  good  and  us  good  at  the  same  time,  and  that’s  fair  enough, 
I’m  sure.” 

Having  given  this  explanation,  Mrs.  Squeers  put  her  head 
iato  the  closet  and  instituted  a  stricter  search  after  the  spoon,  in 
which  Mr.  Squeers  assisted.  A  few  words  passed  between  them 
while  they  were  thus  engaged,  but  as  their  voices  were  partially 
stifled  by  the  cupboard,  all  that  Nicholas  could  distitiguish  was, 
that  Mr.  Squeers  said  what  Mrs.  Squeers  had  said  was  injudi¬ 
cious,  and  that  Mrs  Squeers  said  what  Mr.  Squeers  said  was 
“  stuff.” 


110 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


A  vast  deal  of  searching  and  rummaging  succeeded,  and  it 
proving  fruitless,  Smike  was  called  in,  and  pushed  by  Mrs.  Squcera 
and  boxed  by  Mr.  Squeers,  which  course  of  treatment  bright¬ 
ening  his  intellects,  enabled  him  to  suggest  that  possibly  Mrs. 
Sqiieers  raiglit  have  the  spoon  in  her  pocket,  as  indeed  turned 
out  to  be  the  case.  As  Mrs.  Squeers  had  previously  protested, 
however,  that  she  was  quite  certain  she  had  not  got  it,  Smike 
received  another  box  on  the  ear  for  presuming  to  contradict  his 
mistress,  together  with  a  promise  of  a  sound  thrashing  if  he 
were  not  more  respectful  in  future  ;  so  that  he  took  nothing 
very  advantageous  by  his  motion. 

“  A  most  invaluable  woman,  that,  Nickleby,”  said  Squeers 
when  his  consort  had  hurried  away,  pushing  the  drudge  before 
her. 

“  Indeed,  Sir  1”  observed  Nicholas. 

“I  don’t  know  her  equal,”  said  Squeers;  “  I  do  not  know 
her  equal.  That  woman,  Nickleby,  is  always  the  same — always 
the  same  bustling,  lively,  active,  saving  creetur  that  you  see 
her  now.” 

Nicholas  sighed  involuntarily  at  the  thought  of  the  agreeable 
domestic  prospect  thus  opened  to  him  ;  but  Squeers  was,  for¬ 
tunately,  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  reflections  to  per¬ 
ceive  it. 

“  It’s  my  way  to  say,  when  I  am  up  in  London,”  continued 
Squeers,  “  that  to  them  boys  she  is  a  mother.  But  she  is  more 
than  a  mother  to  them,  ten  times  more.  She  does  things  for 
them  boys,  Nickleby,  that  I  don’t  believe  half  the  mothers  going 
would  do  for  their  own  sons.” 

“I  should  think  they  would  not.  Sir,”  answered  Nicholas. 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  viewed 
the  boys  in  the  light  of  their  proper  and  natural  enemies ;  or, 
in  other  words,  they  held  and  considered  that  their  business  and 
profession  was  to  get  as  much  from  every  boy  as  could  by 
possibility  be  screwed  out  of  him.  On  this  point  they  were 
both  agreed,  and  behaved  in  unison  aceordingly.  The  only 
difference  between  them  was,  that  Mrs.  Squeers  waged  war 
against  the  enemy  openly  and  fearlessly,  and  that  Squeers  cov¬ 
ered  his  rascality,  even  at  home,  with  a  spice  of  his  haliitual 
deceit,  as  if  he  really  had  a  notion  of  some  day  or  other  being 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ill 


able  to  take  hiraself  in,  and  persuade  his  own  mind  that  he  was 
a  very  good  fellow. 

“l)iit  come,”  said  Squeers,  interrupting  the  progress  of  some 
thoughts  to  this  effect  in  the  mind  of  his  usher,  “  let’s  go  to  the 
school-room;  and  lend  me  a  hand  with  my  school-coat,  will 
vca  ?” 

Nicholas  assisted  his  master  to  put  on  an  old  fustian  shooting 
jacket,  wdiich  he  took  dowm  from  a  peg  in  the  passage ;  and 
Squeers  arming  himself  with  his  cane,  led  the  wmy  across  a  yard 
to  a  door  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 

“  There,”  said  the  schoolmaster  as  they  stepped  in  together ; 
“this  is  our  shop,  Nickleby.” 

It  was  such  a  crowded  scene,  and  there  were  so  many  objects 
to  attract  attention,  that  at  first  Nicholas  stared  about  him, 
really  without  seeing  any  thing  at  all.  By  degrees,  however, 
the  place  resolved  itself  into  a  bare  and  dirty  room  with  a 
couple  of  windows,  w^hereof  a  tenth  part  might  be  of  glass,  the  re¬ 
mainder  being  stopped  up  with  old  copy-books  and  paper.  There 
were  a  couple  of  long  old  rickety  desks,  cut  and  notched,  and 
inked  and  damaged,  in  every  possible  wmy;  two  or  three  forms, 
a  detached  desk  for  Squeers,  and  another  for  his  assistant.  The 
ceiling  wms  supported  like  that  of  a  barn,  by  cross  beams  and 
rafters,  and  the  w'alls  were  so  stained  and  discolored,  that  it  wms 
impossible  to  tell  whether  they  had  ever  been  touched  with  paint 
or  whitewash. 

But  the  pupils — the  young  noblemen  1  IIow  the  last  faint 
traces  of  hope,  the  remotest  glimmering  of  any  good  to  be 
derived  from  his  efforts  in  this  den,  faded  from  the  mind  of 
Nicholas  as  he  looked  in  dismay  around  I  Pale  and  haggard 
face.s,  lank  and  bony  figures,  children  with  the  countenances  of 
old  men,  deformities  wdth  irons  upon  their  limbs,  boys  of  stunted 
growth,  and  others  whose  long  meagre  legs  w^ould  hardly  bear 
their  stooping  bodies,  all  crowded  on  the  view  together ;  there 
W'ore  the  bleared  eye,  the  harelip,  the  crooked  foot,  and  every 
ugliness  or  distortion  that  told  of  unnatural  aversion  conceived 
by  parents  for  their  offspring,  or  of  young  lives  which,  from  the 
earliest  dawn  of  infancy,  had  been  one  horrible  endurance  of 
cruelty  and  neglect.  There  were  little  faces  wdiich  should  have 
been  handsome,  darkened  with  the  scowl  of  sullen  dogged  suf- 


112 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


feriiig ;  there  was  childhood  with  the  light  of  its  eye  quenched, 
its  beauty  gone,  and  its  helplessness  alone  remaining ;  there 
were  vicious-faced  boys  brooding,  with  leaden  eyes,  like  male¬ 
factors  in  a  jail ;  and  there  were  young  creatures  on  whom  the 
sins  of  their  frail  parents  had  descended,  weeping  even  for  the 
mercenary  nurses  they  had  known,  and  lonesome  even  in  their 
loneliness.  With  every  kindly  sympathy  and  affection  blasted  iu 
its  birth,  with  every  young  and  healthy  feeling  flogged  and 
starved  down,  with  every  revengeful  passion  that  can  fester  in 
swollen  hearts,  eating  its  evil  way  to  their  core  in  silence,  what 
an  iucipient  Hell  was  breeding  there  ! 

And  yet  this  scene,  painful  as  it  was,  had  its  grotesque 
features,  which,  in  a  less  interested  observer  than  Nicholas, 
might  have  provoked  a  smile.  '  Mrs.  Squeers  stood  at  one  of 
the  desks,  presiding  over  an  immense  basin  of  brimstone  and 
treacle,  of  which  delicious  compound  she  administered  a  large 
installment  to  each  boy  in  succession,  using  for  the  purpose  a 
common  wooden  spoon,  which  might  have  been  originally  manu¬ 
factured  for  some  gigantic  top,  and  which  widened  every  young 
gentleman’s  mouth  considerably,  they  being  all  obliged,  under 
heavy  corporeal  penalties,  to  take  in  the  whole  of  the  bowl  at  a 
gasp.  In  another  corner,  huddled  together  for  companionship, 
were  the  little  boys  who  had  arrived  on  the  preceding  night, 
three  of  them  in  very  large  leather  breeches,  and  two  in  old 
trowsers,  a  something  tighter  fit  than  drawers  are  usually  worn  ; 
at  no  great  distance  from  them  was  seated  the  juvenile  son  and 
heir  of  Mr.  Squeers — a  striking  likeness  of  his  father — kicking 
with  great  vigor  under  the  hands  of  Smike,  who  was  fitting 
upon  him  a  pair  of  new  boots,  that  bore  a  most  suspicious  re¬ 
semblance  to  those  which  the  least  of  the  little  boys  had  worn 
on  the  journey  down,  as  the  little  boy  himself  seemed  to  think, 
for  he  was  regarding  the  appropriation  with  a  look  of  most  rue¬ 
ful  amazement.  Besides  these,  there  was  a  long  row  of  boys 
waiting,  with  countenances  of  no  pleasant  anticipation,  to  be 
treacled,  and  another  file  who  had  just  escaped  from  the  inflic¬ 
tion,  making  a  variety  of  wry  mouths  indicative  of  any  thing 
but  satisfaction.  The  whole  were  attired  in  such  motley,  ill- 
assorted,  extraordinary  garments,  as  would  have  been  irresist- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


113 


jbly  ridiculous,  but  for  the  foul  appearance  of  dirt,  disorder,  and 
disease,  with  which  they  were  associated. 

“Now,”  said  Sqneers,  giving  the  desk  a  great  rap  with  Lis 
cane,  which  made  half  the  little  boys  nearly  jump  out  of  their 
boots,  “  is  that  physicing  over 

“Just  over,”  said  Mrs.  Sqneers,  choking  the  last  boy  in  her 
hurry,  and  tapping  the  crown  of  his  head  with  the  wooden  spoon 
to  restore  him.  “Here,  you  Smike;  take  aw^ay  now.  Look 
sharp.” 

Smike  shuffled  out  with  the  basin,  and  Mrs.  Squeers  having 
called  up  a  little  boy  with  a  curly  head,  and  wiped  her  hands 
upon  it,  hurried  out  after  him  into  a  species  of  wash-house, 
where  there  was  a  small  fire,  and  a  large  kettle,  together  with 
a  number  of  little  wooden  bowls  which  were  arranged  upon  a 
board. 

Into  these  bowls  Mrs.  Squeers,  assisted  by  the  hungry  ser¬ 
vant,  poured  a  brovvn  composition  which  looked  like  diluted 
pincushions  without  the  covers,  and  was  called  porridge.  A 
minute  wedge  of  brown  bread  was  inserted  in  each  bowl,  and 
when  they  had  eat  their  porridge  by  means  of  the  bread,  the 
boys  eat  the  bread  itself,  and  had  finished  their  breakfast ; 
whereupon  Mr.  Squeers  said,  in  a  solemn  voice,  “  For  what  we 
have  received  may  the  Lord  make  us  truly  thankful  1” — and 
went  away  to  his  own. 

Nicholas  distended  his  stomach  with  a  bowl  of  porridge,  for 
much  the  same  reason  which  induces  some  savages  to  swallow 
earth — lest  they  should  be  inconveniently  hungry  when  there  is 
nothing  to  eat.  Having  further  disposed  of  a  slice  of  bread 
and  butter,  allotted  to  him  in  virtue  of  his  office,  he  sat  himself 
down  to  wait  for  school-time. 

He  could  not  bat  observe  how  silent  and  sad  the  boys  all 
seemed  to  be.  There  was  none  of  the  noise  and  clamor  of  a 
school-room,  none  of  its  boisterous  play  or  hearty  mirth.  The 
children  sat  crouchinsr  and  shivering  together,  and  seemed  to 
lack  the  spirit  to  move  about.  The  only  pupil  who  evinced  the 
slightest  tendency  towards  locomotion  or  playfulness  was  Master 
Squeers,  and  as  his  chief  amusement  was  to  tread  upon  the  other 
boys’  toes  in  his  new  boots,  his  flow  of  spirits  was  rather  disa¬ 
greeable  than  otherwise. 

S 


314 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


After  some  half-hour’s  delay  Mr.  Squeers  reappeared,  and 
the  bo3's  took  their  places  and  their  books,  of  which  latter 
commodity  the  average  might  be  about  one  to  eight  learners. 
A  few  minutes  having  elapsed,  during  which  Mr.  Squeers  looked 
very  profound,  as  if  he  had  a  perfect  apprehension  of  what  was 
inside  all  the  books,  and  could  say  every  word  of  their  contents 
by  heart  if  he  only  chose  to  take  the  trouble,  that  gentleman 
called  up  the  first  class. 

Obedient  to  tliis  summons  there  ranged  themselves  in  front 
of  the  schoolmaster’s  desk,  half-a-dozen  scarecrows,  out  ai  knees 
and  elbows,  one  of  whom  placed  a  torn  and  filthy  book  beneath 
his  learned  eye. 

“  This  is  the  first  class  in  English  spelling  and  phil  sophy, 
Kickleby,”  said  Squeers,  beckoning  Nicholas  to  stand  beside 
him.  “  We’ll  get  up  a  Latin  one,  and  hand  that  over  to  you. 
Now,  then,  where’s  the  first  boy?” 

“  Please,  Sir,  he’s  cleaning  the  back  parlor  window,”  said  the 
temporary  head  of  the  philosophical  class. 

“  So  he  is,  to  be  sure,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “We  go  upon  the 
practical  mode  of  teaching,  Nickleby ;  the  regular  education 
system.  C-l-e-a-n,  clean,  verb  active,  to  make  bright,  to  scour. 
W-i-n,  win,  d-e-r,  der,  winder,  a  casement.  When  the  boy 
knows  this  out  of  book,  he  goes  and  does  it.  It’s  just  the  same 
principle  as  the  use  of  the  globes.  Where’s  the  second  boy  ?” 

“  Please,  Sir,  he’s  weeding  the  garden,”  replied  a  small  voice, 

“  To  be  sure,”  said  Squeers,  by  no  means  disconcerted.  ■"  So 
he  is.  B-o-t,  bot,  t-i-n,  tin,  bottin,  n-e-y,  ney,  bottinney,  noun 
substantive,  a  knowledge  of  plants.  When  he  has  learned  that 
bottinney  means  a  knowledge  of  plants,  he  goes  and  knows  ’em. 
That’s  our  system,  Nickleby  :  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?” 

“It’s  a  very  useful  one,  at  any  rate,”  answered  Nicholas  sig¬ 
nificantly. 

“  I  believe  you,”  rejoined  Squeers,  not  remarking  the  empha¬ 
sis  of  his  usher.  “  Third  boy,  what’s  a  horse  ?” 

“  A  beast,  Sir,”  replied  the  boy. 

“  So  it  is,”  said  Squeers.  “Ain’t  it,  Nickleby?” 

“  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  Sir,”  answered  Nicholas. 

“Of  course  there  isn’t,”  said  Squeers.  “A  horse  is  a  quad¬ 
ruped,  and  quadruped’s  Latin  for  beast,  as  every  body  that’s 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


115 


gone  through  the  grammar  knows,  or  else  where’s  the  use  of 
having  grammars  at  all  ?” 

"  Where,  indeed  !”  said  Nicholas  abstractedly. 

“  As  you’re  perfect  in  that,”  resumed  Squeers,  turning  to  the 
boy,  “  go  and  look  after  my  horse,  and  rub  him  down  well,  or 
I’ll  rub  you  down.  The  rest  of  the  class  go  and  draw  water  up 
till  somebody  tells  you  to  leave  oft',  for  it’s  washing  day  to-mor¬ 
row,  and  they  want  the  coppers  filled.” 

So  saying  he  dismissed  the  first  class  to  their  experiments  in 
practical  philosophy,  and  eyed  Nicholas  with  a  look  half  cun¬ 
ning  and  half  doubtful,  as  if  he  were  not  altogether  certain  what 
he  might  think  of  him  by  this  time. 

“That’s  the  way  we  do  it,  Nickleby,”  he  said,  after  a  long 
pause. 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  manner  that  was  scarcely 
perceptible,  and  said  he  saw  it  was. 

“And  a  very  good  way  it  is,  too,”  said  Squeers.  “Now,  just 
take  those  fourteen  little  boys  and  hear  them  some  reading,  be¬ 
cause  you  know  you  must  begin  to  be  useful,  and  idling  about 
here  won’t  do.” 

Mr.  Squeers  said  this  as  if  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him, 
either  that  he  must  not  say  too  much  to  his  assistant,  or  that 
his  assistant  did  not  say  enough  to  him  in  praise  of  the  estab¬ 
lishment.  The  children  wmre  arranged  in  a  semi-circle  round 
the  new  master,  and  he  was  soon  listening  to  their  dull,  drawl¬ 
ing,  hesitating  recital  of  those  stories  of  engrossing  interest 
which  are  to  be  found  in  the  more  antiquated  spelling  books. 

In  this  exciting  occupation  the  morning  lagged  heavily  on. 
At  one  o’clock,  the  boys  having  previously  had  their  appetites 
thoroughly  taken  away  by  stir-about  and  potatoes,  sat  down  in 
the  kitchen  to  some  hard  salt  beef,  of  which  Nicholas  was  gra¬ 
ciously  permitted  to  take  his  portion  to  his  own  solitary  desk, 
and  to  eat  there  in  peace.  After  this  there  was  another  hour 
of  crouching  in  the  school-room  and  shivering  with  cold,  and 
then  school  began  again. 

It  was  j\lr.  Scpieers’s  custom  to  call  the  boys  together,  and 
make  a  sort  of  rejiort  after  every  half-yearly  visit  to  the  metro- 
])olis  regarding  the  relatioiis  and  friends  he  had  seen,  the  news 
he  had  heard,  the  letters  he  had  brought  down,  the  bills  which 


,16 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


had  been  paid,  the  accounts  which  had  been  left  unpaid,  and  so 
forth.  This  solemn  proceeding  always  took  place  in  the  after¬ 
noon  of  the  day  succeeding  his  return ;  perhaps  because  the 
boys  acquired  strength  of  mind  from  the  suspense  of  the  morn¬ 
ing,  or  possibly  because  Mr.  Squecrs  himself  acquired  greater 
sternness  and  inflexibility  from  certain  warm  potations  in  which 
he  was  wont  to  indulge  after  his  early  dinner.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  boys  were  recalled  from  house-window,  garden,  stable, 
and  cow-yard,  and  the  school  were  assembled  in  full  conclave, 
when  Mr.  Squeers,  with  a  small  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand, 
and  Mrs.  S.  following  with  a  pair  of  canes,  entered  the  room 
and  proclaimed  silence. 

“  Let  any  boy  speak  a  word  without  leave,”  said  Mr.  Squeers, 
mildly,  “  and  I’ll  take  the  skin  off  his  back.” 

This  special  proclamation  had  the  desired  effect,  and  a  death¬ 
like  silence  immediately  prevailed,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr. 
Squeers  went  on  to  say — 

‘'Boys,  I’ve  been  to  London,  and  have  returned  to  my  family 
and  you,  as  strong  and  well  as  ever.” 

According  to  half-yearly  custom,  the  boys  gave  three  feeble 
cheers  at  this  refreshing  intelligence.  Such  cheers  1  Sigha 
of  extra  strength  with  the  chill  on. 

“  I  have  seen  the  parents  of  some  boys,”  continued  Squeers, 
turning  over  his  papers,  “  and  they’re  so  glad  to  hear  how  their 
sons  are  getting  on  that  there’s  no  prospect  at  all  of  their  going 
away,  which  of  course  is  a  very  pleasant  thing  to  reflect  upon 
for  all  parties.” 

Two  or  three  hands  went  to  two  or  three  eyes  when  Squeers 
said  this,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  young  gentlemen  having 
no  particular  parents  to  speak  of,  were  wholly  uninterested  in 
the  thing  one  way  or  other. 

"I  have  had  disappointments  to  contend  against,”  said 
Squeers,  looking  very  grim,  “Bolder’s  father  was  two  pound 
ten  short.  Where  is  Bolder  ?” 

“  Here  he  is,  please  Sir,”  rejoined  twenty  ofiBcious  voices. 
Boys  are  very  like  men,  to  be  sure. 

“  Come  here.  Bolder,”  said  Squeers. 

An  unhealthy-looking  boy,  with  warts  all  over  his  hands, 
stepped  from  his  place  to  the  master’s  desk,  and  raised  his  eyes 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


117 


imploringly  to  Sqneers’s  face  ;  his  own  quite  white  from  the  rapid 
beating  of  liis  heart, 

“Bolder,”  said  Squeers,  speaking  very  slowly,  for  he  was  con¬ 
sidering,  as  the  saying  goes,  where  to  have  him.  “  Bolder,  if 
your  father  thinks  that  because — why,  what’s  this.  Sir  ?” 

As  Squeers  spoke,  he  caught  up  the  boy’s  hand  by  the  cufif 
of  his  jacket,  and  surveyed  it  with  an  edifying  aspect  of  horror 
and  disgust. 

“  What  do  you  call  this,  Sir  ?”  demanded  the  schoolmaster, 
administering  a  cut  with  the  cane  to  expedite  the  reply. 

“I  can’t  help  it,  indeed.  Sir,”  rejoined  the  boy,  crying. 
“  They  will  come  ;  it’s  the  dirty  work  I  think,  Sir — at  least  I 
don’t  know  what  it  is.  Sir,  but  it’s  not  my  fault.” 

“Bolder,”  said  Squeers,  tucking  up  his  wristbands  and  mois¬ 
tening  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  to  get  a  good  grip  of  the  cane, 
“  you’re  an  incorrigible  young  scoundrel,  and  as  the  last  thrash¬ 
ing  did  you  no  good,  we  must  see  what  another  will  do  towards 
beating  it  out  of  you.” 

With  this,  and  wholly  disregarding  a  piteous  cry  for  mercy, 
Mr.  Squeers  fell  upon  the  boy  and  caned  him  soundly:  not 
leaving  off  indeed,  until  his  arm  was  tired  out. 

“  There,”  said  Squeers,  when  he  had  quite  done;  “  rub  away 
as  hard  as  you  like,  you  won’t  rub  that  off  in  a  hurry. 
Oh  1  you  won’t  hold  that  noise,  won’t  you  ?  Put  him  out, 
Smike.” 

The  drudge  knew  better  from  long  experience,  than  to  hesitate 
.about  obeying,  so  he  bundled  the  victim  out  by  a  side  door,  and 
Mr.  Squeers  perched  himself  again  on  his  own  stool,  supported 
by  Mrs.  Squeers,  who  occupied  another  at  his  side. 

“Now  let  us  see,”  said  Squeers.  “A  letter  for  Cobbey. 
Stand  up,  Cobbey.” 

Another  boy  stood  up,  and  eyed  the  letter  very  ha,rd  while 
Squeers  made  a  mental  abstract  of  the  same. 

“  Oh  1”  said  Squeers  :  “  Cobbey’s  grandmother  is  dead,  and 
his  uncle  John  has  took  to  drinking,  which  is  all  the  news  his 
sister  sends,  except  eighteenpence,  which  will  just  pay  for  that 
broken  square  of  glass.  Mrs.  Squeers,  my  dear,  will  you  take 
the  money  ?” 

The  worthy  lady  pocketed  the  eighteenpence  with  a  most 


118 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


business-like  air,  and  Squeers  passed  on  to  the  nextbov  as  coolly 
as  possible. 

“  Graymarsh,”  said  Squeers,  “  he’s  the  next.  Stand  up, 
Grayinarsh,” 

Another  boy  stood  up,  and  the  schoolmaster  looked  over  the 
letter  as  before. 

“  Graymarsh’s  maternal  aunt,”  said  Squeers,  when  he  had 
possessed  himself  of  the  contents,  “  is  very  glad  to  hear  he’s  so 
well  and  happy,  and  sends  her  respectful  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Scpieers,  and  thinks  she  must  be  an  angel.  She  likewise  thinks 
]Slr.  Squeers  is  too  good  for  this  world ;  but  hopes  he  may  long 
be  spared  to  carry  on  the  business.  Would  have  sent  the  two 
pair  of  stockings  as  desired,  but  is  short  of  money,  so  forwards 
a  tract  instead,  and  hopes  Grayinarsh  will  put  his  trust  in  Provi¬ 
dence.  Hopes,  above  all,  that  he  will  study  in  every  thing  to 
please  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers,  and  look  upon  them  as  his  only 
friends ;  and  that  he  will  love  Master  Squeers,  and  not  object 
to  sleeping  five  in  a  bed,  which  no  Christian  should.  Ah  I” 
said  Squeers,  folding  it  up,  “a  delightful  letter.  Very  atfect- 
ing,  indeed.” 

It  was  affecting  in  one  sense,  for  Graymarsh’s  maternal  aunt 
w'as  strongly  supposed,  by  her  more  intimate  friends,  to  be  no 
other  than  his  maternal  parent ;  Squeers,  however,  without 
alluding  to  this  part  of  the  story  (which  would  have  sounded 
immoral  before  boys),  proceeded  with  the  business  by  calling 
out  “  Mobl)s,”  whereupon  another  boy  rose,  and  Graymarsh  re¬ 
sumed  his  seat. 

“  Mobbs’s  raother-in-law,”  said  Squeers,  “took  to  her  bed  on 
hearing  that  he  would  not  eat  fat,  and  has  been  very  ill  ever 
since.  She  wishes  to  know  by  an  early  post  where  he  expects 
to  go  to,  if  he  quarrels  with  his  vittles ;  and  with  what  feelings 
he  could  turn  up  his  nose  at  the  cow’s  liver  broth,  after  his  good 
master  had  asked  a  blessing  on  it.  This  was  told  her  in  the 
London  newspapers- — not  by  Mr.  Squeers,  for  he  is  too  kind  and 
too  good  to  set  any  body  against  any  body — and  it  has  vexed 
her  so  much,  Mobbs  can’t  think.  She  is  sorry  to  find  he  is  dis¬ 
contented,  which  is  sinful  and  horrid,  and  hopes  Mr.  Squeers 
will  flog  him  into  a  happier  state  of  mind  ;  wdth  which  view  she 
has  also  stopped  his  halfpenny  a  week  pocket-money,  and  given 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


119 


a  double-bladed  knife  with  a  corkscrew  in  it  to  the  Missionaries, 
which  she  had  bought  on  purpose  for  him,” 

“A  sulky  state  of  feeling,”  said  Squeers,  after  a  terrible 
pause,  during  which  he  had  moistened  the  palm  of  his  right 
hand  again,  “  won’t  do ;  cheerfulness  and  contentment  must  be 
kept  up.  Mobbs,  come  to  me.” 

Mobbs  moved  slowly  towards  the  desk,  rubbing  his  eyes  in 
anticipation  of  good  cause  for  doing  so;  and  he  soon  after¬ 
wards  retired  by  the  side  door,  with  as  good  cause  as  a  boy 
need  have. 

Mr.  Squeers  then  proceeded  to  open  a  miscellaneous  col¬ 
lection  of  letters,  some  inclosing  money,  which  Mrs.  Squeers 
'  took  care  of and  others  referring  to  small  articles  of  apparel, 
as  caps  and  so  forth,  all  of  which  the  same  lady  stated  to  be 
too  large  or  too  small,  and  calculated  for  nobody  but  young 
Squeers,  who  would  appear  indeed  to  have  had  most  accom¬ 
modating  limbs,  since  every  thing  that  came  into  the  school 
fitted  him  to  a  nicety.  His  head,  in  particular,  must  have  been 
singularly  elastic,  for  hats  and  caps  of  all  dimensions  were  alike 
to  him. 

This  business  dispatched,  a  few  slovenly  lessons  were  per¬ 
formed,  and  Squeers  retired  to  his  fireside,  leaving  Nicholas  to 
take  care  of  the  boys  in  the  school-room,  which  was  very  cold, 
and  where  a  meal  of  bread  and  cheese  was  served  out  shortly 
after  dark. 

There  was  a  small  stove  at  that  corner  of  the  room  which  was 
nearest  to  the  master’s  desk,  and  by  it  Nicholas  sat  down,  so 
depressed  and  self-degraded  by  the  consciousness  of  his  position, 
that  if  death  could  have  come  upon  him  at  that  time  he  would 
have  been  almost  happy  to  meet  it.  The  cruelty  of  which  he 
had  been  an  unwilling  witness,  the  coarse  and  ruffianly  behavior 
of  Squeers  even  in  his  best  moods,  the  filthy  place,  the  sights 
and  sounds  about  him,  all  contributed  to  this  state  of  feeling; 
but  when  he  recollected  that  being  there  as  an  assistant,  he 
actually  seemed — no  matter  what  unluqipy  train  of  circumstances 
had  led  him  to  that  pass — to  be  the  aider  and  abettor  of  a  sys¬ 
tem  which  filled  him  with  honest  disgust  and  indignation,  he 
loathed  himself,  and  felt  for  the  moment  as  though  the  mere  con- 


120 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Bciousness  of  Ins  present  situation  must,  through  all  time  to  come, 
prevent  his  raising  his  head  in  society  again. 

But  for  the  present  his  resolve  was  taken,  and  the  resolution  he 
had  formed  on  the  preceding  night  remained  undisturbed.  He 
had  written  to  his  mother  and  sister  announcing  the  safe  con¬ 
clusion  of  his  journey,  and  saying  as  little  about  Dotheboys 
Hall,  and  saying  that  little  as  cheerfully,  as  he  possibly  could. 
He  hoped  that  by  remaining  where  he  was,  he  might  do  some 
good,  even  there,  and  at  all  events  others  depended  too  much 
on  his  uncle’s  favor  to  admit  of  his  awakening  his  wrath  just 
then. 

One  reflection  disturbed  him  far  more  than  any  selfish  con¬ 
siderations  arising  out  of  his  own  position.  This  was  the  prob¬ 
able  destination  of  his  sister  Kate.  His  uncle  had  deceived 
him,  and  might  he  not  consign  her  to  some  miserable  place 
where  her  youth  and  beauty  would  prove  a  far  greater  curse 
than  ugliness  and  decrepitude  ?  To  a  caged  man,  bound  hand 
and  foot,  this  was  a  terrible  idea; — but  no,  he  thought,  his 
mother  was  by ;  there  was  the  portrait-painter,  too — simple 
enough,  but  still  living  in  the  world,  and  of  it.  He  was  willing 
to  believe  that  Ralph  Nickleby  had  conceived  a  personal  dislike 
to  himself.  Having  pretty  good  reason  by  this  time  to  reci¬ 
procate  it,  he  had  no  great  difficulty  in  arriving  at  that  conclu¬ 
sion,  and  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  the  feeling  extended  no 
farther  than  between  them. 

As  he  was  absorbed  in  these  meditations  he  all  at  once  en¬ 
countered  the  upturned  face  of  Smike,  who  was  on  his  knees  be¬ 
fore  the  stove,  picking  a  few  stray  cinders  from  the  hearth  and 
planting  them  on  the  fire.  He  had  paused  to  steal  a  look  at 
Nicholas,  and  when  he  saw  that  he  was  observed,  shrunk  back 
as  if  expecting  a  blow. 

“You  need  not  fear  me,”  said  Nicholas,  kindly.  “Are  you 
cold  ?” 

“  N-n-o.” 

“  You  are  shivering.” 

“  I  am  not  cold,”  replied  Smike,  quickly.  “  I  am  used  to  it.” 

There  was  such  an  obvious  fear  of  giving  offence  in  his  man¬ 
ner,  and  he  was  such  a  timid,  broken-spirited  creature,  tha* 
Nicholas  could  not  help  exclaiming,  “  Poor  fellow  I” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


121 


If  he  had  struck  the  drudge,  he  would  have  slunk  away  with¬ 
out  a  word.  But  now  he  burst  into  tears. 

“Oh  dear,  oh  dear!”  he  cried,  covering  his  face  with  his 
cracked  and  homy  hands.  “  My  heart  will  break.  It  will,  it 
will.” 

“  Hush  1”  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
“  Be  a  man ;  you  are  nearly  one  by  years,  God  help  you.” 

“  By  years  1”  cried  Smike.  “  Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  how  many 
of  them  1  How  many  of  them  since  I  was  a  little  child,  younger 
than  any  that  are  here  now  !  Where  are  they  all  1” 

“Whom  do  you  speak  of?”  inquired  Nicholas,  wishing  to 
rouse  the  poor,  half-witted  creature  to  reason.  “Tell  me.” 

“My  friends,”  he  replied,  “myself — my — oh!  what  sufferings 
mine  have  been !” 

“  There  is  always  hope,”  said  Nicholas;  he  knew  not  what  to 
say. 

“No,”  rejoined  the  other,  “no  ;  none  for  me.  Do  you  re¬ 
member  the  boy  that  died  here  ?” 

“  I  was  not  here,  you  know,”  said  Nicholas,  gently;  “but 
what  of  him  ?” 

“Why,”  replied  the  youth,  drawing  closer  to  his  questioner’s 
side,  “  I  was  with  him  at  night,  and  when  it  was  all  silent  he 
cried  no  more  for  friends  he  wished  to  come  and  sit  with  him, 
but  began  to  see  faces  round  his  bed  that  came  from  home;  he 
said  they  smiled,  and  talked  to  him,  and  died  at  last  lifting  his 
head  to  kiss  them.  Do  you  hear  ?” 

“Yes,  yes,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“What  faces  will  smile  on  me  when  I  die  ?”  said  his  companion, 
shivering.  “  Who  will  talk  to  me  in  those  long  nights  ?  They 
cannot  come  from  home;  they  would  frighten  me  if  they  did, 
for  I  don’t  know  what  it  is,  and  sliouldn’t  know  them.  Pain 
and  fear,  pain  and  fear  for  me,  alive  or  dead.  No  hope,  no 
hope.” 

The  bell  rang  to  bed,  and  the  boy  subsiding  at  the  sound  into 
his  usual  listless  state,  crept  away  as  if  anxious  to  avoid  notice. 
It  was  witli  a  heavy  heart  that  Nicholas  soon  afterwards — no, 
not  retired  ;  there  was  no  retirement  there — followed — to  his 
dirty  and  crowded  dormitory. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


OP  MISS  SQTJEERS,  MRS.  SQUEERS,  MASTER  SQUEERS,  AND  MR. 

SQUEERS ;  AND  VARIOUS  MATTERS  AND  PERSONS  CONNECTED  NO 

LESS  WITU  TUE  SQUEERSES  TUAN  WITH  NICUOLAS  NICKLEBY. 

When  Mr.  Squeers  left  the  school-room  for  the  night,  he 
betook  himself,  as  has  been  before  remarked,  to  his  own  fireside, 
which  was  situated — not  in  the  room  in  which  Nicliolas  had 
supped  on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  but  in  a  smaller  apartment 
in  the  rear  of  the  premises,  where  his  lady  wife,  his  amiable  son, 
and  accomplished  daughter,  were  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  each 
other’s  society  :  Mrs.  Squeers  being  engaged  in  the  matronly 
pursuit  of  stocking-darning,  and  the  young  lady  and  gentleman 
occupied  in  the  adjustment  of  some  youthful  differences  by 
means  of  a  pugilistic  contest  across  the  table,  which,  on  the 
approach  of  their  honored  parent,  subsided  into  a  noiseless  ex¬ 
change  of  kicks  beneath  it. 

And  in  this  place  it  may  be  as  well  to  apprise  the  reader, 
that  Miss  Fanny  Squeers  was  in  her  thrce-and-twentieth  year. 
If  there  be  any  one  grace  or  loveliness  inseparable  from  that 
particular  period  of  life.  Miss  Squeers  may  be  presumed  to  have 
been  possessed  of  it,  as  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  she 
was  a  solitary  exception  to  a  universal  rule.  She  was  not  tall 
like  her  mother,  but  short  like  her  father;  from  the  former  she 
inherited  a  voice  of  harsh  quality,  and  from  the  latter  a  re¬ 
markable  expression  of  the  right  eye,  something  akin  to  having 
none  at  all. 

Miss  Squeers  had  been  spending  a  few  days  with  a  neighbor¬ 
ing  friend,  and  had  only  just  returned  to  the  parental  roof 
To  this  circumstance  may  be  referred  her  having  heard  nothing 
of  Nicholas,  until  Mr.  Squeers  himself  now  made  him  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  conversation. 

“Well,  my  dear,”  said  Squeers,  drawing  up  his  chair,  “what 
do  you  think  of  him  by  this  time 
(122) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


128 


‘Think  of  who  ?”  inquired  Mrs.  Squeers  ;  who  (as  she  often 
remarked)  was  no  grammarian,  thank  God. 

“  Of  the  young  man — the  new  teacher — who  else  could  I 
mean 

“  Oh  1  that  Knuckleboy,”  said  Mrs.  Squeers  impatiently; 
“  I  hate  him.” 

“  What  do  you  hate  him  for,  my  dear  ?”  asked  Squeers. 

“  What’s  that  to  you  ?”  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers.  “  If  I  hate 
him,  that’s  enough,  ain’t  it  ?” 

“  Quite  enough  for  him,  my  dear,  and  a  great  deal  too  much 
I  dare  say,  if  he  knew  it,”  replied  Squeers  in  a  pacific  tone. 
“I  only  asked  from  curiosity,  my  dear.” 

“  Well,  then,  if  you  want  to  know,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers, 
“  I’ll  tell  you.  Because  he’s  a  proud,  haughty,  consequential, 
turned-up-nosed  peacock.” 

Mrs.  Squeers  when  excited  was  accustomed  to  use  strong 
language,  and  moreover  to  make  use  of  a  plurality  of  epithets, 
some  of  which  were  of  a  figurative  kind,  as  the  word  peacock, 
and  furthermore  the  allusion  to  Nicholas’s  nose,  which  was  not 
intended  to  be  taken  in  its  literal  sense,  but  rather  to  bear  a 
latitude  of  construction  according  to  the  fancy  of  the  hearers. 
Neither  were  they  meant  to  bear  reference  to  each  other  so 
much  as  to  the  object  on  whom  they  were  bestowed,  as  will  be 
seen  in  the  present  case  :  a  peacock  with  a  turned  up  nose 
being  a  novelty  in  ornithology,  and  a  thing  not  commonly 
seen. 

“  Hem !”  said  Squeers,  as  if  in  mild  deprecation  of  this 
outbreak.  “  He  is  cheap,  my  dear ;  the  young  man  is  very 
cheap.” 

“  Not  a  bit  of  it,”  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers. 

“  Five  pound  a  year,”  said  Squeers. 

“  What  of  that ;  it’s  dear  if  you  don’t  want  him,  isn’t  it  ?” 
replied  his  wife. 

“  But  we  do  want  him,”  urged  Squeers. 

“  I  don’t  see  that  you  want  him  any  more  than  the  dead,’' 
said  Mrs.  Squeers.  “  Don’t  tell  me.  You  can  put  on  the  cards 
and  in  the  advertisements,  ‘Education  by  Mr.  Wackibrd 
Squeers  and  able  assistants,’  without  having  any  assistants,  can’t 


124 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


you  ?  Isn’t  it  done  every  day  by  all  the  masters  about  ?  I’ve 
no  patience  with  you.” 

“  Haven’t  you  1”  said  Squeers,  sternly.  “  Now  I’ll  tell  you 
what,  Mrs.  Squeers.  In  this  matter  of  having  a  teacher,  I'll 
take  my  own  way,  if  you  please.  A  slave-driver  in  the  West 
Indies  is  allowed  a  man  under  him,  to  see  that  his  blacks  don’t 
run  away,  or  get  up  a  rebellion ;  and  I’ll  have  a  man  under  me 
to  do  the  same  with  our  blacks,  till  such  time  as  little  Wack- 
ford  is  able  to  take  charge  of  the  school.” 

“  Am  I  to  take  care  of  the  school  when  I  grow  up  a  man, 
father  ?”  said  Wackford  junior,  suspending,  in  the  excess  of  his 
delight,  a  vicious  kick  which  he  was  administering  to  his  sister. 

“  You  are,  my  sou,”  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  sentimental 
voice. 

“  Oh,  my  eye,  won’t  I  give  it  to  the  boys  1”  exclaimed  the 
interesting  child,  grasping  his  father’s  cane.  “  Oh  father,  won’t 
I  make  ’em  squeak  again  !” 

It  was  a  proud  moment  in  Mr.  Squeers’s  life  to  witness  that 
burst  of  enthusiasm  in  his  young  child’s  mind,  and  to  see  in  it 
a  foreshadowing  of  his  future  eminence.  He  pressed  a  penny 
into  his  hand,  and  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  (as  did  his  exem¬ 
plary  wife  also)  in  a  shout  of  approving  laughter.  The 
infantine  appeal  to  their  common  sympathies  at  once  restored 
cheerfulness  to  the  conversation,  and  harmony  to  the  company. 

“  He’s  a  nasty  stuck-up  monkey,  that’s  what  I  consider  him,” 
said  Mrs.  Squeers,  reverting  to  Nicholas. 

“  Supposing  he  is,”  said  Squeers,  “  he  is  as  well  stuck  up  in 
our  school-room  as  anyw^here  else,  isn’t  he  ? — especially  as  he 
don’t  like  it.” 

“  Well,”  observed  Mrs.  Squeers,  “  there’s  something  in  that. 
I  hope  it’ll  bring  his  pride  down,  and  it  shall  be  no  fault  of 
mine  if  it  don’t.” 

Now,  a  proud  usher  in  a  Yorkshire  school  was  such  a  very 
extraordinary  and  unaccountable  thing  to  hear  of, — any  usher 
at  all  being  a  novelty,  but  a  proud  one  a  being  of  whose  exist¬ 
ence  the  wildest  imagination  could  never  have  dreamt — that 
Miss  Squeers,  who  seldom  troubled  herself  with  scholastic  mat¬ 
ters,  inquired  with  much  curiosity  who  this  Knuckleboy  waa 
that  gave  himself  such  airs. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


126 


“  Nicklcby,*’  said  Squeers,  spelling  the  name  according  to 
some  eccentric  system  which  prevailed  in  his  own  mind,  “  your 
mother  always  calls  things  and  people  by  their  wrong  names.” 

“  No  matter  for  that,”  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  “  I  see  them  with 
right  eyes,  and  that’s  quite  enough  for  me.  I  watched  him 
when  you  were  laying  on  to  little  Bolder  this  afternoon.  lie 
looked  as  black  as  thunder  all  tlie  while,  and  one  time  started 
up  as  if  he  had  more  than  got  it  in  his  mind  to  make  a  rush  at 
you  ;  I  saw  him,  though  he  thought  I  didn’t.” 

“  Never  mind  that,  father,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  as  the  head 
of  the  family  was  about  to  reply.  “  Who  is  the  man  ?” 

“  Why,  your  father  has  got  some  nonsense  in  his  head  that 
he’s  the  son  of  a  poor  gentleman  that  died  the  other  day,”  said 
Mrs.  Squeers. 

“  The  son  of  a  gentleman  1” 

“  Yes  ;  but  I  don’t  believe  a  word  of  it.  If  he’s  a  gentle¬ 
man’s  son  at  all  he’s  a  fondling,  that’s  my  opinion.” 

Mrs.  Squeers  intended  to  say  “  foundling,”  but,  as  she  fre¬ 
quently  remarked  when  she  made  any  such  mistake,  it  would  be 
all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence ;  with  which  axiom  of  phi¬ 
losophy  indeed  she  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  consoling  the 
boys  when  they  labored  under  more  than  ordinary  ill  usage. 

“  He’s  nothing  of  the  kind,”  said  Squeers  in  answer  to  the 
above  remark,  “  for  his  father  was  married  to  his  mother,  years 
before  he  was  born,  and  she  is  alive  now.  If  he  was  it  would 
be  no  business  of  ours,  for  we  make  a  very  good  friend  by  having 
him  here,  and  if  he  likes  to  learn  the  boys  any  thing  besides 
minding  them,  I  have  no  objection  I  am  sure.” 

“  I  say  again  I  hate  him  worse  than  poison,”  said  Mrs. 
Squeers  vehemently. 

“  If  you  dislike  him,  my  dear,”  returned  Squeers,  “  I  don’t 
know  any  body  who  can  show  dislike  better  than  you,  and  of 
course  there’s  no  occasion,  with  him,  to  take  the  trouble  to 
hide  it.” 

“  I  don’t  intend  to,  I  assure  you,”  interposed  Mrs.  S. 

“That’s  right,”  said  Squeers;  “and  if  he  has  a  touch  of  pride 
about  him,  as  I  think  he  has,  I  don’t  believe  there’s  a  woman  in 
all  England  that  can  bring  any  body’s  spirit  down  as  quick  aa 
you  can,  my  love.” 


126 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Mrs.  Squeers  chuckled  vastly  on  the  receipt  of  these  flattering 
compliments,  and  said,  she  hoped  she  had  tamed  a  high  spirit 
or  two  in  her  day.  It  is  but  due  to  her  character  to  say,  that 
in  conjunction  with  her  estimable  husband,  she  had  broken  many 
and  many  a  one. 

Miss  Fanny  Squeers  carefully  treasured  up  this  and  much 
more  conversation  on  the  same  subject  until  she  retired  for  the 
night,  M'hen  she  questioned  the  hungry  servant  minutely  regard¬ 
ing  the  outward  appearance  and  demeanor  of  Nicholas ;  to 
which  queries  the  girl  returned  such  enthusiastic  replies,  coupled 
with  so  many  laudatory  remarks  touching  his  beautiful  dark 
eyes,  and  his  sweet  smile,  and  his  straight  legs — upon  which 
last-named  articles  she  laid  particular  stress,  the  general  run  of 
legs  at  Dotheboys  Hall  being  crooked — that  Miss  Squeers  was 
not  long  in  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  the  new  usher  must 
be  a  very  remarkable  person,  or  as  she  herself  significantly 
phrased  it,  “something  quite  out  of  the  common.”  And  so 
Miss  Squeers  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  take  a  personal 
observation  of  Nicholas  the  very  next  day. 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  the  young  lady  watched  the  op¬ 
portunity  of  her  mother  being  engaged  and  her  father  absent, 
and  went  accidentally  into  the  school-room  to  get  a  pen  mended, 
where,  seeing  nobody  but  Nicholas  presiding  over  the  boys,  she 
blushed  very  deeply,  and  exhibited  great  confusion. 

“ I  beg  your  pardon,”  faltered  Miss  Squeers ;  “I  thought  my 
father  was — or  might  be — dear  me,  how  very  awkward  1” 

“Mr.  Squeers  is  out,”  said  Nicholas,  by  no  means  overcome 
by  the  apparition,  unexpected  though  it  was. 

“  Do  you  know  will  he  be  long.  Sir  ?”  asked  Miss  Squeers 
with  bashful  hesitation. 

“  lie  said  about  an  hour,”  replied  Nicholas — politely  of 
course,  but  without  any  indication  of  being  stricken  to  the  heart 
by  Miss  Squeers’s  charms. 

“  I  never  knew  any  thing  happen  so  cross,”  exclaimed  the 
young  lady.  “Thank  you;  I  am  very  sorry  I  intruded  I  am 
sure.  If  I  hadn’t  thought  my  father  was  here,  T  wouldn’t  upon 
any  account  have — it  is  very  provoking — must  look  so  very 
Btrange,”  murmured  Miss  Squeers,  blushing  once  more,  and 


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“OH!  AS  SOFT  AS  POSSIBLE,  IF  YOU  PLEASE.' 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


127 


glancing  from  tlie  pen  in  her  hand,  to  Nicholas  at  his  desk,  and 
back  again. 

“  If  that  is  all  you  want,”  said  Nicholas,  pointing  to  the  pen, 
and  smiling,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  the  affected  embarrassment 
of  the  schoolmaster’s  daughter,  “perhaps  I  can  supply  his 
place.” 

Miss  Squeers  glanced  at  the  door  as  if  dubious  of  the  pro¬ 
priety  of  advancing  any  nearer  to  an  utter  sti’anger,  then  round 
the  school-room  as  though  in  some  measure  reassured  by  the 
presence  of  forty  boys,  and  finally  sidled  up  to  Nicholas,  and 
delivered  the  pen  into  his  hand  with  a  most  winning  mixture  of 
reserve  and  condescension. 

“  Shall  it  be  a  hard  or  a  soft  nib  ?”  inquired  Nicholas,  smiling 
to  prevent  himself  from  laughing  outright. 

“  He  has  a  beautiful  smile,”  thought  Miss  Squeers. 

“Which  did  you  say  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“Dear  me,  I  was  thinking  of  something  else  for  the  moment, 
I  declare,”  replied  Miss  Squeers — “  Oh  1  as  soft  as  possible,  if 
you  please.”  With  which  words  Miss  Squeers  sighed ;  it  might 
be  to  give  Nicholas  to  understand  that  her  heart  was  soft  and 
that  the  pen  was  wanted  to  match. 

Upon  these  instructions  Nicholas  made  the  pen;  when  he 
gave  it  to  Miss  Squeers,  Miss  Squeers  dropped  it,  and  when  he 
stooped  to  pick  it  up.  Miss  Squeers  stooped  also,  and  they 
knocked  their  heads  together,  whereat  five-and-twenty  little  boys 
laughed  aloud,  being  positively  for  the  first  and  only  time  that 
half  year. 

“Very  awkward  of  me,”  said  Nicholas,  opening  the  door  for 
the  young  lady’s  retreat. 

“Not  at  all.  Sir,”  replied  Miss  Squeers;  “it  was  my  fault. 
It  was  all  my  foolish — a — a — good  morning.” 

“  Good-by,”  said  Nicholas.  “  The  next  I  make  for  you,  I 
hope  will  be  made  less  clumsily.  Take  care,  you  are  biting  the 
nib  off  now.” 

“Really,”  said  Miss  Squeers;  “so  embarrassing  that  I 
scarcely  know  what  I — very  sorry  to  give  you  so  much 
trouble.” 

“Not  the  least  trouble  in  the  world,”  replied  Nicholao, 
closing  the  school-room  door. 


128 


NICHOLAS  itiCKLEBY. 


“  I  never  saw  siich  legs  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  !”  said 
Miss  Squeers,  as  she  walked  away. 

In  fact,  Miss  Squeers  was  in  love  with  Nicholas  Nickleby. 

To  account  for  the  rapidity  with  which  this  young  lady  had 
conceived  a  passion  for  Nicholas,  it  may  be  necessary  to  state 
that  the  friend  from  whom  she  had  so  recently  returned  was  a 
miller’s  daughter  of  only  eighteen,  who  had  contracted  herself 
unto  the  son  of  a  small  corn-factor  resident  in  the  nearest  mar¬ 
ket  town.  Miss  Squeers  and  the  miller’s  daughter  being  fast 
friends,  had  covenanted  together  some  two  years  before,  ac¬ 
cording  to  a  custom  prevalent  among  young  ladies,  that  who¬ 
ever  was  first  engaged  to  be  married  should  straightway  confide 
the  mighty  secret  to  the  bosom  of  the  other,  before  communi¬ 
cating  it  to  any  living  soul,  and  bespeak  her  as  bridesmaid 
without  loss  of  time  ;  in  fulfillment  of  which  pledge,  the  miller’s 
daughter,  when  her  engagement  was  formed,  came  out  ex¬ 
press  at  eleven  o’clock  at  night  as  the  corn-factor’s  son  made 
an  olfer  of  his  hand  and  heart  at  twenty-five  minutes  past  ten 
Dy  the  Dutch  clock  in  the  kitchen,  and  rushed  into  Miss 
Squeers’s  bed-room  vdth  the  gratifying  intelligence.  Now,  Miss 
Squeers  being  five  years  older,  and  out  of  her  teens  (which  is 
also  a  great  matter),  had  since  been  more  than  commonly  anx¬ 
ious  to  return  the  compliment,  and  possess  her  friend  with  a 
similar  secret ;  but  either  in  consequence  of  finding  it  hard  to 
please  herself,  or  harder  still  to  please  any  body  else,  had  never 
had  an  opportunity  so  to  do,  inasmuch  as  she  had  no  such  secret 
to  disclose.  The  little  interview  with  Nicholas  had  no  sooner 
passed  as  above  described,  however,  than  Miss  Squeers,  putting 
on  her  bonnet,  made  her  way  with  great  precipitation  to  her 
friend’s  house,  and  upon  a  solemn  renewal  of  divers  old  vows  of 
secrecy,  revealed  how  that  she  was — not  exactly  engaged,  but 
going  to  be — to  a  gentleman’s  son — (none  of  your  corn-factors, 
but  a  gentleman’s  son  of  high  descent) — who  had  come  down  as 
teacher  to  Dotheboys  Hall  under  most  mysterious  and  remark¬ 
able  circumstances — indeed,  as  Miss  Squeers  more  than  once 
hinted  she  had  good  reason  to  believe — induced  by  the  fame  of 
her  many  charms  to  seek  her  out,  and  woo  and  win  her. 

“  Isn’t  it  an  extraordinary  thing?”  said  Miss  Squeers,  empha¬ 
sizing  the  adjective  strongly. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


129 


“  Most  extraordinary,”  replied  the  friend.  “  But  what  baa 
her  said  to  you  ?” 

“  Don’t  ask  me  what  he  said,  my  dear,”  rejoined  Miss  Squeers. 
'‘If  you  had  only  seen  his  looks  and  smiles  1  I  never  was  so 
overcome  in  all  my  life.” 

“  Did  he  look  in  this  way  ?”  inquired  the  miller’s  daughter, 
counterfeiting  as  nearly  as  she  could  a  favorite  leer  of  the  corn- 
factor. 

“Very  like  that — only  more  genteel,”  replied  Miss  Squeers. 

“  Ah  1”  said  the  friend,  “  then  he  means  something — depend 
on  it.” 

Miss  Squeers,  having  slight  misgivings  on  the  subject,  was  by 
no  means  ill  pleased  to  be  confirmed  by  a  competent  authority  ; 
and  discovering,  on  further  conversation  and  comparison  of 
notes,  a  great  many  points  of  resemblance  between  the  behavior 
of  Nicholas  and  that  of  the  corn-factor,  grew  so  exceedingly 
confidential  that  she  intrusted  her  friend  with  a  vast  number  of 
things  Nicholas  had  not  said,  which  were  all  so  very  compli¬ 
mentary  as  to  be  quite  conclusive.  Then  she  dilated  on  the 
fearful  hardship  of  having  a  father  and  mother  strenuously  op¬ 
posed  to  her  intended  husband,  on  which  unhappy  circumstance 
she  dwelt  at  great  length  ;  for  the  friend’s  father  and  mother 
were  quite  agreeable  to  her  being  married,  and  the  whole  court¬ 
ship  was  in  consequence  as  flat  and  commonplace  an  affair  as 
it  was  possible  to  imagine. 

“  How  I  should  like  to  see  him  !”  exclaimed  the  friend. 

“  So  you  shall,  ’Tilda,”  replied  Miss  Squeers.  “  I  should 
consider  myself  one  of  the  most  ungrateful  creatures  alive,  if  I 
denied  you.  I  think  mother’s  going  away  for  two  days  to  fetch 
some  boys,  and  when  she  does.  I’ll  ask  you  and  John  up  to  tea, 
and  have  him  to  meet  you.” 

This  was  a  charming  idea,  and  having  fully  discussed  it,  the 
friends  parted. 

It  so  fell  out  that  Mrs.  Squeers’s  journey  to  some  distance, 
to  fetch  three  new  boys,  and  dun  the  relations  of  two  old  ones 
for  the  balance  of  a  small  account,  was  fixed  that  very  after¬ 
noon  for  the  next  day  but  one  ;  and  on  the  next  day  but  oiie 
Mrs.  Squeers  got  up  outside  the  coach  as  it  stopped  to  change 
at  Greta  Bridge,  taking  with  her  a  small  bundle  containing 
n 


130 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Rometliing  in  a  bottle  and  some  sandwiches,  and  carrying  besides 
a  large  white  top  coat  to  wear  in  the  night  time;  with  which 
baggage  she  went  her  way. 

AVhenever  such  opportunities  as  these  occurred,  it  was 
Squeers’s  custom  to  drive  over  to  the  market  town  every  even¬ 
ing  on  pretence  of  urgent  business,  and  stop  till  ten  or  eleven 
o’clock  at  a  tavern  he  much  affected.  As  the  party  was  not  iu 
his  way  therefore,  but  rather  afforded  a  means  of  compromise 
with  Miss  Squeers,  he  readily  yielded  his  full  assent  thereunto, 
and  willingly  communicated  to  Nicholas  that  he  was  expected 
to  take  his  tea  in  the  parlor  that  evening  at  five  o’clock. 

To  be  sure.  Miss  Squeers  was  in  a  desperate  flutter  as  the  time 
approached,  and  to  be  sure  she  was  dressed  out  to  the  best  ad¬ 
vantage  :  with  her  hair — it  had  more  than  a  tinge  of  red,  and 
she  wore  it  in  a  crop — curled  in  five  distinct  rows  up  to  the 
very  top  of  her  head,  and  arranged  dexterously  over  the  doubt¬ 
ful  eye ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  blue  sash  which  floated  down 
her  back,  or  the  worked  apron,  or  the  long  gloves,  or  the  green 
gauze  scarf  worn  over  one  shoulder  and  under  the  other,  or  any 
of  the  numerous  devices  which  were  to  be  as  so  many  arrows  to 
the  heart  of  Nicholas.  She  had  scarcely  completed  these  ar¬ 
rangements  to  her  entire  satisfaction  when  the  friend  arrived 
with  a  whitey-brown  parcel — flat  and  three-cornered — contain¬ 
ing  sundry  small  adornments  which  were  to  be  put  on  up  stairs, 
and  which  the  friend  put  on,  talking  incessantly.  When  Miss 
Squeers  had  “done”  the  friend’s  hair,  the  friend  “did”  Miss 
Squeers’s  hair,  throwing  in  some  striking  improvements  in  the 
way  of  ringlets  down  the  neck ;  and  then,  when  they  were  both 
touched  up  to  their  entire  satisfaction,  they  went  down  stairs  in 
full  state  with  the  long  gloves  on,  all  ready  for  company. 

“Where’s  John,  ’Tilda  ?”  said  Miss  Squeers. 

“  Only  gone  home  to  clean  himself,”  replied  the  friend.  “  He 
will  be  here  by  the  time  the  tea’s  drawn.” 

“I  do  so  palpitate,”  observed  Miss  Squeers. 

“Ah  !  I  know  what  it  is,”  replied  the  friend. 

“  I  have  not  been  used  to  it,  you  know,  ’Tilda,”  said  Miss 
Squeers,  applying  her  hand  to  the  left  side  of  her  sash. 

“  You’ll  soon  get  the  better  of  it,  dear,”  rejoined  the  friend 
W'hile  they  were  talking  thus  the  hungry  servant  brought  in 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


131 


the  tea  things,  and  soon  afterwards  somebody  tapped  at  the 
room  door. 

“  There  he  is  !”  cried  Miss  Squeers.  “  Oh  ’Tilda  !” 

“  Hush  !”  said  ’Tilda.  “Heml  Say,  come  in.” 

“  Come  in,”  cried  Miss  Squeers  faintly.  And  in  walked 
Nicholas. 

“  Good  evening,”  said  that  young  gentleman,  all  unconscious 
of  his  conquest.  “  I  understood  from  Mr.  Squeers  that - ” 

“  Oh  yes  ;  it’s  all  right,”  interposed  Miss  Squeers.  “Father 
don’t  tea  with  us,  but  you  won’t  mind  that  I  dare  say.”  (This 
was  said  archly.) 

Nicholas  opened  his  eyes  at  this,  but  he  turned  the  matter 
off  very  coolly — not  caring  particularly  about  any  thing  just 
then — and  went  through  the  ceremony  of  introduction  to  the 
miller’s  daughter  with  so  much  grace,  that  that  young  lady  was 
lost  in  admiration. 

“We  are  only  waiting  for  one  more  gentleman,”  said  Miss 
Squeers,  taking  off  the  tea-pot  lid,  and  looking  in,  to  see  how 
the  tea  was  getting  on. 

It  was  matter  of  equal  moment  to  Nicholas  whether  they  were 
waiting  for  one  gentleman  or  twenty,  so  he  received  the  intelli¬ 
gence  with  perfect  unconcern ;  and  being  out  of  spirits,  and  not 
seeing  any  especial  reason  why  he  should  make  himself  agree¬ 
able,  looked  out  of  the  window  and  sighed  involuntarily. 

As  luck  would  have  it.  Miss  Squeers’s  friend  was  of  a  play 
ful  turn,  and  hearing  Nicholas  sigh,  she  took  it  into  her  head  to 
rally  the  lovers  on  their  lowness  of  spirits. 

“But  if  it’s  caused  by  my  being  here,”  said  the  young  lady^ 
“don’t  mind  me  a  bit,  for  I’m  quite  as  bad.  You  may  go  on  just 
us  you  would  if  you  were  alone.” 

“’Tilda,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  coloring  up  to  the  top  row  of 
curls,  “I  am  ashamed  of  you;”  and  here  the  two  friends  burst 
into  a  variety  of  giggles,  and  glanced  from  time  to  time  over 
the  tops  of  their  pocket-handkerchiefs  at  Nicholas,  who,  from 
a  state  of  unrnixed  astonishment,  gradually  fell  into  one  of  irre¬ 
pressible  laughter — occasioned  partly  by  the  bare  notion  of  his 
being  in  love  with  Miss  Squeers,  and  partly  by  the  preposterous 
appearance  and  behavior  of  the  two  girls ;  the  two  causes 
of  merriment  taken  together,  struck  him  as  being  so  keenly  ridi- 


132 


NICHOLAS  NTCKLEBY. 


culons.  that  despite  his  miserable  condition,  he  laughed  till  he 
was  thoroughly  exhausted. 

“Well,”  thought  Nicholas,  “as  I  am  here,  and  seem  ex¬ 
pected  for  some  reason  or  other  to  be  amiable,  it’s  of  no  use 
looking  like  a  goose.  I  may  as  well  accommodate  myself  to 
the  company.” 

We  blush  to  tell  it,  but  his  youthful  spirits  and  vivacity  get¬ 
ting  for  a  time  the  better  of  his  sad  thoughts,  he  no  sooner 
formed  this  resolution  than  he  saluted  Miss  Squeers  and  the 
friend  with  great  gallantry,  and  drawing  a  chair  to  the  tea-table, 
began  to  make  himself  more  at  home  than  in  all  probability  an 
usher  has  ever  done  in  his  employer’s  house  since  ushers  were 
first  invented. 

The  ladies  were  in  the  full  delight  of  this  altered  behavior  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Nickleby,  when  the  expected  swain  arrived  with 
his  hair  very  damp  from  recent  washing ;  and  a  clean  shirt, 
whereof  the  collar  might  have  belonged  to  some  giant  ancestor, 
forming,  together  with  a  white  waistcoat  of  similar  dimensions, 
the  chief  ornament  of  his  person. 

“Well,  John,”  said  Miss  Matilda  Price  (which,  by-the-by, 
was  the  name  of  the  miller’s  daughter). 

“  Weel,”  said  John,  with  a  grin  that  even  the  collar  could  not 
conceal. 

“  I  beg  your  pardon,”  interposed  Miss  Squeers,  hastening  to 
do  the  honors,  “Mr.  Nickleby — Mr.  John  Browdie.” 

“Servant,  Sir,”  said  John,  who  was  something  over  six  feet 
high,  with  a  face  and  body  rather  above  the  due  proportion 
than  below  it. 

“Yours  to  command,  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas,  making  fearful 
ravages  on  the  bread  and  butter. 

Mr.  Browdie  was  not  a  gentleman  of  great  conversational 
powers,  so  he  grinned  twice  more,  and  having  now  bestowed  his 
customary  mark  of  recognition  on  every  person  in  company, 
grinned  at  nothing  particular  and  helped  himself  to  food. 

“  Old  wooman  awa’,  beant  she  ?”  said  Mr.  Browdie,  with  his 
mouth  full. 

Miss  Squeers  nodded  assent. 

Mr.  Browdie  gave  a  grin  of  special  width,  as  if  he  thought 
that  really  was  something  to  laugh  at,  and  went  to  work  at  tho 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


133 


bread  and  butter  with  increased  vigor.  It  was  quite  a  sight  to 
bcliold  how  he  and  Nicholas  emptied  the  plate  between  them, 

“  Ye  weant  get  bread  and  butther  ev’ry  neight  I  expect,  mun,’’ 
said  Mr.  Browdie,  after  he  had  sat  staring  at  Nicholas  a  long 
time  over  the  empty  plate. 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip  and  colored,  but  affected  not  to  hear  the 
remark. 

“  Ecod,”  said  Mr.  Browdie,  laughing  boisterously,  “  they 
dean’t  put  too  much  intiv  ’em.  Y'e’ll  be  nowt  but  skeen  and 
boans  if  you  stop  here  long  eneaf.  Ho  !  hoi  ho  1” 

“You  are  facetious.  Sir,”  said  Nicholas,  scornfully. 

“Na;  I  dean’t  know,”  replied  Mr.  Browdie,  “but  t’oother 
teacher,  ’cod  he  wur  a  learn  ’un,  he  wur.”  The  recollection  of 
the  last  teacher’s  leanness  seemed  to  afford  Mr.  Browdie  the 
most  exquisite  delight,  for  he  laughed  until  he  found  it  neces¬ 
sary  to  apply  his  coat-cuffs  to  his  eyes. 

“  I  don’t  know  whether  your  perceptions  are  quite  keen 
enough,  Mr.  Browdie,  to  enable  you  to  understand  that  your 
remarks  are  very  offensive,”  said  Nicholas  in  a  towering  pas¬ 
sion,  “  but  if  they  are,  have  the  goodness  to - ” 

“If  you  say  another  word,  John,”  shrieked  Miss  Price, 
stopping  her  admirer’s  mouth  as  he  was  about  to  interrupt, 
“  only  half  a  word.  I’ll  never  forgive  you,  or  speak  to  you 
again.” 

“  Weel,  my  lass,  I  dean’t  care  aboot  ’un,”  said  the  corn-factor, 
bestowing  a  hearty  kiss  on  Miss  Matilda  ;  “  let  ’un  gang  on,  let 
’un  gang  on.” 

It  now  became  Miss  Squeers’s  turn  to  intercede  with  Nicholas, 
which  she  did  with  many  symptoms  of  alarm  and  horror ;  the 
effect  of  the  double  intercession  was  that  he  and  John  Browdie 
shook  hands  across  the  table  with  much  gravity,  and  such  was 
the  imposing  nature  of  the  ceremonial,  that  Miss  Squeers  was 
overcome  and  shed  tears. 

“What’s  the  matter,  Fanny?”  said  Miss  Price. 

“  Nothing,  ’Tilda,”  replied  Miss  Squeers,  sobbing. 

“There  never  was  any  danger,”  said  Miss  Price,  “was  taere, 
Mr.  Nickleby  ?” 

“  None  at  all,”  replied  Nicholas.  “Absurd.” 

“That’s  right,”  whispered  Miss  Price,  “say  something  kind 


134 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


to  her,  and  she’ll  soon  come  round.  Here,  shall  John  and  I  go 
into  the  little  kitchen,  and  come  back  presently  ?” 

“Not  on  any  account,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  quite  alarmed  at 
the  proposition.  “  What  on  earth  should  you  do  that  for  ?” 

“Well,”  said  Miss  Price,  beckoning  him  aside,  and  speak¬ 
ing  with  some  degree  of  contempt — “you  are  a  one  to  keep 
company.” 

“What  do  you  mean  ?”  said  Nicholas;  “I  am  not  one  to 
keep  company  at  all — here  at  all  events.  I  can’t  make  this 
out.” 

“No,  nor  I  neither,”  rejoined  Miss  Price;  “but  men  are 
always  fickle,  and  always  were,  and  always  will  be ;  that  I  can 
make  out  very  easily.” 

“Pickle!”  cried  Nicholas;  “what  do  you  suppose?  You 
don’t  mean  to  say  that  you  think - ” 

“Oh  no,  I  think  nothing  at  all,”  retorted  Miss  Price,  pet¬ 
tishly.  “  Look  at  her,  dressed  so  beautifully  and  looking  so 
well — really  almost  handsome.  I  am  ashamed  at  you.” 

“  My  dear  girl,  what  have  I  got  to  do  with  her  dressing  beau 
tifully  or  looking  well  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  Come,  don’t  call  me  a  dear  girl,”  said  Miss  Price — smiling 
a  little  though,  for  she  was  pretty,  and  a  coquette  too  in  her 
small  way,  and  Nicholas  was  good-looking,  and  she  supposed 
him  the  property  of  somebody  else,  which  were  all  reasons  why 
she  should  be  gratified  to  think  she  had  made  an  impression  on 
him,  “  or  Panny  will  be  saying  it’s  my  fault.  Come ;  we’re 
going  to  have  a  game  at  cards.”  Pronouncing  these  last 
words  aloud,  she  tripped  away  and  rejoined  the  big  Yorkshire- 
man. 

This  was  wholly  unintelligible  to  Nicholas,  who  had  no  other 
distinct  impression  on  his  mind  at  the  moment,  than  that  Miss 
Squeers  was  an  ordinary-looking  girl,  and  her  friend  Miss  Price 
a  pretty  one ;  but  he  had  not  time  to  enlighten  himself  by  re¬ 
flection,  for  the  hearth  being  by  this  time  swept  up,  and  the 
candle  snuffed,  they  sat  down  to  play  speculation. 

“  There  are  only  four  of  us,  ’Tilda,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  look¬ 
ing  slyly  at  Nicholas ;  “  so  we  had  better  go  partners,  two 
against  two.” 

“  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Nickleby  ?”  inquired  Miss  Price. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


•  136 


“With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,”  replied  Nicholas.  And  so 
saying,  quite  unconscious  of  his  heinous  offence,  he  amalgamated 
into  one  common  heap  those  portions  of  a  Dotheboys  Hall  card 
of  terms,  which  represented  his  own  counters,  and  those  allotted 
to  Miss  Price,  respectively. 

“  Mr.  Browdie,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  hysterically,  “  shall  we 
make  a  bank  against  them  ?” 

The  Yorkshireman  assented — apparently  quite  overwhelmed 
by  the  new  usher’s  impudence — and  Miss  Squeers  darted  a 
spiteful  look  at  her  friend,  and  giggled  convulsively. 

The  deal  fell  to  Nicholas,  and  the  hand  prospered. 

“We  intend  to  win  every  thing,”  said  he. 

“  ’Tilda  has  won  something  she  didn’t  expect,  I  think , 
haven’t  you,  dear?”  said  Miss  Squeers,  maliciously. 

“  Only  a  dozen  and  eight,  love,”  replied  Miss  Price,  affecting 
to  take  the  question  in  a  literal  sense. 

“How  dull  you  are  to-night!”  sneered  Miss  Squeers. 

“  No,  indeed,”  replied  Miss  Price,  “  I  am  in  excellent  spirits. 
I  was  thinking  you  seemed  out  of  sorts.” 

“Me!”  cried  Miss  Squeers,  biting  her  lips,  and  trembling 
with  very  jealousy  ;  “  Oh  no  !” 

“  That’s  well,”  remarked  Miss  Price.  “  Your  hair’s  coming 
out  of  curl,  dear.” 

“Never  mind  me,”  tittered  Miss  Squeers  ;  “you  had  better 
attend  to  your  partner.” 

“  Thank  you  for  reminding  her,”  said  Nicholas.  “  So  she 
had.” 

The  Yorkshireman  flattened  his  nose  once  or  twice  with  his 
clenched  fist,  as  if  to  keep  his  hand  in,  till  he  had  an  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  exercising  it  upon  the  features  of  some  other  gentle¬ 
man  ;  and  Miss  Squeers  tossed  her  head  with  such  indignation, 
that  the  gust  of  wind  raised  by  the  multitudinous  curls  in  mo 
tion,  nearly  blew  the  candle  out. 

“  I  never  had  such  luck,  really,”  exclaimed  coquettish  Miss 
Price,  after  another  hand  or  two.  “  It’s  all  along  of  you,  Mr. 
Nickleby,  I  think.  I  should  like  to  have  you  for  a  partner 
always.” 

“  I  wish  you  had.” 


136 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“You’ll  have  a  bad  wife,  though,  if  you  always  win  at  cards,’ 
said  Miss  Price. 

“Not  if  your  wish  is  gratified,”  replied  Nicholas.  “I  am 
sure  I  shall  have  a  good  one  in  that  case.  ” 

To  see  how  Miss  Squeers  tossed  her  head,  and  the  corn-factor 
flattened  his  nose,  while  this  conversation  was  carrying  on  1  It 
would  have  been  worth  a  small  annuity  to  have  beheld  that; 
lot  alone  Miss  Price’s  evident  joy  at  making  them  jealons,  and 
Nicholas  Nickleby’s  happy  unconsciousness  of  making  any  body 
uncomfortable. 

“  We  have  all  the  talking  to  ourselves,  it  seems,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  looking  good-humoredly  round  the  table,  as  he  took  up  the 
cards  for  a  fresh  deal. 

“You  do  it  so  well,”  tittered  Miss  Squeers,  “that  it  would 
be  a  pity  to  interrupt,  wouldn’t  it,  Mr.  Browdie  !  He  I  he  1  he  !” 

“Nay,”  said  Nicholas,  “w'e  do  it  in  default  of  having  any 
body  else  to  talk  to.” 

“Wfc  ll  talk  to  you,  you  know,  if  you’ll  say  any  thing,”  said 
Miss  Price. 

“  Thank  you,  ’Tilda,  dear,”  retorted  Miss  Squeers,  majesti¬ 
cally. 

“  Or  you  can  talk  to  each  other,  if  you  don’t  choose  to  talk 
to  us,”  said  Miss  Price,  rallying  her  dear  friend.  “John,  why 
don’t  you  say  something  ?” 

“  Say  summat  ?”  repeated  the  Yorkshireraan. 

“Ay,  and  not  sit  there  so  silent  and  glum.” 

“Weel,  then  1”  said  the  Yorkshireman,  striking  the  table 
heavily  with  his  fist,  “  what  I  say’s  this — Dang  my  boans  and 
boddy,  if  I  stan’  this  ony  longer.  Do  ye  gang  whoam  wi’  me; 
and  do  yon  loight  an’  toight  young  whipster,  look  sharp  out  for 
a  brokken  head  next  time  he  cums  under  my  bond.” 

“  Mercy  on  us,  what’s  all  this  ?”  cried  Miss  Price,  in  affected 
astonishment. 

“  Cum  whoam,  tell’e,  cum  whoam,”  replied  the  Yorkshireman, 
Etemly.  And  as  he  delivered  the  reply.  Miss  Squeers  burst  into 
a  shower  of  tears  ;  arising  in  part  from  desperate  vexation,  and 
in  part  from  an  impotent  desire  to  lacerate  somebody’s  counte¬ 
nance  with  her  fair  finger-nails. 

This  state  of  things  had  been  brought  about  by  divers  means 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


137 


aud  workings.  Miss  Squeers  had  brought  it  about  by  aspiring 
to  the  high  state  and  condition  of  being  matrimonially  engaged 
without  good  grounds  for  so  doing  ;  Miss  Price  had  broiight  it 
about  by  indulging  in  three  motives  of  action;  first,  a  desire  to 
punish  her  friend  for  laying  claim  to  a  rivalship  in  dignity, 
having  no  good  title ;  secondly,  the  gratification  of  her  own 
vanity  in  receiving  the  compliments  of  a  smart  young  man  ;  and 
thirdly,  a  wish  to  convince  the  corn-factor  of  the  great  danger 
he  ran,  in  deferring  the  celebration  of  their  expected  nupti;  Is  : 
while  Nicholas  had  brought  it  about  by  half  an  hour’s  gayety 
and  thoughtlessness,  and  a  very  sincere  desire  to  avoid  the 
imputation  of  inclining  at  all  to  Miss  Squeers.  So,  that  the 
means  employed,  and  the  end  produced,  were  alike  the  most 
natural  in  the  world  :  for  young  ladies  will  look  forward  to  be¬ 
ing  married,  and  will  jostle  each  other  in  the  race  to  the  altar, 
and  will  avail  themselves  of  all  opportunities  of  displaying  their 
own  attractions  to  the  best  advantage,  down  to  the  very  end 
of  time,  as  they  have  done  from  its  beginning. 

“  Why,  and  here’s  Fanny  in  tears  now  1”  exclaimed  Miss 
Price,  as  if  in  fresh  amazement.  “  What  can  be  the  matter  ?” 

“  Oh  !  you  don’t  know.  Miss,  of  course  you  don’t  know.  Pray 
don’t  trouble  yourself  to  inquire,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  producing 
that  change  of  countenance  which  children  call  making  a  face. 

“Well,  I’m  sure,”  exclaimed  Miss  Price. 

“  And  who  cares  whether  you  are  sure  or  not,  Ma’am  ?” 
retorted  Miss  Squeers,  making  another  face. 

“  You  are  monstrous  polite.  Ma’am,”  said  Miss  Price. 

“  I  shall  not  come  to  you  to  take  lessons  in  the  art.  Ma’am,” 
retorted  Miss  Squeers. 

“You  needn’t  take  the  trouble  to  make  yourself  plainer  than 
you  are.  Ma’am,  however,”  rejoined  Miss  Price,  “because  that’s 
quite  unnecessary.” 

Miss  Squeers  in  reply  turned  .very  red,  and  thanked  God  that 
she  hadn’t  got  the  bold  faces  of  some  people,  and  Miss  Price  in 
rejoinder  congratulated  herself  upon  not  being  possessed  of  the 
envious  feeling  of  other  people  ;  whereupon  Miss  Squeers  made 
some  general  remark  touching  the  danger  of  associating  with 
low  persons,  in  which  Miss  Price  entirely  coincided,  observing 


138 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


that  it  was  very  true  indeed,  and  she  had  thought  so  a  long 
time. 

“’Tilda, ’’exclaimed  Miss  Squeers  with  dignity,  “I  hate  you.” 

“Ah!  there’s  no  love  lost  between  us,  I  assure  you,”  said 
Miss  Price,  tying  her  bonnet  strings  with  a  jerk.  “You’ll  cry 
your  eyes  out  when  I’m  gone,  you  know  you  will.” 

“  I  scorn  your  words.  Minx,”  said  Miss  Squeers. 

“You  pay  me  a  great  compliment  when  you  say  so,”  answered 
the  miller’s  daughter,  courtesying  very  low.  “Wish  you  a  very 
good  night,  Ma’am,  and  pleasant  dreams  attend  your  sleep.” 

With  this  parting  benediction  Miss  Price  swept  from  the 
room,  followed  by  the  huge  Yorkshireman,  who  exchanged  with 
Nicholas  at  parting,  that  peculiarly  expressive  scowl  with  which 
the  cut-and-thrust  counts  in  melo-dramatic  performances  inform 
each  other  they  will  meet  again. 

They  were  no  sooner  gone  than  Miss  Squeers  fulfilled  the  pre¬ 
diction  of  her  quondam  friend  by  giving  vent  to  a  most  copious 
burst  of  tears,  and  uttering  various  dismal  lamentations  and  in¬ 
coherent  words.  Nicholas  stood  looking  on  for  a  few  seconds, 
rather  doubtful  what  to  do,  but  feeling  uncertain  whether  the 
fit  would  end  in  his  being  embraced  or  scratched,  and  consider¬ 
ing  that  either  infliction  would  be  equally  agreeable,  he  walked  off 
very  quietly  while  Miss  Squeers  was  moaning  in  her  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

“This  is  one  consequence,”  thought  Nicholas,  when  he  had 
groped  his  way  to  the  dark  sleeping-room,  “of  my  cursed  readi¬ 
ness  to  adapt  myself  to  any  society  into  which  chance  carries 
me.  If  I  had  sat  mute  and  motionless,  as  I  might  have  done, 
this  would  not  have  happened.” 

lie  listened  for  a  few  minutes,  but  all  was  quiet. 

“I  was  glad,”  he  murmured,  “to  grasp  at  any  relief  from  the 
sight  of  this  dreadful  place,  or  the  presence  of  its  vile  master. 
I  have  set  these  people  by  the  ears  and  made  two  new  enemies, 
where,  Heaven  knows,  I  needed  none.  Well,  it  is  a  just  punish¬ 
ment  for  having  forgotten,  even  for  an  hour,  what  is  around  me 
now.” 

So  saying,  he  felt  his  way  among  the  throng  of  weary-hcart,ed 
Bleepers,  and  crept  into  his  poor  bed. 


CHAPTER  X. 


HO'W  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  PROVIDED  FOR  HIS  NIECE  AND 

SISTER-IN-LAW. 

On  the  second  morning  after  the  departure  of  Nicholas  for 
Yorkshire,  Kate  Nickleby  sat  in  a  very  faded  chair  raised  upon 
a  very  dusty  throne  in  Miss  La  Creevy’s  room,  giving  that  lady 
a  sitting  for  the  portrait  upon  which  she  was  engaged;  and 
towards  the  full  perfection  of  which  Miss  La  Creevy  had  had 
the  street-door  case  brought  up  stairs,  in  order  that  she  might 
be  the  better  able  to  infuse  into  the  counterfeit  countenance  of 
Miss  Nickleby  a  bright  salmon  flesh-tint  which  she  had  originally 
hit  upon  while  executing  the  miniature  of  a  young  officer  therein 
contained,  and  which  bright  salmon  flesh-tint  was  considered 
by  Miss  La  Creevy’s  chief  friends  and  patrons,  to  be  quite  a 
novelty  in  art :  as  indeed  it  was. 

“I  think  I  have  caught  it  now,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “The 
very  shade.  This  will  be  the  sweetest  portrait  I  have  ever  done, 
certainly.” 

“  It  will  be  your  genius  that  makes  it  so,  then,  I  am  sure,” 
replied  Kate,  smiling. 

“  No,  no,  I  won’t  allow  that,  my  dear,”  rejoined  Miss  La 
Creevy.  “  It’s  a  very  nice  subject — a  very  nice  subject,  indeed 
— though  of  course,  something  depends  upon  the  mode  of  treat¬ 
ment.” 

“  And  not  a  little,”  observed  Kate. 

“  Why,  my  dear,  you  are  right  there,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy, 
“in  the  main  you  are  right  there;  though  I  don’t  allow  that  it 
is  of  such  very  great  importance  in  the  present  case.  Ah  I  the 
difficulties  of  art,  ray  dear,  are  great.” 

“  They  must  be,  I  have  no  doubt,”  said  Kate,  humoring  her 
good-natured  little  friend. 

“  They  are  beyond  any  thing  you  can  form  the  faintest  con¬ 
ception  of,”  replied  Miss  La  Creevy.  “What  with  bringing 

(139) 


140 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


out  eyes  with  all  one’s  power,  and  keeping  down  noses  with 
all  one’s  force,  and  adding  to  heads,  and  taking  away  teeth 
altogether,  you  have  no  idea  of  the  trouble  one  little  minia¬ 
ture  is.” 

“  The  remuneration  can  scarcely  repay  you,”  said  Kate. 

“Why,  it  does  not,  and  that’s  the  truth,”  answered  Miss  La 
Oreevy ;  “  and  then  people  are  so  dissatisfied  and  unreasonable, 
that  nine  times  out  of  ten  there’s  no  pleasure  in  painting  them. 
Sometimes  they  say,  ‘  Oh,  how  very  serious  you  have  made  me 
look.  Miss  La  Creevy  1’  and  at  others,  ‘  La,  Miss  La  Creevy 
how  very  smirking !’  when  the  very  essence  of  a  good  portrait 
is,  that  it  must  be  either  serious  or  smirking,  or  it’s  no  portrait 
at  all.” 

“  Indeed  !”  said  Kate,  laughing. 

“  Certainly,  my  dear ;  because  the  sitters  are  always  either 
the  one  or  the  other,”  replied  Miss  La  Creevy.  “Look  at  the 
Royal  Academy.  All  those  beautiful  shiny  portraits  of  gentle¬ 
men  in  black  velvet  waistcoats,  with  their  fists  doubled  up  on 
round  tables  or  marble  slabs,  are  serious,  you  know  ;  and  all  the 
ladies  who  are  playing  with  little  parasols,  or  little  dogs,  or 
little  children — it’s  the  same  rule  in  art,  only  varying  the  objects 
— are  smirking.  In  fact,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  sinking  her 
voice  to  a  confidential  whisper,  “there  are  only  two  styles  of 
portrait  painting,  the  serious  and  the  smirk  ;  and  we  always  use 
the  serious  for  professional  people  (except  actors  sometimes), 
and  the  smirk  for  private  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  don’t  care 
so  ranch  about  looking  clever.” 

Kate  seemed  highly  amused  by  this  information,  and  Miss 
La  Creevy  went  on  painting  and  talking  with  immovable  com¬ 
plaisance. 

“  What  a  number  of  officers  you  seem  to  paint  1”  said  Kate, 
availing  herself  of  a  pause  in  the  discourse,  and  glancing  round 
the  room. 

“Number  of  what,  child?”  inquired  Miss  La  Creevy,  looking 
up  from  her  work.  “  Character  portraits,  oh  yes — they’re  not 
real  military  men,  you  know.” 

“  No  1” 

“Bless  your  heart,  of  course  not;  only  clerks  and  that,  who 
hire  a  uniform  coat  to  be  painted  in  and  send  it  here  in  a  carpet 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


141 


bag.  Some  artists,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  “  keep  a  red  coat, 
and  charge  seven-and-sixpence  extra  for  hire  and  carmine ;  but 
I  don’t  do  that  myself,  for  I  don’t  consider  it  legitimate.” 

Drawing  herself  up  as  though  she  plumed  herself  greatly  upon 
not  resorting  to  these  lures  to  catch  sitters,  Miss  La  Creevy 
applied  herself  more  intently  to  her  task,  only  raising  her  head 
occasionally  to  look  with  unspeakable  satisfaction  at  some  touch 
she  had  just  put  in,  and  now  and  then  giving  Miss  Nickleby  to 
understand  what  particular  feature  she  was  at  work  upon  at  the 
moment;  “not,”  she  expressly  observed,  “that  you  should  make 
it  up  for  painting,  my  dear,  but  because  it’s  our  custom  some¬ 
times,  to  tell  sitters  what  part  we  are  upon,  in  order  that  if 
there’s  any  particular  expression  they  want  introduced,  they  may 
throw  it  in  at  the  time,  you  know.” 

“  And  when,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  after  a  long  silence,  to 
wit,  an  interval  of  full  a  minute  and  a  half,  “  when  do  you  ex¬ 
pect  to  see  your  uncle  again  ?” 

“  I  scarcely  know ;  I  had  expected  to  have  seen  him  before 
now,”  replied  Kate.  “  Soon  I  hope,  for  this  state  of  uncer¬ 
tainty  is  worse  than  any  thing.” 

“  I  suppose  he  has  money,  hasn’t  he  ?”  inquired  Miss  La 
Creevy. 

“He  is  very  rich  I  have  heard,”  rejoined  Kate.  “I  don’t 
know  that  he  is,  but  I  believe  so.” 

“  Ah,  you  may  depend  upon  it  he  is,  or  he  wouldn’t  be  so 
surly,”  remarked  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was  an  odd  little  mixture 
of  shrewdness  and  simplicity.  “When  a  man’s  a  bear  he  is 
generally  pretty  independent.” 

“  Ilis  manner  is  rough,”  said  Kate. 

“Rough  1”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy,  “a  porcupine’s  a  feather¬ 
bed  to  him.  I  never  met  with  such  a  cross-grained  old  sav¬ 
age.” 

“It  is  only  his  manner,  I  believe,”  observed  Kate,  timidly; 
“  he  was  disappointed  in  early  life  I  think  I  have  heard,  or  has 
had  his  temper  soured  by  some  calamity.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
thii  k  ill  of  him  until  I  knew  he  deserved  it.” 

“  Well ;  that’s  very  right  and  proper,”  observed  the  miniature 
painter,  “  and  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  be  the  cause  of  your 
doing  so.  Rut  now  mightn’t  he,  without  feeling  it  himself, 


142 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


make  you  and  your  mamma  some  nice  little  allowance  that  would 
keep  you  both  comfortable  until  you  were  well  married,  and  be 
a  little  fortune  to  her  afterwards  ?  What  would  a  hundred  a 
year,  for  instance,  be  to  him 

“  I  don’t  know  what  it  would  be  to  him,”  said  Kate,  with 
great  energy,  “  but  it  would  be  that  to  me  I  would  rather  die 
than  take.” 

“  Heyday !”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“  X  dependence  upon  him,”  said  Kate,  “would  imbitter  my 
whole  life.  I  should  feel  begging  a  far  less  degradation.” 

“  Well !”  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy.  “This  of  a  relation 
whom  you  will  not  hear  an  indifferent  person  speak  ill  of,  my 
dear,  sounds  oddly  enough,  I  confess.” 

“  I  dare  say  it  does,”  replied  Kate,  speaking  more  gently, 
“  indeed  I  am  sure  it  must.  I — I — only  mean  that  with  the 
feelings  and  recollection  of  better  times  upon  me,  I  could  not 
bear  to  live  on  any  body’s  bounty — not  his  particularly,  but 
any  body’s.” 

Miss  La  Creevy  looked  slyly  at  her  companion,  as  if  she 
doubted  whether  Ralph  himself  were  not  the  subject  of  dislike, 
but  seeing  that  her  young  friend  was  distressed,  made  no  remark. 

“  I  only  ask  of  him,”  continued  Kate,  whose  tears  fell  while 
she  spoke,  “that  he  will  move  so  little  out  of  his  way  in  my 
behalf,  as  to  enable  me  by  his  recommendation — only  by  his 
recommendation — to  earn,  literally,  my  bread  and  remain  with 
my  mother.  Whether  we  shall  ever  taste  happiness  again, 
depends  upon  the  fortunes  of  my  dear  brother;  but  if  he  will  do 
this,  and  Nicholas  only  tells  us  that  he  is  well  and  cheerful,  I 
shall  be  contented.” 

As  she  ceased  to  speak  there  was  a  rustling  behind  the  screen 
which  stood  between  her  and  the  door,  and  some  person  knocked 
at  the  wainscot. 

“  Come  in  whoever  it  is,”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy. 

The  person  complied,  and  coming  forward  at  once,  gave  to 
view  the  form  and  features  of  no  less  an  individual  than  Mr. 
Ralph  Nickleby  himself. 

“Your  servant,  ladies,”  said  Ralph,  looking  sharply  at  them 
by  turns.  “You  were  talking  so  loud  that  I  was  unable  to 
make  you  hear.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


14S 


When  the  man  of  business  had  a  more  than  commonly  vicious 
snarl  lurking  at  his  heart,  he  had  a  trick  of  almost  concealing 
his  eyes  under  their  thick  and  protruding  brows  for  an  instant, 
and  then  displaying  them  in  their  full  keenness.  As  he  did  so 
now,  and  tried  to  keep  down  the  smile  which  parted  his  thin 
compressed  lips,  and  puckered  up  the  bad  lines  about  his  mouth, 
they  both  felt  certain  that  some  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  their 
recent  conversation  had  been  overheard. 

“  I  called  in  on  my  way  up  stairs,  more  than  half  expecting 
to  find  you  here,”  said  Ralph,  addressing  his  niece,  and  looking 
contemptuously  at  the  portrait.  “  Is  that  my  niece’s  portrait, 
Ma’am  ?” 

“Yes  it  is,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  with  a  very 
sprightly  air,  “and  between  you  and  me  and  the  post,  Sir,  it  will 
be  a  very  nice  portrait  too,  though  I  say  it  who  am  the  painter.” 

“  Don’t  trouble  yourself  to  show  it  to  me.  Ma’am,”  cried 
Ralph,  moving  away,  “  1  have  no  eye  for  likenesses.  Is  it 
nearly  finished  ?” 

“  Why,  yes,”  replied  Miss  La  Creevy,  considering,  with  the 
pencil-end  of  her  brush  in  her  mouth.  “  Two  sittings  more 
will - ” 

“  Have  them  at  once.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph.  “  She’ll  have  no 
time  to  idle  over  fooleries  after  to-morrow.  Work,  Ma’am, 
work ;  we  must  all  work.  Have  you  let  your  lodgings.  Ma’am  ?” 

“I  have  not  put  a  bill  up  yet.  Sir.” 

“  Put  it  up  at  once.  Ma’am ;  tliey  won’t  want  the  rooms  after 
this  week,  or  if  they  do,  can’t  pay  for  them.  Now,  my  dear,  if 
you’re  ready,  we’ll  lose  no  more  time.” 

With  an  assumption  of  kindness  which  sat  worse  upon  him, 
even  than  his  usual  manner,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  motioned  to 
the  young  lady  to  precede  him,  and  bowing  gravely  to  Miss 
La  Creevy,  closed  the  door  and  followed  up  stairs,  where  Mrs, 
Nickleby  received  him  with  many  expressions  of  regard.  Stop¬ 
ping  them  somewhat  abruptly,  Ralph  waved  his  hand  with  an 
imi)atient  gesture,  and  proceeded  to  the  object  of  his  visit. 

“I  have  found  a  situation  for  your  daughter.  Ma’am,”  said 
Ral  ph. 

“Well,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  Now  I  will  say  that  that 
is  only  jus!  what  I  have  expected  of  you.  ‘  Depend  upon  it,’  1 


144 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


said  to  Kate  only  yesterday  morning  at  breakfast,  ‘  that  after 
your  uncle  has  provided  in  that  most  ready  manner  for  Nicholas, 
he  will  not  leave  us  until  he  has  done  at  least  the  same  for  you.’ 
These  were  my  very  words  as  near  as  I  remember.  Kate, 
my  dear,  why  don’t  you  thank  your - ” 

“  Let  me  proceed.  Ma’am,  pray,”  said  Ralph,  interrupting  his 
sister-in-law  in  the  full  torrent  of  her  discourse. 

“Kate,  my  love,  let  your  uncle  proceed,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“I  am  most  anxious  that  he  should,  mamma,”  rejoined  Kate. 

“Well,  my  dear,  if  you  are  anxious  that  he  should,  you  had 
better  allow  your  uncle  to  say  what  he  has  to  say,  without  inter¬ 
ruption,”  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  many  small  nods  and 
frowns.  “Your  uncle’s  time  is  very  valuable,  my  dear ;  and  how¬ 
ever  desirious  you  may  be — and  naturally  desirous,  as  I  am  sure 
any  affectionate  relations  who  have  seen  so  little  of  your  uncle 
as  we  have,  must  naturally  be — to  protract  the  pleasure  of 
having  him  among  us,  still  we  are  bound  not  to  be  selfish,  but  to 
take  into  consideration  the  important  nature  of  his  occupations 
in  the  city.” 

“I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph  with  a 
scarcely  perceptible  sneer.  “  An  absence  of  business  habits  in 
this  family  leads  apparently  to  a  great  waste  of  words  before 
business — when  it  does  come  under  consideration — is  arrived  at, 
at  all.” 

“  I  fear  it  is  so,  indeed,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby  with  a  sigh. 
“  Your  poor  brother — ” 

“  My  poor  brother.  Ma’am,”  interposed  Ralph  tartly,  “  had  no 
idea  what  business  was — was  unacquainted,  I  verily  believe, 
with  the  very  meaning  of  the  word.” 

“I  fear  he  was,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.  “  If  it  hadn’t  been  for  me,  I  don’t  know  what 
would  have  become  of  him.” 

What  strange  creatures  we  are  I  The  slight  bait  so  skillfully 
thrown  out  by  Ralph  on  their  first  interview  was  dangling  on 
the  hook  yet.  At  every  small  deprivation  or  discomfort  which 
presented  itself  in  the  course  of  the  four-and-twenty  hours  to 
remind  her  of  her  straightened  and  altered  circumstances,  peevish 
visions  of  her  dower  of  one  thousand  pounds  had  arisen  before 
Mrs.  Nicklebj’s  mind,  until  at  last  she  had  come  to  persuade 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


146 


herself  that  of  all  her  late  husband’s  creditors  she  was  the  worst 
used  and  the  most  to  be  pitied.  And  yet  she  had  loved  him 
dearly  for  many  years,  and  had  no  greater  share  of  selfishness 
than  is  the  usual  lot  of  mortals.  Such  is  the  irritability  of 
sudden  poverty.  A  decent  annuity  would  have  restored  her 
thoughts  to  their  old  train  at  once. 

“  Repining  is  of  no  use,  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph.  “  Of  all  fruit¬ 
less  errands,  sending  a  tear  to  look  after  a  day  that  is  gone  is 
the  most  fruitless.” 

“  So  it  is,”  sobbed  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  So  it  is.” 

“As  you  feel  so  keenly  in  your  own  purse  and  person  the 
consequences  of  inattention  to  business.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph,  “I 
am  sure  yon  will  impress  upon  your  children  the  necessity  of 
attaching  themselves  to  it  early  in  life.” 

“  Of  course  I  must  see  that,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Sad 
experience,  you  know,  brother-in-law — .  Kate,  my  dear,  put 
that  down  in  the  next  letter  to  Nicholas,  or  remind  me  to  do  it 
if  I  write.” 

Ralph  paused  for  a  few  moments,  and  seeing  that  he  had 
now  made  pretty  sure  of  the  mother  in  case  the  daughter  ob¬ 
jected  to  his  proposition,  went  on  to  say — 

“  The  situation  that  I  have  made  interest  to  procure.  Ma’am, 
is  with — with  a  milliner  and  dress-maker,  in  short.” 

“A  milliner!”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“  A  milliner  and  dress-maker.  Ma’am,”  replied  Ralph. 
“Dress-makers  in  London,  as  I  need  not  remind  you.  Ma’am, 
who  are  so  well  acquainted  with  all  matters  in  the  ordinary 
routine  of  life,  make  large  fortunes,  keep  equipages,  and  be¬ 
come  persons  of  great  wealth  and  fortune.” 

Now,  the  first  ideas  called  up  in  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  mind  by 
the  words  milliner  and  dress-maker  were  connected  with  certain 
wicker  baskets  lined  with  black  oilskin,  which  she  remembered 
to  have  seen  carried  to  and  fro  in  the  streets,  but  as  Ralph  pro¬ 
ceeded  these  disappeared,  and  were  replaced  by  visions  of  large 
liouses  at  the  West  End,  neat  private  carriages,  and  a  banker’s 
book,  all  of  which  images  succeeded  each  other  with  such  ra¬ 
pidity,  that  he  had  no  sooner  finished  speaking  than  she  nodded 
her  head  and  said,  “Very  true,”  with  great  appearance  of 
satisfaction. 

10 


14(5 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“What  your  uncle  says  is  very  true,  Kate,  my  dear,”  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  I  recollect  when  your  poor  papa  and  I  came 
to  town  after  we  were  married,  that  a  young  lady  brought  me 
home  a  chip  cottage  bonnet,  with  white  and  green  trimming, 
and  green  persian  lining,  in  her  own  carriage,  which  drove  up 
to  the  door  full  gallop  ; — at  least,  I  am  not  quite  certain 
whether  it  was  her  own  carriage  or  a  hackney  chariot,  but  I  re¬ 
member  very  well  that  the  horse  dropped  down  dead  as  he  was 
turning  round,  and  that  your  poor  papa  said  he  hadn’t  had  any 
corn  for  a  fortnight.” 

This  anecdote,  so  strikingly  illustrative  of  the  opulence  of 
milliners,  was  not  received  with  any  great  demonstration  of 
feeling,  inasmuch  as  Kate  hung  down  her  head  while  it  was  re¬ 
lating,  and  llalj)!!  manifested  very  intelligible  symptoms  of 
extreme  impatience. 

“The  lady’s  name,”  said  Ralph,  hastily  striking  in,  “is  Man- 
talini — ^ladame  Mantalihi.  I  know  her.  She  lives  near 
Cavendish  Square.  If  your  daughter  is  disposed  to  try  after 
the  situation.  I’ll  take  her  there  directly.” 

“  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  your  uncle,  my  love  inquired 
Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“A  great  deal,”  replied  Kate;  “but  not  now.  I  would 
rather  speak  to  him  when  we  are  alone — it  will  save  his  time  if 
I  thank  him  and  say  what  I  wish  to  say  to  him  as  we  walk 
along.  ” 

With  these  words  Kate  hurried  away,  to  hide  the  traces  of 
emotion  that  were  stealing  down  her  face,  and  to  prepare  her¬ 
self  for  the  walk,  white  Mrs.  Nickleby  amused  her  brother-in- 
law  by  giving  him,  with  many  tears,  a  detailed  account  of  the 
dimensions  of  a  rosewood  cabinet  piano  they  had  possessed  in 
their  days  of  affluence,  together  with  a  minute  description  of 
eight  drawing-room  chairs  with  turned  legs  and  green  chintz 
squabs  to  match  the  curtains,  which  had  cost  two  pounds  fifteen 
shillings  apiece,  and  went  at  the  sale  for  a  mere  nothing. 

These  reminiscences  were  at  length  cut  short  by  Kate’s  re¬ 
turn  in  her  walking  dress,  when  Ralph,  who  had  been  fretting 
and  fuming  during  the  whole  time  of  her  absence,  lost  no  time, 
and  used  very  little  ceremony,  in  descending  into  the  street. 

“  Now,’  he  said,  taking  her  arm,  “walk  as  fast  as  you  can. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


147 


and  you’ll  get  into  the  step  that  you’ll  have  to  walk  to  business 
with  every  morning.”  So  saying,  he  led  Kate  off  at  a  good 
round  pace  towards  Cavendish  Square. 

“  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  uncle,”  said  the  young  lady, 
after  they  had  hurried  on  in  silence  for  some  time;  “very.” 

“  I’m  glad  to  hear  it,”  said  Ralph.  “  I  hope  you’ll  do  your 
duty.” 

“I  will  try  to  please,  uncle,”  replied  Kate;  “indeed  I — ” 

“Don’t  begin  to  cry,”  growled  Ralph  ;  “  I  hate  crying.” 

“It’s  very  foolish,  I  know,  uncle,”  began  poor  Kate. 

“  It  is,”  replied  Ralph,  stopping  her  short,  “  and  very  affected 
besides.  Let  me  see  no  more  of  it.” 

I^erhaps  this  was  not  the  best  way  to  dry  the  tears  of  a  young 
and  sensitive  female  about  to  make  her  first  entry  on  an  entirely 
new  scene  of  life,  among  cold  and  uninterested  strangers ;  but 
it  had  its  effect  notwithstanding.  Kate  colored  deeply,  breathed 
quickly  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  Vvalked  on  with  a  firmer 
and  more  determined  step. 

It  was  a  curious  contrast  to  see  how  the  timid  country  girl 
shrunk  through  the  crowd  that  hurried  up  and  down  the  streets, 
giving  way  to  the  press  of  people,  and  clinging  closely  to  Ralph 
as  though  she  feared  to  lose  him  in  the  throng ;  and  how  the 
stern  and  hard-featured  man  of  business  went  doggedly  on, 
elbowing  the  passengers  aside,  and  now  and  then  exchanging 
a  gruff  salutation  with  some  passing  acquaintance,  who  turned 
to  look  back  upon  his  pretty  charge  with  looks  expressive  of 
surprise,  and  seemed  to  wonder  at  the  ill-assorted  companion¬ 
ship.  Rut  it  would  have  been  a  stranger  contrast  still,  to  have 
read  the  hearts  that  were  beating  side  by  side  ;  to  have  had  laid 
bare  the  gentle  innocence  of  the  one,  and  the  rugged  villany  of 
the  other ;  to  have  hung  upon  the  guileless  thoughts  of  the  af¬ 
fectionate  girl,  and  been  amazed  that  among  all  the  wily  [)lots 
and  calculations  of  the  old  man,  there  should  not  be  one  word 
or  figure  denoting  thought  of  death  or  of  the  grave.  Rut  so  it 
was  ;  and  stranger  still — though  this  is  a  thing  of  every  day — 
the  warm  young  heart  palpitated  with  a  thousand  anxieties  and 
apprehensions,  while  that  of  the  old  worldly  man  lay  rusting  in 
ita  cell,  beating  only  as  a  piece  of  cunning  mechanism,  and 


148 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


yielding  no  one  throb  of  hope,  or  fear,  or  love,  or  care,  for  any 
living  thing. 

“  Uncle,”  said  Kate,  when  she  judged  they  must  be  near  their 
destination,  “  I  must  ask  one  question  of  you.  I  am  to  live  at 
home  ?” 

“At  home  1”  replied  Ralph  ;  “where’s  that  ?” 

“  I  mean  with  mj  mother — the  widow, said  Kate,  emphati¬ 
cally. 

“You  will  live,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  here,”  rejoined 
Ralph ;  “  for  here  you  will  take  your  meals,  and  here  you  will 
be  from  morning  till  night ;  occasionally  perhaps  till  morning 
again.” 

“  But  at  night,  I  mean,”  said  Kate  ;  “  I  cannot  leave  her, 
uncle.  I  must  have  some  place  that  I  can  call  a  home  ;  it  will 
be  wherever  she  is,  you  know,  and  may  be  a  very  humble  one.” 

“  May  be  1”  said  Ralph,  walking  faster  in  the  impatience  pro¬ 
voked  by  the  remark,  “  must  be,  you  mean.  May  be  a  humble 
one  !  Is  the  girl  mad  ?” 

“  The  word  slipped  from  my  lips,  I  did  not  mean  it  indeed,” 
urged  Kate. 

“  I  hope  not,”  said  Ralph. 

“  But  my  question,  uncle ;  you  have  not  answered  it.” 

“Why,  I  anticipated  something  of  the  kind,”  said  Ralph ;  “and 
— though  I  object  very  strongly,  mind — have  provided  against 
it.  I  spoke  of  you  as  an  out-of-door  worker ;  so  you  will  go  to 
this  home  that  may  be  humble,  every  night.” 

There  was  comfort  in  this.  Kate  poured  forth  many  thanks 
for  her  uncle’s  consideration,  which  Ralph  received  as  if  he  had 
deserved  them  all,  and  they  arrived  without  any  further  conver¬ 
sation  at  the  dress-maker’s  door,  which  displayed  a  very  large 
plate,  with  Madame  Mantalini’s  name  and  occupation,  and  was 
approached  by  a  handsome  flight  of  steps.  There  was  a  shop 
to  the  house,  but  it  was  let  off  to  an  importer  of  otto  of  roses. 
Madame  Mantalini’s  show-rooms  were  on  the  first  floor,  a  fact 
which  was  notified  to  the  nobility  and  gentry  by  the  casual 
exhibition  near  the  handsomely  curtained  windows  of  two  or 
three  elegant  bonnets  of  the  newest  fashion,  and  some  costly  gar¬ 
ments  in  the  most  approved  taste. 

A  liveried  footman  opened  the  door,  and  in  reply  to  Ralph’s 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


149 


inquiry  whether  Madame  Mantalini  was  at  home,  ushered  them 
through  a  handsome  hall,  and  up  a  spacious  staircase,  into  the 
show  saloon,  which  comprised  two  spacious  drawing-rooms,  and 
exhibited  an  immense  variety  of  superb  dresses  and  materials  for 
dresses,  some  arranged  on  stands,  others  laid  carelessly  on  sofas, 
and  others  again  scattered  over  the  carpet,  hanging  upon  the 
cheval  glasses,  or  mingling  in  some  other  way  with  the  rich  furni¬ 
ture  of  various  descriptions,  which  was  profusely  displayed. 

They  waited  here  a  much  longer  time  than  was  agreeable  to 
Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  who  eyed  the  gaudy  frippery  about  him 
with  very  little  concern,  and  was  at  length  about  to  pvull  the 
bell,  when  a  gentleman  suddenly  popped  his  head  into  the  room, 
and  seeing  somebody  there  as  suddenly  popped  it  out  again. 

“Here.  Halloo  1”  cried  Ralph.  “Who’s  that?” 

At  the  sound  of  Ralph’s  voice  the  head  reappeared,  and  the 
mouth  displaying  a  very  long  row  of  very  white  teeth,  uttered 
in  a  mincing  tone  the  words,  “  Demmit.  What,  Nickleby  1  oh, 
demmiti”  Having  uttered  which  ejaculations,  the  gentleman 
advanced,  and  shook  hands  with  Ralph  with  great  warmth.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  gorgeous  morning  gown,  with  a  waistcoat  and 
Turkish  trowsers  of  the  same  pattern,  a  pink  silk  neckerchief, 
and  bright  green  slippers,  and  had  a  very  copious  watch-chain 
wound  round  his  body.  Moreover,  he  had  whiskers  and  a  mus¬ 
tache,  both  dyed  black  and  gracefully  curled. 

“  Demmit,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you  want  me,  do  you, 
demmit?”  said  this  gentleman,  smiting  Ralph  on  the  shoulder. 

“Not  yet,”  said  Ralph,  sarcastically. 

“  Ha  1  ha  1  demmit,”  cried  the  gentleman ;  when  wheeling  round 
to  laugh  with  greater  elegance,  he  encountered  Kate  Nickleby, 
who  was  standing  near. 

“  My  niece,”  said  Ralph. 

“I  remember,” said  the  gentleman,  striking  his  nose  with  the 
knuckles  of  his  forefinger  as  a  chastening  for  his  forgetfulness. 
“  Demmit,  I  remember  what  you  come  for.  Step  this  way, 
Nickleby;  my  dear,  will  you  follow  me  ?  Ha!  ha!  They  all 
follow  me,  Nickleby  ;  always  did,  demmit,  always.” 

Giving  loose  to  the  playfulness  of  his  imagination  after  this 
fashion,  the  gentleman  led  the  way  to  a  private  sitting-room  on 
the  second  floor,  scarcely  less  elegantly  furnished  than  the  apart 


150 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


raeut  below,  where  the  presence  of  a  silver  coffee-pot,  an  egg¬ 
shell,  and  sloppy  china  for  one,  seemed  to  show  that  he  had  just 
breakfasted. 

“  Sit  down,  my  dear,”  said  the  gentleman  ;  first  staring  Misa 
Nickleby  out  of  countenance,  and  then  grinning  in  delight  at 
the  achievement.  “  This  cursed  high  room  takes  one’s  breath 
away.  These  infernal  sky  parlors — I’m  afraid  I  must  move, 
Nickleby  ” 

“  I  would,  by  all  means,”  replied  Kalph,  looking  bitterly  round. 

“What  a  demd  rum  fellow  you  are,  Nickleby,”  said  the  gen¬ 
tleman,  “  the  demdest,  longest-headed  queerest  tempered  old 
coiner  of  gold  and  silver  ever  was — demmit.” 

Having  complimented  Ralph  to  this  effect,  the  gentleman 
rang  the  bell,  and  stared  at  Miss  Nickleby  till  it  was  answered, 
when  he  left  off  to  bid  the  man  desire  his  mistress  to  come 
directly ;  after  which  he  began  again,  and  left  off  no  more  till 
Madame  Mantalini  appeared. 

The  dress-maker  was  a  buxom  person,  handsomely  dressed 
and  rather  good-looking,  but  much  older  than  the  gentleman 
in  the  Turkish  trowsers,  whom  she  had  wedded  some  six 
months  before  Ilis  name  was  originally  Muntle;  but  it  had 
been  converted,  by  an  easy  transition,  into  Mantalini :  the  lady 
rightly  considering  that  an  English  appellation  would  be  of 
serious  injury  to  the  business.  He  had  married  on  his  whiskers, 
upon  which  property  he  had  previously  subsisted  in  a  genteel 
manner  for  some  years,  and  which  he  had  recently  improved 
after  patient  cultivation  by  the  addition  of  a  mustache,  which 
promised  to  secure  him  an  easy  independence :  his  share  in  the 
labors  of  the  business  being  at  present  confined  to  spending  the 
money,  and  occasionally  when  that  ran  short,  driving  to  Mr. 
Pi,alph  Nickleby  to  procure  discount — at  a  percentage — for  the 
customers’  bills. 

“My  life,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  “what  a  demd  devil  of  a  time 
you  have  been  1” 

“I  didn’t  even  know  Mr.  Nickleby  was  here,  my  love,”  said 
Madame  Mantalini. 

“Then  what  a  doubly-demd  infernal  rascal  that  footman  must 
be,  my  soul  I”  remonstrated  Mr.  Mantalini. 

“My  dear,”  said  Madame,  “that  is  entirely  your  fault.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


151 


“My  fault,  my  heart’s  joy 

“Certainly,”  returned  the  lady;  “what  can  you  expect,  dearest, 
if  you  will  not  correct  the  man  ?” 

“  Correct  the  man,  my  soul’s  delight  ?” 

“Yes;  I  am  sure  he  wants  speaking  to,  badly  enough,”  said 
Madame,  pouting. 

“Then  do  not  vex  itself,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini ;  “he  shall  be 
horse-whipped  till  he  cries  out  demnebly.”  With  this  promise 
Mr.  Mantalini  kissed  Madame  Mantalini,  and  after  that  per¬ 
formance  Madame  Mantalini  pulled  Mr.  Mantalini  playfully  by 
the  ear,  which  done  they  descended  to  business. 

“Now,  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph,  who  had  looked  on  at  all  this, 
with  such  scorn  as  few  men  can  express  in  looks,  “  this  is  my 
niece.” 

“Just  so,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  replied  Madame  Mantalini,  survey¬ 
ing  Kate  from  head  to  foot  and  back  again.  “  Can  you  speak 
French,  child  ?” 

“  Yes,  Ma’am,”  replied  Kate,  not  daring  to  look  up  ;  for  she 
felt  that  the  eyes  of  the  odious  man  in  the  dressing-gown  were 
directed  towards  her. 

“  Like  a  demd  native  ?”  asked  the  husband. 

Miss  Nickleby  offered  no  reply  to  this  inquiiy,  but  turned 
her  back  upon  the  questioner,  as  if  addressing  herself  to  make 
answer  to  what  his  wife  might  demand. 

“  We  keep  twenty  young  women  constantly  employed  in  the 
establishment,”  said  Madame. 

“Indeed,  Ma’am  1”  replied  Kate,  timidly. 

“Yes;  and  some  of  ’em  demd  handsome,  too,”  said  the 
master. 

“  Mantalini  1”  exclaimed  his  wife,  in  an  awful  voice.  V 

“  My  senses’  idol  1”  said  Mantalini. 

“  Do  you  wish  to  break  my  heart  ?” 

“Not  for  twenty  thousand  hemispheres  populated  with — 
with — w'ith  little  ballet-dancers,”  replied  Mantalini  in  a  poetical 
strain. 

“Then  you  will,  if  you  persevere  in  that  mode  of  speaking,” 
said  his  wife.  “  What  can  Mr.  Nickleby  think  when  he  hears 
you  ?” 

“  Oh  1  nothing.  Ma’am,  nothing,”  replied  Ralph.  “  1 


152 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


know  his  amiable  nature,  and  yours, — mere  little  remarks  that 
give  a  zest  to  your  daily  intercourse ;  lovers’  quarrels  that  add 
sweetness  to  those  domestic  joys  which  promise  to  last  so  long 
—that’s  all ;  that’s  all.” 

If  an  iron  door  could  be  supposed  to  quarrel  with  its  hinges^ 
and  to  make  a  firm  resolution  to  open  with  slow  obstinacy,  and 
grind  them  to  powder  in  the  process,  it  would  emit  a  pleasanter 
sound  in  so  doing,  than  did  these  words  in  the  rough  and  bitter 
voice  in  which  they  were  uttered  by  Ralph.  Even  Mr.  Man- 
talini  felt  their  influence,  and  turning  affrighted  round,  ex 
claimed — “What  a  demd  horrid  croaking  I” 

“You  will  pay  no  attention,  if  you  please,  to  what  Mr.  Man 
talini  says,”  observed  his  wife,  addressing  Miss  Nickleby. 

“  I  do  not.  Ma’am,”  said  Kate,  with  quiet  contempt. 

“  Mr.  Mantalini  knows  nothing  whatever  about  any  of  the 
young  women,”  continued  Madame,  looking  at  her  husband, 
and  speaking  to  Kate.  “  If  he  has  seen  any  of  them,  he  must 
have  seen  them  in  the  street  going  to,  or  returning  from,  their 
work,  and  not  here.  He  was  never  even  in  the  room.  I  do 
not  allow  it.  What  hours  of  work  have  you  been  accus¬ 
tomed  to  ?” 

“  I  have  never  yet  been  accustomed  to  work  at  all.  Ma’am,” 
replied  Kate,  in  a  low  voice. 

“  For  which  reason  she’ll  work  all  the  better  now,”  said 
Ralph,  putting  in  a  word,  lest  this  confession  should  injure  the 
negotiation. 

“  I  hope  so,”  returned  Madame  Mantalini ;  “  our  hours  are 
from  nine  to  nine,  with  extra  work  when  we’re  very  full  of  busi¬ 
ness,  for  which  I  allow  payment  as  over-time.” 

Kate  bowed  her  head  to  intimate  that  she  heard,  and  was 
satisfied. 

“Your  meals,”  continued  Madame  Mantalini,  “that  is,  din¬ 
ner  and  tea,  you  w’ill  take  here.  I  should  think  your  wages 
would  average  from  five  to  seven  shillings  a  week ;  but  I  can’t 
give  you  any  certain  information  on  that  point  until  I  see  what 
you  can  do.” 

Kate  bowmd  her  head  again. 

“  If  you’re  ready  to  come,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  “  you 
had  better  begin  on  Monday  morning  at  nine  exactly,  and  Miss 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


153 


Knag,  the  forewoman,  shall  then  have  directions  to  try  you  with 
some  easy  work  at  first.  Is  there  any  thing  more,  Mr,  Nickleby 

“Nothing  more.  Ma’am,”  replied  Ralph,  rising. 

“  Then  I  believe  that’s  all,”  said  the  lady.  Having  arrived 
at,  this  natural  conclusion,  she  looked  at  the  door,  as  if  she 
wished  to  be  gone,  but  hesitated  notwithstanding,  as  though 
unwilling  to  leave  to  Mr.  Mantalini  the  sole  honor  of  showing 
them  down  stairs.  Ralph  relieved  her  from  her  perplexity  by 
taking  his  departure  without  delay:  Madame  Mantalini  making 
many  gracious  inquiries  why  he  never  came  to  see  them,  and 
Mr.  Mantalini  anathematizing  the  stairs  with  great  volubility 
as  he  followed  them  down,  in  the  hope  of  inducing  Kate  to 
look  round, — a  hope,  however,  which  was  destined  to  remain 
ungratified. 

“  There  I”  said  Ralph  when  they  got  into  the  street;  “now 
you’re  provided  for.” 

Kate  was  about  to  thank  him  again,  but  he  stopped  her. 

“I  had  some  idea,”  he  said,  “of  providing  for  your  mother 
in  a  pleasant  part  of  the  country — (he  had  a  presentation  to 
some  alms-houses  on  the  borders  of  Cornwall,  which  had 
occurred  to  him  more  than  once) — but  as  you  want  to  be 
together,  I  must  do  something  else  for  her.  She  has  a  little 
money  ?” 

“  A  very  little,”  replied  Kate. 

“  A  little  will  go  a  long  way  if  it’s  used  sparingly,”  said 
Ralph.  “  She  must  see  how  long  she  can  make  it  last,  living 
rent  free.  You  leave  your  lodgings  on  Saturday  ?” 

“You  told  us  to  do  so,  uncle.” 

“Yes;  there  is  a  house  empty  that  belongs  to  me,  which  I 
can  put  you  into  till  it  is  let,  and  then,  if  nothing  else  turns  up, 
perhaps  I  shall  have  another.  You  must  live  there.” 

“  Is  it  far  from  here.  Sir  ?”  inquired  Kate. 

“  Pretty  well,”  said  Ralph  ;  “  in  another  quarter  of  the  town 
• — at  the  East  end  ;  but  I’ll  send  my  clerk  down  to  you  at  five 
o’clock  on  Saturday  to  take  you  there.  Good-by.  You  know 
your  way  ?  Straight  on.” 

Coldly  shaking  his  niece’s  hand,  Ralph  left  her  at  the  top 
of  Regent  Street,  and  turned  down  a  by-thoroughfare,  intent  on 
schemes  of  money-getting.  Kate  walked  sadly  back  to  their 
lodgings  iti  the  Strand. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


am.  NEWMAN  NOQGS  INDUCTS  MRS,  AND  MISS  NICKLEBY  INTO 
THEIR  NEW  DWELLING  IN  THE  CITY. 

Miss  Xickleby’s  reflections  as  she  wended  her  way  home¬ 
wards,  were  of  that  desponding  nature  which  the  occurrences 
of  the  morning  liad  been  sufficiently  calculated  to  awaken. 
Her  uncle’s  was  not  a  manner  likely  to  dispel  any  doubts  or 
apprehensions  she  might  have  formed  in  the  outset,  neither  was 
the  glimpse  she  had  had  of  Madame  Mantalini’s  establishment 
by  any  means  encouraging.  It  was  with  many  gloomy  fore¬ 
bodings  and  misgivings,  therefore,  that  she  looked  forward  with 
a  heavy  heart  to  the  opening  of  her  new  career. 

If  her  mother’s  consolations  could  have  restored  her  to  a 
pleasanter  and  more  enviable  state  of  mind,  there  were  abun¬ 
dance  of  them  to  produce  the  effect.  By  the  time  Kate  reached 
home,  the  good  lady  had  called  to  mind  two  authentic  cases  of 
milliners  who  had  been  possessed  of  considerable  property, 
though  whether  they  had  acquired  it  all  in  business,  or  had  had 
a  capital  to  start  with,  or  had  been  lucky  and  married  to 
advantage,  she  could  not  exactly  remember.  However,  as  she 
very  logically  remarked,  there  must  have  been  some  young  per¬ 
son  in  that  way  of  business  who  had  made  a  fortune  without 
having  any  thing  to  begin  with,  and  that  being  taken  for 
granted,  why  should  not  Kate  do  the  same  ?  Miss  La  Creevy, 
who  was  a  member  of  the  little  council,  ventured  to  insinuate 
some  doubts  relative  to  the  probability  of  Miss  Nickleby’s 
arriving  at  this  happy  consummation  in  the  compass  of  an 
ordinary  lifetime  ;  but  the  good  lady  set  that  question  entirely 
at  rest,  by  informing  them  that  she  had  a  presentiment  on  the 
subject — a  species  of  second-sight  with  which  she  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  clinching  every  argument  with  the  deceased  Mr. 
Nickleby,  and  in  nine  cases  and  three-quarters  out  of  every  tea, 
determining  it  the  wrong  way. 
a54) 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


155 


“  I  am  afraid  it  is  an  unhealthy  occupation,”  said  Miss 
La  Creevy.  I  recollect  getting  three  young  milliners  to  sit 
to  me  when  I  first  began  to  paint,  and  I  remember  that  they 
were  all  very  pale  and  sickly.” 

“  Oh  I  that’s  not  a  general  rule,  by  any  means,”  observed 
Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “  for  I  remember  as  well  as  if  it  was  only  yes¬ 
terday,  employing  one  that  I  was  particularly  recommended  to, 
to  make  me  a  scarlet  cloak  at  the  time  when  scarlet  cloaks  were 
fashionable,  and  she  had  a  very  red  face — a  very  red  face, 
indeed,” 

“  Perhaps  she  drank,”  suggested  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“  I  don’t  know  how  that  may  have  been,”  returned  Mrs. 
Nickleby  ;  “  but  I  know  she  had  a  very  red  face,  so  your  argu¬ 
ment  goes  for  nothing.” 

In  this  manner,  and  with  like  powerful  reasoning,  did  the 
worthy  matron  meet  every  little  objection  that  presented  itself 
to  the  new  scheme  of  the  morning.  Happy  Mrs.  Nickleby  ! 
A  project  had  but  to  be  new,  and  it  came  home  to  her  mind 
brightly  varnished  and  gilded  as  a  glittering  toy. 

This  question  disposed  of,  Kate  communicated  her  uncle’s 
desire  about  the  empty  house,  to  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  assented 
with  equal  readiness,  characteristically  remai’king,  that  on  the 
fine  evenings  it  would  be  a  pleasant  amusement  for  her  to  walk 
to  the  West  End  to  fetch  her  daughter  home ;  and  no  less  cha¬ 
racteristically  forgetting,  that  there  were  such  things  as  wet 
nights  and  bad  weather  to  be  encountered  in  almost  every  week 
of  the  year. 

“  1  shall  be  sorry — truly  sorry  to  leave  you,  my  kind  friend,” 
said  Kate,  on  whom  the  good  feeling  of  the  poor  miniature 
painter  had  made  a  deep  impression. 

“You  shall  not  shake  me  off,  for  all  that,”  replied  Mis 
La  Creevy,  with  as  much  sprightliness  as  she  could  assume 
“  I  shall  see  you  very  often,  and  come  and  hear  how  you  ge 
on ;  and  if  in  all  London,  or  all  the  wide  world  besides,  there 
is  no  other  heart  that  takes  an  interest  in  your  welfare,  there 
will  be  one  little  lonely  woman  that  prays  for  it  night  and 
day.” 

With  this  the  poor  soul,  who  had  a  heart  big  enough  for 
Clog,  the  guardian  genius  of  Loudon,  and  enough  to  spare  for 


156 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Magog  to  boot,  after  making  a  great  many  extraordinary  faces 
which  would  have  secured  her  an  ample  fortune,  could  she  have 
transferred  them  to  ivory  or  canvas,  sat  down  in  a  corner,  and 
had  what  she  termed  “  a  real  good  cry.” 

But  no  crying,  or  talking,  or  hoping,  or  fearing,  could  keep 
off  the  dreaded  Saturday  afternoon,  or  Newman  Noggs  either; 
who,  punctual  to  his  time,  limped  up  to  the  door  and  breathed 
a  whiff  of  cordial  gin  through  the  keyhole,  exactly  as  such  of 
the  church  clocks  in  the  neighborhood  as  agreed  among  them¬ 
selves  about  the  time,  struck  five.  Newman  waited  for  the  last 
stroke,  and  then  knocked. 

“  From  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,”  said  Newman,  announcing 
his  errand  when  he  got  up  stairs,  with  all  possible  brevity. 

“We  shall  be  ready  directly,”  said  Kate.  “We  have  not 
much  to  carry,  but  I  fear  we  must  have  a  coach.” 

“  I’ll  get  one,”  replied  Newman. 

“  Indeed  you  shall  not  trouble  yourself,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 

“  I  will,”  said  Newman. 

“  I  can’t  sutler  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby. 

“  You  can’t  help  it,”  said  Newman. 

“  Not  help  it  1” 

“No.  I  thought  of  it  as  I  came  along;  but  didn’t  get  one, 
thinking  you  mightn’t  be  ready.  I  think  of  a  great  many 
things.  Nobody  can  prevent  that.” 

“  Oh  yes,  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
“  Our  thoughts  are  free,  of  course.  Every  body’s  thoughts  are 
their  own,  clearly.” 

“  They  wouldn’t  be  if  some  people  had  their  way,”  muttered 
Newman. 

“  Well,  no  more  they  would,  Mr.  Noggs,  and  that’s  very 
true,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  Some  people  to  be  sure  are 
-uch — how’s  your  master  ?” 

Newman  darted  a  meaning  glance  at  Kate,  and  replied  with 
a  strong  emphasis  on  the  last  word  of  his  answer,  that  Mr. 
Ralph  Nickleby  was  well,  and  sent  hiS' — love. 

“  I  am  sure  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  him,”  observed  Mrs. 
Nickleby. 

“Very,”  said  Newman.  “I’ll  tell  him  so.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


157 


It  was  no  very  easy  matter  to  mistake  Newman  Noggs  after 
having  once  seen  him,  and  as  Kate,  attracted  by  the  singularity 
of  his  manner  (in  which  on  this  occasion,  however,  there  was 
something  respectful  and  even  delicate,  notwithstanding  the  ab¬ 
ruptness  of  his  speech),  looked  at  him  more  closely,  she  recol¬ 
lected  having  caught  a  passing  glimpse  of  that  strange  figure 
before. 

“Excuse  my  curiosity,”  she  said,  “but  did  I  not  see  you  in 
the  coach-yard  on  the  morning  ray  brother  went  away  to  York¬ 
shire 

Newman  cast  a  wistful  glance  on  Mrs,  Nickleby,  and  said 
“No,”  most  unblushingly. 

“No  I”  exclaimed  Kate.  “I  should  have  said  so  any  where.” 

“  You’d  have  said  wrong,”  rejoined  Newman.  “  It’s  the  first 
time  I’ve  been  out  for  three  weeks.  I’ve  had  the  gout.” 

Newman  was  very,  very  far  from  having  the  appearance  of  a 
gouty  subject,  and  so  Kate  could  not  help  thinking ;  but  the 
eonference  was  cut  short  by  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  insisting  on  having 
the  door  shut  lest  Mr.  Noggs  should  take  cold,  and  further 
persisting  in  sending  the  servant  girl  for  a  coach,  for  fear  he 
should  bring  on  another  attack  of  his  disorder.  To  both  con¬ 
ditions  Newman  was  compelled  to  yield.  Presently  the  coach 
came  ;  and,  after  many  sorrowful  farewells,  and  a  great  deal  of 
running  backwards  and  forwards  across  the  pavement  on  the 
part  of  Miss  La  Creevy,  in  the  course  of  which  the  yellow  tur¬ 
ban  came  into  violent  contact  with  sundry  foot  passengers,  it 
(that  IS  to  say  the  coach,  not  the  turban)  went  away  again  with 
the  two  ladies  and  their  luggage  inside  ;  and  Newman — despite 
all  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  assurances  that  it  would  be  his  death — on 
the  box  beside  the  driver. 

They  went  into  the  city,  turning  down  by  the  river  side  ;  and 
after  a  long  and  very  slow  drive,  the  streets  being  crowded  at 
that  hour  with  vehicles  of  every  kind,  stopped  in  front  of  a  large 
old  dingy  house  in  Thames  Street,  the  door  and  windows  of 
which  were  so  bespattered  with  mud,  that  it  would  have  ap¬ 
peared  to  have  been  uninhabited  for  years. 

The  door  of  this  deserted  mansion  Newman  opened  with  a 
a  key  which  he  took  out  of  his  hat — in  which,  by-the-by,  in 
consequence  of  the  dilapidated  state  of  his  pockets,  he  deposited 


158 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


every  tliiHg,  and  would  most  likely  have  cai’ried  his  money  if 
he  had  had  any — and  the  coach  being  discharged,  he  led  the 
way  into  the  interior  of  the  mansion. 

Old  and  gloomy  and  black  in  truth  it  was,  and  sullen  and 
dark  were  the  rooms  once  so  bustling  with  life  and  enterprise. 
'JMiere  was  a  wharf  behind,  opening  on  the  Thames.  An  empty 
dog-kennel,  some  bones  of  animals,  fragments  of  iron  hoops  and 
staves  of  old  casks,  lay  strewn  about,  but  no  life  was  stirring 
there.  It  was  a  picture  of  cold,  silent  decay. 

“This  house  depresses  and  chills  one,”  said  Kate,  “and 
seems  as  if  some  blight  had  fallen  on  it.  If  I  were  superstitious, 
I  should  be  almost  inclined  to  believe  that  some  dreadful  crime 
had  been  perpetrated  within  these  old  walls,  and  that  the  place 
had  never  prospered  since.  How  frowning  and  dark  it  looks  1” 

“  Lord,  my  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “  don’t  talk  in  that 
way,  or  you’ll  frighten  me  to  death.” 

“It’s  only  my  foolish  fancy,  mamma,”  said  Kate,  forcing  a 
smile. 

“  Well,  then,  my  love,  I  wish  you  would  keep  your  foolish 
fancy  to  yourself,  and  not  wake  up  my  foolish  fancy  to  keep  it 
company,”  retorted  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Why  didn’t  you  think 
of  all  this  before — you  are  so  careless — we  might  have  asked 
M  iss  La  Creevy  to  keep  us  comparly,  or  borrowed  a  dog,  or  a 
thousand  things — but  it  always  was  the  way,  and  was  just  the 
same  with  your  poor,  dear  father.  Unless  I  thought  of  every 

thing - ”  This  was  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  usual  commencement 

of  a  general  lamentation,  running  through  a  dozen  or  so  of 
complicated  sentences  addressed  to  nobody  in  particular,  and 
into  which  she  now  launched  until  her  breath  was  e.vhausted. 

Newman  appeared  not  to  hear  these  remarks,  but  preceded 
them  to  a  couple  of  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  which  some  kind 
of  attempt  had  been  made  to  render  habitable.  In  one  were  a 
few  chairs,  a  table,  an  old  hearth-rug,  and  some  faded  baize ; 
and  a  fire  was  ready  laid  in  the  grate.  In  the  other  stood  an 
old  tent  bedstead,  and  a  few  scanty  articles  of  chamber  furni¬ 
ture. 

“Well,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  trying  to  be  pleased, 
“now  isn’t  this  thoughtful  and  considerate  of  your  uncle? 
Why,  we  should  not  have  had  any  thing  but  the  bed  we  bought 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


169 


yesterday  to  lie  down  upon,  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  his  thought¬ 
fulness.” 

“Very  kind,  indeed,”  replied  Kate,  looking  round. 

Newman  Noggs  did  not  say  that  he  had  hunted  up  the  old 
furniture  they  saw,  from  attic  or  cellar;  or  that  he  had  taken 
in  the  halfpenny  worth  of  milk  for  tea  that  stood  upon  a  shelf, 
or  filled  the  rusty  kettle  on  the  hob,  or  collected  the  wood-chips 
from  tne  wharf,  or  begged  the  coals.  But  the  notion  of  Ralph 
Nickleby  having  directed  it  to  be  done  tickled  his  fancy  so 
much,  that  he  could  not  refrain  from  cracking  all  his  ten  fin¬ 
gers  in  succession,  at  which  performance  Mrs.  Nickleby  was 
rather  startled  at  first,  but  supposing  it  to  be  in  some  remote 
manner  connected  with  the  gout,  did  not  remark  upon. 

“We  need  detain  you  no  longer,  I  think,”  said  Kate. 

“Is  there  nothing  I  can  do?”  asked  Newman. 

“Nothing,  thank  you,”  rejoined  Miss  Nickleby. 

“  Perhaps,  my  dear,  Mr.  Noggs  would  like  to  drink  our 
healths,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  fumbling  in  her  reticule  for  some 
small  coin. 

“  I  think,  mamma,”  said  Kate  hesitating,  and  remarking  New¬ 
man’s  averted  face,  “you  would  hurt  his  feelings  if  you  offered 
it.” 

Newman  Noggs,  bowing  to  the  young  lady  more  like  a  gen¬ 
tleman  than  the  miserable  wretch  he  seemed,  placed  his  hand 
upon  his  breast,  and,  pausing  for  a  moment,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  struggles  to  speak,  but  is  uncertain  what  to  say,  quitted 
the  room. 

As  the  jarring  echoes  of  the  heavy  house-door  closing  on  its 
latch  reverberated  dismally  through  the  building,  Kate  felt  half 
tempted  to  call  him  back,  and  beg  him  to  remain  a  little 
while;  but  she  was  ashamed  to  owr  her  fe:.rs,  and  Newman 
N^oggs  was  on  his  road  homewards. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


WHEREBY  THE  READER  WILL  BE  ENABLED  TO  TRACE  THE  Fim, 

THER  COURSE  OF  MISS  FANNY  SQUEERS’S  LOVE,  AND  TO 

ASCERTAIN  WHETHER  IT  RAN  SMOOTHLY  OR  OTHERWISE. 

It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  Miss  Fanny  Squeers, 
that  when  her  worthy  papa  returned  home  on  the  night  of  the 
small  tea-party,  he  was  what  the  initiated  term  “  too  far  gone” 
to  observe  the  numerous  tokens  of  extreme  vexation  of  spirit 
which  were  plainly  visible  in  her  countenance.  Being,  how¬ 
ever,  of  a  rather  violent  and  quarrelsome  mood  in  his  cups,  it 
is  not  impossible  that  he  might  have  fallen  out  with  her,  either 
on  this  or  some  imaginary  topic,  if  the  young  lady  had  not, 
with  a  foresight  and  prudence  highly  commendable,  kept  a  boy 
up  on  purpose  to  bear  the  first  brunt  of  the  good  gentleman’s 
anger ;  which  having  vented  itself  in  a  variety  of  kicks  and 
cuffs,  subsided  sufficiently  to  admit  of  his  being  persuaded  to  go 
to  bed  ;  which  he  did  with  his  boots  on,  and  an  umbrella  under 
his  arm. 

The  hungry  servant  attended  Miss  Squeers  in  her  own  room 
according  to  custom,  to  curl  her  hair,  perform  the  other  little 
offices  of  her  toilet,  and  administer  as  much  flattery  as  she 
could  get  up  for  the  purpose;  for  Miss  Squeers  was  quite  lazy 
enough  (and  sufficiently  vain  and  frivolous  withal)  to  have  been 
a  fine  lady,  and  it  was  only  the  arbitrary  distinctions  of  rank 
and  station  which  prevented  her  from  being  one. 

“  How  lovely  your  hair  do  curl  to-night.  Miss !”  said  the 
hand-maiden.  “  I  declare  if  it  isn’t  a  pity  and  a  shame  to 
brush  it  out.” 

“  Hold  your  tongue,”  replied  Miss  Squeers,  wrathfully. 

Some  considerable  experience  prevented  the  girl  from  being 
at  all  surprised  at  any  outbreak  of  ill-temper  on  the  part  of 
Miss  Squeers.  Having  a  half  perccution  of  what  had  occurred 
flflO') 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


161 


in  the  course  of  the  evening,  she  changed  her  mode  of  making 
herself  agreeable,  and  proceeded  on  the  indirect  tack. 

“Well,  I  couldn’t  help  saying.  Miss,  if  you  was  to  kill  me 
for  it,”  said  the  attendant,  “that  I  never  see  any  body  look  so 
vulgar  as  Miss  Price  this  night.” 

Miss  Squeers  sighed,  and  composed  herself  to  listen. 

“I  know  it’s  very  wrong  in  me  to  say  so,  Miss,”  continued 
the  girl,  delighted  to  see  the  impression  she  was  making,  “Miss 
Price  being  a  friend  of  yours  and  all ;  but  she  do  dress  herself 
out  so,  and  go  in  such  a  manner  to  get  noticed,  that — oh — well, 
if  people  only  saw  themselves.” 

“  What  do  you  mean,  Phib  ?”  asked  Miss  Squeers,  looking 
in  her  own  little  glass,  where,  like  most  of  us,  she  saw — not 
herself,  but  the  reflection  of  some  pleasant  image  in  her  own 
brain.  “  How  you  talk  !” 

“  Talk,  Miss  1  It’s  enough  to  make  a  Torn  cat  talk  French 
grammar,  only  to  see  how  she  tosses  her  head,”  replied  the 
handmaid. 

“She  does  toss  her  head,”  observed  Miss  Squeers,  with  an 
air  of  abstraction. 

“  So  vain,  and  so  very — very  plain,”  said  the  girl. 

“Poor  ’Tilda!”  sighed  Miss  Squeers,  compassionately. 

“And  always  laying  herself  out  so  to  got  to  be  admired,” 
pursued  the  servant.  “  Oh  dear  1  It’s  positive  indelicate.” 

“I  can’t  allow  you  to  talk  in  that  way,  Phib,”  said  Miss 
Squeers.  “  ’Tilda’s  friends  are  low  people,  and  if  she  don’t 
know  any  better,  it’s  their  fault,  and  not  hers.” 

“Well,  but  you  know.  Miss,”  said  Phoebe,  for  which  name 
“Phib”  was  used  as  a  patronizing  abbreviation,  “if  she  was 
only  to  take  copy  by  a  friend — oh  !  if  she  only  knew  how 
wrong  she  was,  and  would  but  set  herself  right  by  you,  what  a 
nice  voung  woman  she  might  be  in  time  I” 

“Phib,”  rejoined  Miss  Squeers,  with  a  stately  air,  “it’s  not 
proper  for  me  to  hear  these  comparisons  drawn  ;  they  make 
’Tilda  look  a  coarse  improper  sort  of  person,  and  it  seems 
unfriendly  in  me  to  listen  to  them.  I  would  rather  you 
dropped  the  subject,  Phib  ;  at  the  same  time  I  must  say,  that 
if  ’Tilda  Price  would  take  pattern  by  somebody — not  me  par¬ 
ticularly - ” 

1 1 


162 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Oh  yes  ;  you,  Miss,”  interposed  Phib. 

“  Well,  me,  Phib,  if  you  will  have  it  so,”  said  Miss  Squeers. 
“1  must  say  that  if  she  would,  she  would  be  all  the  better  for 
it.” 

“  So  somebody  else  thinks,  or  I  am  muck  mistaken,”  said  the 
girl  mysteriously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?”  demanded  Miss  Squeers. 

“  IS’ever  mind.  Miss,”  replied  the  girl ;  “  /  know  what  I  know, 
that’s  all.” 

“Phib,”  said  Miss  Squeers  dramatically,  “I  insist  upon  your 
explaining  yourself.  What  is  this  dark  mystery?  Speak.” 

“  Why,  if  you  will  have  it.  Miss,  it’s  this,”  said  the  servant 
girl.  “Mr.  John  Browdie  thinks  as  you  think;  and  if  he 
wasn’t  too  far  gone  to  do  it  creditable,  he’d  be  very  glad  ,to  be 
off  with  Miss  Price,  and  on  with  Miss  Squeers.” 

“Gracious  Heavens  1”  exclaimed  Miss  Squeers,  clasping  her 
hands  with  great  dignity.  “  What  is  this  ?” 

“Truth,  Ma’am,  and  nothing  but  truth,”  replied  the  artful 
Phib. 

“  What  a  situation  I”  cried  Miss  Squeers;  “  on  the  brink  of 
unconsciously  destroying  the  peace  and  happiness  of  my  own 
’Tilda.  What  is  the  reason  that  men  fall  in  love  with  me, 
whether  I  like  it  or  not,  and  desert  their  chosen  intendeds  for 
ray  sake?” 

“  Because  they  can’t  help  it.  Miss,”  replied  the  girl ;  “  the 
reason’s  plain.”  (If  Miss  Squeers  were  the  reason,  it  was  very 
plain.) 

“Never  let  me  hear  of  it  again,”  retorted  Miss  Squeers. 
“Never;  do  you  hear?  ’Tilda  Price  has  faults — many  faults 
■ — but  I  wish  her  well,  and  above  all  I  wish  her  married;  for  I 
think  it  highly  desirable — most  desirable  from  the  very  nature 
of  her  failings — that  she  should  be  married  as  soon  as  possible. 
No,  Phib.  Let  her  have  Mr.  Browdie.  I  may  pity  him,  poor 
fellow ;  but  I  have  a  great  regard  for  ’Tilda,  and  only  hope  she 
may  make  a  better  wife  than  I  think  she  will.” 

With  this  effusion  of  feeling  Miss  Squeers  went  to  bed. 

Spite  is  a  little  word  ;  but  it  represents  as  strange  a  jumble 
of  feelings  and  compound  of  discords,  as  any  polysyllaWe  in 
the  language.  Miss  Squeers  knew  as  well  in  her  heart  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


168 


hearts,  that  what  the  miserable  serving  girl  had  said  was  sheer 
coarse  lying  flattery,  as  did  the  girl  herself ;  yet  the  mere  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  venting  a  little  ill-nature  against  the  offending  Miss 
Price,  and  affecting  to  compassionate  her  weaknesses  and  foibles, 
though  only  in  the  presence  of  a  solitary  dependent,  was  almost 
as  great  a  relief  to  her  spleen  as  if  the  whole  had  been  gospel 
truth.  Nay,  more.  We  have  such  extraordinary  powers  of 
persuasion  when  they  are  excited  over  ourselves,  that  Miss 
Squeers  felt  quite  high-minded  and  great  after  her  noble  renun¬ 
ciation  of  John  Browdie’s  hand,  and  looked  down  upon  her  rival 
with  a  kind  of  holy  calmness  and  tranquillity,  that  had  a  mighty 
effect  in  soothing  her  ruffled  feelings. 

This  happy  state  of  mind  had  some  influence  in  bringing  about 
a  reconciliation  ;  for  when  a  knock  came  at  the  front  door  next 
day,  and  the  miller’s  daughter  was  announced,  Miss  Squeers  be¬ 
took  herself  to  the  parlor  in  a  Christian  frame  of  spirit  perfectly 
beautiful  to  behold. 

“Well,  Fanny,”  said  the  miller’s  daughter,  “you  see  I  have 
come  to  see  you,  although  we  had  some  words  last  night.” 

“  I  pity  your  bad  passions,  ’Tilda,”  replied  Miss  Squeers : 
“but  I  bear  no  malice.  I  am  above  it.” 

“  Don’t  be  cross,  Fanny,”  said  Miss  Price.  “  I  have  come 
to  tell  you  something  that  I  know  will  please  you.” 

“What  may  that  be,  ’Tilda?”  demanded  Miss  Squeers; 
screwing  up  her  lips,  and  looking  as  if  nothing  in  earth,  air, 
fire,  or  water,  could  afford  her  the  slightest  gleam  of  satis¬ 
faction. 

“  This,”  rejoined  Miss  Price.  “After  we  left  here  last  night, 
John  and  I  had  a  dreadful  quarrel.” 

“  That  doesn’t  please  me,”  said  Miss  Squeers — relaxing  into 
a  smile  though. 

“  Lor’  !  I  wouldn’t  think  so  bad  of  you  as  to  suppose  it  did,” 
rejoined  her  companion.  “That’s  not  it.” 

“  Oh  !”  said  Miss  Squeers,  relapsing  into  melancholy.  “  Go 
on.” 

“  After  a  great  deal  of  wrangling  and  saying  we  would  never 
see  each  other  any  more,”  continued  Miss  Price,  “we  made  it 
up,  and  this  morning  John  went  and  wrote  our  names  down  to 
be  put  up  for  the  first  time  next  Sunday,  so  we  shall  be  mar- 


164 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ried  in  three  weeks,  and  I  give  you  notice  to  get  your  frock 
made.” 

There  was  mingled  gall  and  honey  in  this  intelligence.  The 
prospect  of  the  Mend’s  being  married  so  soon  was  the  gall, 
and  the  certainty  of  her  not  entertaining  serious  designs  upon 
Nicholas  was  the  honey.  Upon  the  whole,  the  sweet  greatly 
preponderated  over  the  bitter,  so  Miss  Squeers  said  she  would 
get  the  frock  made,  and  that  she  hoped  ’Tilda  might  be  happy, 
though  at  the  same  time  she  didn’t  know,  and  would  not  have 
her  build  too  much  upon  it,  for  men  were  strange  creatures,  and 
a  great  many  married  women  were  very  miserable,  and  wished 
themselves  single  again  with  all  their  hearts  ;  to  which  condo¬ 
lences  Miss  Squeers  added  others  equally  calculated  to  raise  her 
friend’s  spirits  and  promote  her  cheerfulness  of  mind. 

“  But  come  now,  Fanny,”  said  Miss  Price,  “  I  want  to  have  a 
word  or  two  with  you  about  young  Mr.  Nickleby.” 

“  He  is  nothing  to  me,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Squeers,  with  hyste¬ 
rical  symptoms.  “  I  despise  him  too  much  1” 

“  Oh,  you  don’t  mean  that,  I  am  sure  ?”  replied  her  friend. 
“  Confess,  Fanny ;  don’t  you  like  him  now  ?” 

Without  returning  any  direct  reply  Miss  Squeers  all  at  once 
fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  spiteful  tears,  and  exclaimed  that  she 
was  a  wretched,  neglected,  miserable  castaway. 

“I  hate  every  body,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  “and  I  wish  that 
every  body  was  dead — that  I  do.” 

“  Dear,  dear  !”  said  Miss  Price,  quite  moved  by  this  avowal 
of  misanthropical  sentiments.  “You  are  not  serious,  I  am 
sure.” 

“Yes,  I  am,”  rejoined  Miss  Squeers,  tying  tight  knots  in  her 
pocket-handkerchief  and  clinching  her  teeth,  “  And  I  wish  I 
was  dead  too.  There.” 

“  Oh  !  you’ll  think  very  differently  in  another  five  minutes,” 
said  Matilda.  “  How  much  better  to  take  him  into  favor  again, 
than  to  hurt  yourself  by  going  on  in  that  way ;  wouldn’t  it  be 
much  nicer  now  to  have  him  all  to  yourself  on  good  terras,  in  a 
company-keeping,  love-making,  pleasant  sort  of  manner  ?” 

“  I  don’t  know  but  what  it  would,”  sobbed  Miss  Squeers. 
“  Oh  I  ’Tilda,  how  could  you  have  acted  so  mean  and  dis- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


165 


honorable  1  I  wouldn’t  have  believed  it  of  you  if  any  body  had 
told  me.” 

“  Heyday  I”  exclaimed  Miss  Price,  giggling.  “  One  would 
suppose  I  had  been  murdering  somebody  at  least.” 

“  Very  nigh  as  bad,”  said  Miss  Squeers  passionately. 

“  And  all  this  because  I  happen  to  have  enough  of  good 
looks  to  make  people  civil  to  me,”  cried  Miss  Price,  “Per¬ 
sons  don’t  make  their  own  faces,  and  it’s  no  more  my  fault  if 
mine  is  a  good  one  than  it  is  other  people’s  fault  if  theirs  is  a 
bad  one.” 

“  Hold  your  tongue,”  shrieked  Miss  Squeers,  in  her  shrillest 
tone;  “or  you’ll  make  me  slap  you,  ’Tilda,  and  afterwards  I 
should  be  sorry  for  it.” 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  by  this  time  the  temper  of  each 
young  lady  was  in  some  slight  degree  affected  by  the  tone  of  the 
conversation,  and  that  a  dash  of  personality  was  infused  into  the 
altercation  in  consequence.  Indeed  the  quarrel,  from  slight  be¬ 
ginnings,  rose  to  a  considerable  height,  and  was  assuming  a  very 
violent  complexion,  when  both  parties,  falling  into  a  great  pas¬ 
sion  of  tears,  exclaimed  simultaneously,  that  they  had  never 
thought  of  being  spoken  to  in  that  way,  which  exclamation, 
leading  to  a  remonstrance,  gradually  brought  on  an  explanation, 
and  the  upshot  was  that  they  fell  into  each  other’s  arms  and 
vowed  eternal  friendship  ;  the  occasion  in  question  making  the 
fifty-second  time  of  repeating  the  same  impressive  ceremony 
within  a  twelvemonth. 

Perfect  amicability  being  thus  restored,  a  dialogue  naturally 
ensued  upon  the  number  and  nature  of  the  garments  which  would 
be  indispensable  for  Miss  Price’s  entrance  into  the  holy  state  of 
matrimony,  when  Miss  Squeers  clearly  showed  that  a  great 
many  more  than  the  miller  could,  or  would,  aflbrd  were  abso¬ 
lutely  necessary,  and  could  not  decently  be  dispensed  with. 
The  young  lady  then,  by  an  easy  digression,  led  the  discourse 
to  her  own  wardrobe,  and  after  recounting  its  principal  beauties 
at  some  length,  took  her  friend  up  stairs  to  make  insi)ectiou 
thereof.  The  treasures  of  two  drawers  and  a  closet  having  been 
displayed,  and  all  the  smaller  articles  tried  on,  it  was  time  for 
Miss  Price  to  return  home,  and  as  she  had  been  in  raptures  with 
all  the  frocks,  and  had  been  stricken  quite  dumb  with  admiration 


1G6 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


of  a  new  pink  scarf,  Miss  Squeers  said  in  high  good  humor,  tliat 
the  would  walk  part  of  the  way  with  her  for  the  pleasure  of  her 
company  ;  and  off  they  went  together,  Miss  Squeers  dilating,  as 
they  walked  along,  upon  her  father’s  accomplishments,  and  mul¬ 
tiplying  his  income  by  ten,  to  give  her  friend  some  faint  notion 
of  the  vast  importance  and  superiority  of  her  family. 

It  happened  that  that  particular  time,  comprising  the  short 
daily  interval  which  was  suffered  to  elapse  between  what  was 
pleasantly  called  the  dinner  of  Mr.  Squeers’s  pupils  and  their 
return  to  the  pursuit  of  useful  knowledge,  was  precisely  the 
hour  when  Nicholas  was  accustomed  to  issue  forth  for  a  melan¬ 
choly  walk,  and  to  brood,  as  he  sauntered  listlessly  through  the 
village,  upon  his  miserable  lot.  Miss  Squeers  knew  this  per¬ 
fectly  well,  but  had  perhaps  forgotten  it,  for  when  she  caught 
sight  of  that  young  gentleman  advancing  towards  them,  she 
evinced  many  symptoms  of  surprise  and  consternation,  and 
assured  her  friend  that  she  “felt  fit  to  drop  into  the  earth.” 

“  Shall  we  turn  back,  or  run  into  a  cottage  ?”  asked  Miss 
Price.  “  He  don’t  see  us  yet.” 

“No,  ’Tilda,”  replied  Miss  Squeers,  “it  is  my  duty  to  go 
through  with  it,  and  I  will.” 

As  Miss  Squeers  said  this  in  a  tone  of  one  who  has  made  a 
high  moral  resolution,  and  was  besides  taken  with  one  or  two 
chokes  and  catchings  of  breath,  indicative  of  feelings  at  a  high 
pressure,  her  friend  made  no  further  remark,  and  they  bore 
straight  down  upon  Nicholas,  who,  walking  with  his  eyes  bent 
upon  the  ground,  was  not  aware  of  their  approach  until  they 
were  close  upon  him ;  otherwise  he  might  perhaps  have  taken 
shelter  himself. 

“  Good  morning,”  said  Nicholas,  bowing  and  passing  by. 

“He  is  going,”  murmured  Miss  Squeers.  “1  shall  choke, 
’Tilda.” 

“  Come  back,  Mr.  Nickleby,  do,”  cried  Miss  Price,  affecting 
alarm  at  her  friend’s  threat,  but  really  actuated  by  a  malicious 
wisli  to  hear  what  Nicholas  would  say  ;  “  come  back,  Mr. 
Nickleby.” 

Mr.  Nickleby  came  back,  and  looked  as  confused  as  might  be, 
as  he  inquired  whether  the  ladies  had  any  commands  for  him. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


107 


“Don’t  stop  to  talk,”  urged  Miss  Price,  hastily;  “but  sup¬ 
port  her  on  the  other  side.  How  do  you  feel  now,  dear  ?” 

“  Better,”  sighed  Miss  Squeers,  laying  a  beaver  bonnet  of  red¬ 
dish  brown  with  a  green  vail  attached,  on  Mr.  Nickleby’g 
shoulder.  “This  foolish  faintness  !” 

“Don’t  call  it  foolish,  dear,”  said  Miss  Price,  her  bright  eye 
dancing  with  merriment  as  she  saw  the  perple.xity  of  Nicholas ; 
“you  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  It’s  those  who  are 
too  proud  to  come  round  again  without  all  this  to-do,  that  ought 
to  be  ashamed.” 

“You  are  resolved  to  fix  it  upon  me,  I  see,”  said  Nicholas, 
smiling,  “althougli  I  told  you  last  night  it  was  not  my  fault.” 

“  There  ;  he  says  it  was  not  his  fault,  my  dear,”  remarked  the 
wicked  Miss  Price.  “  Perhaps  you  were  too  jealous  or  too 
hasty  with  him?  He  says  it  was  not  his  fault,  you  hear;  I 
think  that’s  apology  enough.” 

“  You  will  not  understand  me,”  said  Nicholas.  “  Pray  dis¬ 
pense  with  this  jesting,  for  I  have  no  time,  and  really  no  ineli- 
nation,  to  be  the  subject  or  promoter  of  mirth  just  now.” 

“  What  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  Miss  Price,  aflecting  amaze¬ 
ment. 

“  Don’t  ask  him,  ’Tilda,”  cried  Miss  Squeers ;  “  I  forgive 
him.” 

“  Dear  me,”  said  Nicholas,  as  the  brown  bonnet  went  down 
on  his  shoulder  again,  “  this  is  more  serious  than  I  supposed ; 
allow  me.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  hear  me  speak  ?” 

Here  he  raised  up  the  brown  bonnet,  and  regarding  with 
most  unfeigned  astonishment  a  look  of  tender  reproach  from 
Miss  Squeers,  shrunk  back  a  few  paces  to  be  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  fair  burden,  and  went  on  to  say — 

“  I  am  very  sorry — truly  and  sincerely  sorry — for  having 
been  the  cause  of  any  difference  among  you  last  night.  I  re¬ 
proach  myself  most  bitterly  for  having  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
cause  the  dissension  that  occurred,  although  I  did  so,  I  assure 
you,  most  unwittingly  and  heedlessly.” 

“Well  ;  that’s  not  all  you  have  got  to  say  surely  1”  exclaimed 
M  iss  Price  as  Nicholas  ])aused. 

“I  fear  there  is  something  more,”  stammered  Nicholas  with 
a  half  smile,  and  looking  towards  Miss  Squeers;  “it  is  a  most 


168 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


awkward  thing  to  say — but — the  very  mention  of  such  a  suppo¬ 
sition  makes  one  look  like  a  puppy — still — may  I  ask  if  that 
iady  supposes  that  I  entertain  any — in  short,  does  she  think  tha'' 
I  am  in  love  with  her  ?” 

“  Delightful  embarrassment,”  thought  Miss  Squeers;  “  I  have 
brought  him  to  it  at  last.  Answer  for  me,  dear,”  she  whispered 
to  her  friend. 

“Does  she  think  so  ?”  rejoined  Miss  Price;  “of  course  she 
does.” 

“  She  does  1”  exclaimed  INicholas  with  such  energy  of  utter' 
ance  as  might  have  been  for  the  moment  mistaken  for  rapture. 

“Certainly,”  replied  Miss  Price. 

“  If  Mr.  Nickleby  has  doubted  that,  ’Tilda,”  said  the  blush* 
ing  Miss  Squeers  in  soft  accents,  “  he  may  set  his  mind  at  rest. 
His  sentiments  are  recipro — ” 

“Stop,”  cried  Nicholas  hurriedly;  “pray  hear  me.  This  is 
the  grossest  and  wildest  delusion,  the  completest  and  most  sig¬ 
nal  mistake,  that  ever  human  being  labored  under  or  committed. 
I  have  scarcely  seen  the  young  lady  half  a  dozen  times,  but  if  I 
had  seen  her  sixty  times,  or  am  destined  to  see  her  sixty  thousand, 
it  would  be  and  will  be  precisely  the  same.  I  have  not  one 
thought,  wish,  or  hope,  connected  with  her,  unless  it  be — and  I 
say  this,  not  to  hurt  her  feelings,  but  to  impress  her  w'itli  the 
real  state  of  my  own — unless  it  be  the  one  object  dear  to  my 
heart  as  life  itself,  of  being  one  day  able  to  turn  my  back  upon 
this  accursed  place,  never  to  set  foot  in  it  again  or  to  think  of 
it — even  think  of  it — but  with  loathing  and  disgust.” 

With  this  particularly  plain  and  straightforward  declaration, 
which  he  made  with  all  the  vehemence  that  his  indignant  and 
excited  feelings  could  bring  to  bear  upon  it,  Nicholas  slightly 
bowed,  and  waiting  to  hear  no  more,  retreated. 

But  poor  Miss  Squeers  1  Her  anger,  rage,  and  vexation  ;  the 
rapid  succession  of  bitter  and  passionate  feelings  that  whirled 
through  lier  mind,  are  not  to  be  described.  Refused  I  refused 
by  a  teacher  picked  up  by  advertisement  at  an  annual  salary  of 
five  pounds  payable  at  indefinite  periods,  and  “found”  in  food 
and  lodging  like  the  very  boys  themselves  ;  and  this  too  in  the 
])resence  of  a  little  chit  of  a  miller’s  daughter  of  eighteen,  who 
was  going  to  be  married  in  three  weeks’  time  to  a  man  who  had 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


169 


gone  down  on  his  very  knees  to  ask  her  1  She  could  have 
choked  in  right  good  earnest  at  the  thought  cf  being  so 
humbled. 

But  there  was  one  thing  clear  in  the  midst  of  her  mortifica¬ 
tion,  and  that  was  that  she  hated  and  detested  Nicholas  with 
all  the  narrowness  of  mind  and  littleness  of  purpose  worthy  a 
descendant  of  the  house  of  Squeers.  And  there  was  one  com¬ 
fort  too  ;  and  that  was,  that  every  hour  in  every  day  she  could 
wound  his  pride  and  goad  him  with  the  infliction  of  some  slight, 
or  insult,  or  deprivation,  which  could  not  but  have  some  effect 
on  the  most  insensible  person,  and  must  be  acutely  felt  by  one 
so  sensitive  as  Nicholas.  With  these  two  reflections  uppermost 
in  her  mind.  Miss  Squeers  made  the  best  of  the  matter  to  her 
friend  by  observing,  that  Mr.  Nickleby  was  such  an  odd  crea¬ 
ture,  and  of  such  a  violent  temper,  that  she  feared  she  should 
be  obliged  to  give  him  up  ;  and  parted  from  her. 

And  here  it  may  be  remarked,  that  Miss  Squeers  having  be¬ 
stowed  her  affections  (or  whatever  it  might  be  that  in  the  ab¬ 
sence  of  any  thing  better  represented  them)  on  Nicholas  Nickle¬ 
by,  had  never  once  seriously  contemplated  the  possibility  of  his 
being  of  a  different  opinion  from  herself  in  the  business.  Miss 
Squeers  reasoned  that  she  was  prepossessing  and  beautiful,  and 
that  her  father  was  master  and  Nicholas  man,  and  that  her  fa¬ 
ther  had  saved  money  and  Nicholas  had  none,  all  of  which 
seemed  to  her  conclusive  arguments  why  the  young  man  should 
feel  only  too  much  honored  by  her  preference.  She  had  not 
failed  to  recollect,  either,  how  mueh  more  agreeable  she  could 
render  his  situation  if  she  were  his  friend,  and  how  much  more 
disagreeable  if  she  were  his  enemy  ;  and  doubtless,  many  less 
scrupulous  young  gentlemen  than  Nicholas  would  have  encour¬ 
aged  her  extravagance  had  it  been  only  for  this  very  obvious 
and  intelligible  reason.  However,  he  had  thought  proper  to  do 
otherwise,  and  Miss  Squeers  wms  outrageous. 

“  Let  him  see,”  said  the  irritated  young  lady,  when  she  had 
regained  her  own  room,  and  eased  her  mind  by  committing  an 
assault  on  Phib,  “  if  I  don’t  set  mother  against  him  a  little  more 
when  she  comes  back.” 

It  was  scarcely  necessary  to  do  this,  but  Miss  Sepreers  was  as 
good  as  her  word  ;  and  poor  Nicholas,  in  addition  to  bad  food, 


170 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


dirty  lodgment,  and  the  being  compelled  to  witness  one  dull 
unvarying  round  of  squalid  misery,  was  treated  with  every 
special  indignity  that  malice  could  suggest,  or  the  most  grasping 
cupidity  put  upon  him. 

Nor  was  this  all.  There  was  another  and  deeper  system  of 
annoyance  which  made  his  heart  sink,  and  nearly  drove  him  wild 
by  its  injustice  and  cruelty. 

The  wretched  creature,  Smike,  since  the  night  Nicholas  had 
spoken  kindly  to  him  in  the  school-room,  had  followed  him  to 
and  fro  with  an  ever  restless  desire  to  serve  or  help  him,  antici¬ 
pating  such  little  v/ants  as  his  humble  ability  could  supply,  and 
content  only  to  be  near  him.  He  would  sit  beside  him  for  hours, 
looking  patiently  into  his  face,  and  a  word  would  brighten  up 
his  careworn  visage,  and  call  into  it  a  passing  gleam  even  of 
happiness.  He  was  an  altered  being ;  he  had  an  object  now, 
and  that  object  was  to  show  his  attachment  to  the  only  person — 
that  person  a  stranger — who  had  treated  him,  not  to  say  with 
kindness,  but  like  a  human  creature. 

Upon  this  poor  being  all  the  spleen  and  ill-humor  that  could 
not  be  vented  on  Nicholas  were  unceasingly  bestowed.  Drudgery 
would  have  been  nothing — he  was  well  used  to  that.  Buffetings 
inflicted  without  cause  would  have  been  equally  a  matter  of 
course,  for  to  them  also  he  had  served  a  long  and  weary  appren¬ 
ticeship  ;  but  it  was  no  sooner  observed  that  he  had  become  at¬ 
tached  to  Nicholas,  than  stripes  and  blows,  stripes  and  blows, 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  were  his  only  portion.  Squeers 
jealous  of  the  influence  which  his  man  had  so  soon  acquired, 
and  his  family  hated  him,  and  Smike  paid  for  both.  Nicholas 
saw  it,  and  ground  his  teeth  at  every  repetition  of  the  savage 
and  cowardly  attack. 

lie  had  arranged  a  few  regular  lessons  for  the  boys,  and  one 
night,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  dismal  school-room,  his 
Bwoln  heart  almost  bursting  to  think  that  his  protection  and 
countenance  should  have  increased  the  misery  of  the  wretched 
being  whose  peculiar  destitution  had  awakened  his  pity,  he 
paused  mechanically  in  a  dark  corner  where  sat  the  object  of 
his  thoughts. 

The  ])Oor  soul  was  poring  hard  over  a  tattered  book  with  the 
traces  of  recent  tears  still  upon  his  face,  vainly  endeavoring  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


171 


master  some  task  which  a  child  of  nine  years  old,  possessed  of 
ordinary  i)owers,  could  have  conquered  with  ease,  but  which  to 
the  addled  brain  of  the  crushed  boy  of  nineteen  was  a  sealed 
and  hopeless  mystery.  Yet  there  he  sat,  patiently  conning  the 
page  again  and  again,  stimulated  by  no  boyish  ambition,  for  he 
was  the  common  jest  and  scoff  even  of  the  uncouth  objects  that 
congregated  about  him,  but  inspired  by  the  one  eager  desire  to 
please  his  solitary  friend. 

Nicholas  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

“  I  can’t  do  it,”  said  the  dejected  creature,  looking  up  with 
bitter  disappointment  in  every  feature.  “No,  no.” 

“Do  not  try,”  replied  Nicholas. 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  and  closing  the  book  with  a  sigh, 
looked  vacantly  round,  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  arm.  He 
was  weeping. 

“  Do  not  for  God’s  sake,”^  said  Nicholas,  in  an  agitated  voice; 
“I  cannot  bear  to  see  you.” 

“They  are  more  hard  with  me  than  ever,”  sobbed  the  boy. 

“  I  know  it,”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “  They  are.” 

“But  for  you,”  said  the  outcast,  “  I  should  die.  They  would 
kill  me ;  they  would,  I  know  they  would.” 

“  You  will  do  better,  poor  fellow,”  replied  Nicholas,  shaking 
his  head  mournfully,  “when  I  am  gone.” 

“  Gone  1”  cried  the  other,  looking  intently  in  his  face. 

“  Softly  1”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “Y'es.” 

“Are  you  going?”  demanded  the  boy,  in  an  earnest  whisper. 

“I  cannot  say,”  replied  Nicholas.  “I  was  speaking  more  to 
my  own  thoughts  than  to  you.” 

“  Tell  me,”  said  the  boy  imploringly.  “  Oh  do  tell  me,  vnll 
you  go — will  you?” 

“I  shall  be  driven  to  that  at  last  1”  said  Nicholas.  “The 
world  is  before  me,  after  all.” 

“Tell  me,”  urged  Sinike,  “is  the  world  as  bad  and  dismal  as 
this  ))lace  ?” 

“  Heaven  forbid,”  replied  Nicholas,  pursuing  the  train  of  his 
ovni  thoughts ;  “  its  hardest,  coarsest  toil,  were  hap[)iness  to 
this.” 

“  Should  I  ever  meet  you  there?”  demanded  the  boy,  speak¬ 
ing  vvilh  unusual  wildness  and  volubility. 


172 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Yes,”  replied  Nicholas,  willing  to  soothe  him. 

“No,  no!”  said  the  other,  clasping  him  by  the  hand, 
“  Should  I — should  I — tell  me  that  again.  Say  I  should  be 
sure  to  find  you.” 

“  Y'ou  would,”  replied  Nicholas,  with  the  same  humane  inten¬ 
tion,  “  and  I  would  help  and  aid  you,  and  not  bring  fresh  sor¬ 
row  on  you  as  I  have  done  here.” 

The  boy  caught  both  the  young  man’s  hands  passionately  in 
his,  and  hugging  them  to  his  breast,  uttered  a  few  broken 
sounds  which  were  unintelligible.  Squeers  entered  at  the  mo 
ment,  and  he  shrunk  back  iato  his  old  corner. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


NICHOLAS  VARIES  THE  MONOTONY  OF  DOTIIEBOYS  HALL  BY  A 

MOST  VIGOROUS  AND  REMARKABLE  PROCEEDING,  WHICH 

LEADS  TO  CONSEQUENCES  OP  SOME  IMPORTANCE. 

The  cold  feeble  dawn  of  a  January  morning  was  stealing  in 
at  the  windows  of  the  common  sleeping-room,  when  Nicholas, 
raising  himself  upon  his  arm,  looked  among  the  prostrate  forms 
which  on  every  side  surrounded  him,  as  though  in  search  of 
some  particular  object. 

It  needed  a  quick  eye  to  detect  from  among  the  huddled  mass 
of  sleepers,  the  form  of  any  given  individual.  As  they  lay 
closely  packed  together,  covered,  for  warmth’s  sake,  with  their 
patched  and  ragged  clothes,  little  could  be  distinguished  but 
the  sharp  outlines  of  pale  faces,  over  which  the  sombre  light 
shed  the  same  dull  heavy  color,  with  here  and  there  a  gaunt  arm 
thrust  forth  :  its  thinness  hidden  by  no  covering,  but  fully  ex¬ 
posed  to  view  in  all  its  shrunken  ugliness.  There  were  some 
who,  lying  on  their  backs  with  upturned  faces  and  clinched 
hands,  just  visible  in  the  leaden  light,  bore  more  the  aspect  of 
dead  bodies  than  of  living  creatures,  and  there  were  others 
coiled  up  into  strange  and  fantastic  postures,  such  as  might 
have  been  taken  for  the  uneasy  efforts  of  pain  to  gain  some 
temporary  relief,  rather  than  the  freaks  of  slumber.  A  few — 
and  these  were  among  the  youngest  of  the  children — slept 
peacefully  on  with  smiles  upon  their  faces,  dreaming  perhaps 
of  home  ;  but  ever  and  again  a  deep  and  heavy  sigh,  breaking 
the  stillness  of  the  room,  announced  that  some  new  sleeper  had 
awakened  to  the  misery  of  another  day,  and,  as  morning  took 
tlie  jilace  of  night,  the  smiles  gradually  faded  away  with  the 
friendly  darkness  which  had  given  them  birth. 

Dreams  are  the  bright  creatures  of  poem  and  legend,  who 
sport  on  earth  in  the  night  season,  and  melt  away  in  the  first 

'(ua) 


174 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV". 


beam  of  the  sun,  which  lights  grim  care  and  stem  reality  or 
their  daily  pilgrimage  through  the  world. 

Nicholas  looked  upon  the  sleepers,  at  first  with  the  air  of 
one  who  gazed  upon  a  scene  which,  though  familiar  to  him,  has 
lost  none  of  its  sorrowful  effect  in  consequence,  and  afterwards, 
with  a  more  intense  and  searching  scrutiny,  as  a  man  would 
who  missed  something  his  eye  was  accustomed  to  meet,  and  had 
expected  to  rest  upon.  He  was  still  occupied  in  this  search, 
and  had  half  risen  from  his  bed  in  the  eagerness  of  his  quest, 
when  the  voice  of  Squeers  was  heard  calling  from  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs. 

“  Now  then,”  cried  that  gentleman,  “  are  you  going  to  sleep 
all  day,  up  there — ” 

“  You  lazy  hounds  1”  added  Mrs.  Squeers,  finishing  the  sen¬ 
tence,  and  producing  at  the  same  time  a  sharp  sound  like  that 
which  is  occasioned  by  the  lacing  of  stays. 

“We  shall  be  down  directly.  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Down  directly !”  said  Squeers.  “  Ah  !  you  had  better  be 
down  directly,  or  I’ll  be  down  upon  some  of  you  in  less. 
Where’s  that  Smike  ?” 

Nicholas  looked  hurriedly  round  again,  but  made  no  answer. 

“  Smike  I”  shouted  Squeers. 

“  Do  you  want  your  head  broke  in  a  fresh  place,  Smike  ?” 
demanded  his  amiable  lady  in  the  same  key. 

Still  there  was  no  reply,  and  still  Nicholas  stared  about  him, 
as  did  the  greater  part  of  the  boys  who  were  by  this  time 
roused. 

“  Confound  his  impudence,”  muttered  Squeers,  rapping  the 
stair-rail  impatiently  with  his  cane.  “  Nickleby.” 

“Well,  Sir.” 

“Send  that  obstinate  scoundrel  down;  don’t  you  hear  me 
calling  ?” 

“  He  is  not  here.  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“Don’t  tell  me  a  lie,”  retorted  the  schoolmaster.  “lie  is.” 

“He  is  not,”  retorted  Nicholas  angrily,  “don’t  tell  me  one.” 

“We  shall  soon  see  that,”  said  JVIr.  Squeers,  rushing  up 
stairs.  “I’ll  find  him,  I  warrant  you.” 

With  which  assurance  Mr.  Squeers  bouneed  into  the  dormi¬ 
tory,  and  swinging  his  cane  in  the  air  ready  for  a  blow,  darned 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


176 


into  the  corner  where  the  lean  body  of  the  drudge  was  usually 
stretched  at  night.  The  cane  descended  harmlessly  upon  the 
ground.  There  was  nobody  there. 

“  What  does  this  mean  ?”  said  Squeers,  turning  round  with  a 
very  pale  face.  “  Where  have  you  hid  him  ?” 

“  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him  since  last  night,”  replied 
Nicholas. 

“  Come,”  said  Squeers,  evidently  frightened,  though  he  en¬ 
deavored  to  look  otherwise,  “you  won’t  save  him  this  way 
Where  is  he  ?” 

“At  the  bottom  of  the  nearest  pond  for  aught  I  know,” 
rejoined  Nicholas  in  a  low  voice,  and  fixing  his  eyes  full  on  the 
master’s  face. 

“  D — n  you,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?”  retorted  Squeers 
in  great  perturbation.  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  in¬ 
quired  of  the  boys  whether  any  one  among  them  knew  any  thing 
of  their  missing  schoolmate. 

There  was  a  general  hum  of  anxious  denial,  in  the  midst  of 
which  one  shrill  voice  was  heard  to  say  (as,  indeed,  every  body 
thought) — 

“Please,  Sir,  I  think  Smike’s  run  away.  Sir.” 

“Ilal”  cried  Squeers,  turning  sharp  round;  “who  said 
that  ?” 

“Tomkins,  please.  Sir,”  rejoined  a  chorus  of  voices.  Mr. 
Squeers  made  a  plunge  into  the  crowd,  and  at  one  dive  caught 
a  very  little  boy  habited  still  in  his  night-gear,  and  the  per¬ 
plexed  expression  of  whose  countenance  as  he  was  brought  for¬ 
ward,  seemed  to  intimate  that  he  was  as  yet  uncertain  whether 
he  was  about  to  be  punished  or  rewarded  for  the  suggestion, 
lie  was  not  long  in  doubt. 

“You  think  he  has  run  away,  do  you  Sir?”  demanded 
Squeers. 

“Yes,  please,  Sir,”  replied  the  little  boy. 

“And  what.  Sir,”  said  Squeers,  catching  the  little  boy  sud¬ 
denly  by  the  arms  and  whisking  up  his  drapery  in  a  most 
dexterous  manner,  “  what  reason  have  you  to  suppose  that 
any  boy  would  want  to  run  away  from  this  establishment  ? 
Eh,  Sir?” 

The  child  raised  a  dismal  cry  by  way  of  answer,  and  Mr 


176 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Squeers,  throwing  himself  into  the  most  favorable  attitude  for 
exercising  his  strength,  beat  him  till  the  little  urchin  in  his 
writhings  actually  rolled  out  of  his  hands,  when  he  mercifully 
allowed  him  to  roll  away  as  he  best  could. 

“  There,”  said  Squeers.  “  Now  if  any  other  boy  thinks  Smike 
has  run  away,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  him.” 

There  was  of  course  a  profound  silence,  during  which  Nicholas 
showed  his  disgust  as  plainly  as  looks  could  show  it. 

“Well,  Nickleby,”  said  Squeers,  eying  him  maliciously. 
“  You  think  he  has  run  away,  I  suppose  ?” 

“I  think  it  extremely  likely,”  replied  Nicholas,  in  a  very 
quiet  manner. 

“Oh,  you  do,  do  you?”  sneered  Squeers.  “Maybe  you 
know  he  has  ?” 

“  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

“  He  didn’t  tell  you  he  was  going,  I  suppose,  did  he  ?” 
sneered  Squeers. 

'“He  did  not,”  replied  Nicholas;  “I  am  very  glad  he  did 
not,  for  it  would  then  have  been  my  duty  to  have  warned  you 
in  time.” 

“Which  no  doubt  you  would  have  been  devilish  sorry  to  do,” 
said  Squeers  in  a  taunting  fashion. 

“I  should,  indeed,”  replied  Nicholas.  “You  interpret  my 
feelings  with  great  accuracy.” 

]\Irs.  Squeers  had  listened  to  this  conversation  from  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  the  stairs,  but  now  losing  all  patience,  she  hastily 
assumed  her  night-jacket  and  made  her  way  to  the  scene  of 
action. 

“  What’s  all  this  here  to  do  ?”  said  the  lady,  as  the  boys  fell 
olf  right  and  left  to  save  her  the  trouble  of  clearing  a  passage 
with  her  brawny  arms.  “  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  to  him 
for,  Squeery  ?” 

“Why,  my  dear,”  said  Squeers,  “the  fact  is,  that  Smike  is 
not  to  be  found.” 

“Well,  I  know  that,”  said  the  lady,  “and  where’s  the  won¬ 
der  ?  If  you  get  a  parcel  of  proud-stomached  teachers  that  set 
the  young  dogs  a  rebelling,  what  else  can  you  look  for  ?  Now, 
young  man,  you  just  have  the  kindness  to  take  yourself  ofi’  to 
the  school- room,  and  take  the  boys  olf  with  you,  and  don’t  you 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


177 


stir  out  of  there  till  you  have  leave  given  you,  or  you  and  1  may 
fall  out  in  a  way  that’ll  spoil  your  beauty,  handsome  as  you 
think  yourself,  and  so  I  tell  you.’’ 

“  Indeed  1”  said  Nicholas,  smiling. 

“  Yes ;  and  indeed  and  indeed  again,  Mister  Jackanapes,”  said 
the  excited  lady ;  “and  I  wouldn’t  keep  such  as  you  in  the  house 
another  hour  if  I  had  my  way.” 

“  Nor  would  you,  if  I  had  mine,”  replied  Nicholas.  “Now, 
boys.” 

“Ah  !  Now,  boys,”  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  mimicking,  as  nearly 
as  she  could,  the  voice  and  manner  of  the  usher.  “  Follow  your 
leader,  boys,  and  take  pattern  by  Stnike  if  you  dare.  See  what 
lie’ll  get  for  himself  when  he  is  brought  back,  and  mind  I  tell 
you  that  you  shall  have  as  bad,  and  twice  as  bad,  if  you  so  much 
as  open  your  mouths  about  him.” 

“  If  I  catch  him,”  said  Squeers,  “  I’ll  only  stop  short  of  flaying 
him  alive,  I  give  you  notice,  boys.” 

''If  you  catch  him,”  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers  contemptuously, 
“you  are  sure  to ;  you  can’t  help  it,  if  you  go  the  right  way  to 
woi'k.  Come,  away  with  you  I” 

With  these  words,  Mrs.  Squeers  dismissed  the  boys,  and 
after  a  little  light  skirmishing  with  those  in  the  rear  who  were 
pressing  forward  to  get  out  of  the  way,  but  were  detained  for  a 
few  moments  by  the  throng  in  front,  succeeded  in  clearing  the 
room,  when  she  confronted  her  spouse  alone. 

“lie  is  off,”  said  Mrs.  Squeers.  “  The  cow-house  and  stable 
are  locked  up,  so  he  can’t  be  there ;  and  he’s  not  down  stairs 
any  where,  for  the  girl  has  looked.  He  must  have  gone  York 
way,  and  by  a  pul)lic  road  too.” 

“Why  must  he?”  inquired  Squeers. 

“Stupid!”  said  Mrs.  Squeers  angrily.  “lie  hadn’t  any 
money,  had  he  ?” 

“  Never  had  a  penny  of  his  own  in  his  whole  life,  that  I  know 
of,”  replied  Squeers. 

“To  be  sure,”  rejoined  iVIrs.  Squeers,  “and  he  didn’t  take 
an)'  thing  to  eat  witli  him,  that  I’ll  answer  for.  Hal  ha!  ha!” 

“Ila!  ha!  ha!”  cried  Squeers. 

“Then  of  course,”  said  iSIrs  S.,  “he  must  beg  his  way,  and 
he  could  do  that  nowhere  but  on  the  public  road.” 

12 


178 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


“  Thut’s  true,”  exclaimed  Squeers,  clapping  his  hands. 

“  True  1  Yes;  but  you  would  never  have  thought  of  it  for 
all  that,  if  I  hadn’t  said  so,”  replied  his  wife.  “Now,  if  you 
take  the  chaise  and  go  one  road,  and  I  borrow  Swallow’s  chaise, 
and  go  the  other,  what  with  keeping  our  eyes  open  and  ask¬ 
ing  questions,  one  or  other  of  ns  is  pretty  certain  to  lay  hold 
oi  him.” 

The  worthy  lady’s  plan  was  adopted  and  put  in  execution 
without  a  moment’s  delay.  After  a  very  hasty  breakfast,  and 
the  prosecution  of  some  inquiries  in  the  village,  the  result  of 
which  seemed  to  sliow  that  he  was  on  the  right  track,  Squeers 
started  forth  in  the  pony-chaise,  intent  upon  discovery  and 
vengeance.  Shortly  afterwards  Mrs.  Squeers,  arrayed  in  the 
white  top-coat,  and  tied  up  in  various  shawls  and  handkerchiefs, 
issued  forth  in  another  chaise  and  another  direction,  taking 
with  her  a  good-sized  bludgeon,  several  odd  pieces  of  strong 
cord,  and  a  stout  laboring  man :  all  provided  and  carried  upon 
the  expedition  with  the  sole  object  of  assisting  in  the  capture, 
and  (once  caught)  insuring  the  safe  custody  of  the  unfortunate 
Smike. 

Nicholas  remained  behind  in  a  tumult  of  feeling,  sensible  that 
whatever  might  be  the  upshot  of  the  boy’s  flight,  nothing  but 
painful  and  deplorable  consequences  were  likely  to  ensue  from 
it.  Death  from  want  and  exposure  to  the  weather  was  the  best 
that  could  be  expected  from  the  protracted  wandering  of  so 
poor  and  helpless  a  ci’eature,  alone  and  unfriended,  through  a 
country  of  which  he  was  wholly  ignorant.  There  was  little, 
perhaps,  to  choose  between  this  fate  and  a  return  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  Yorkshire  school,  but  the  unhappy  being  had 
established  a  hold  upon  his  sympathy  and  compassion,  whi(!h 
made  his  heart  ache  at  the  prospect  of  the  suffering  he  was  des¬ 
tined  to  undergo.  lie  lingered  on  in  restless  anxiety,  ])icturing 
a  thousand  possibilities,  until  the  evening  of  next  day,  when 
Squeers  returned  alone  and  unsuccessful. 

“  No  news  of  the  scamp,”  said  the  schoolmaster,  who  had 
evidently  been  stretching  his  legs,  on  the  old  principle,  not  a 
few  times  during  the  journey.  “  I’ll  have  consolation  for  this 
out  of  somebody,  Nickleby,  if  Mrs.  Squeers  don’t  hunt  him 
down,  so  I  give  you  warning.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


179 


“It  is  not  in  my  power  to  console  you,  Sir,”  said  Nicholas. 
'•  It  is  nothing  to  me.” 

“Isn’t  it?”  said  Squeers  in  a  threatening  manner.  “We  shall 
see  I” 

“  We  shall,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“  Here’s  the  pony  run  right  off  his  legs,  and  me  obliged  to 
come  home  with  a  hack  cob,  that’ll  cost  fifteen  shillings,  besides 
other  expenses,”  said  Squeers ;  “  who’s  to  pay  for  that,  do  you 
hear?” 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  remained  silent. 

“I’ll  have  it  out  of  somebody,  I  tell  you,”  said  Squeers,  his 
usual  harsh  crafty  manner  changed  to  open  bullying.  “  None 
of  your  whining  vaporings  here,  Mr.  Puppy,  but  be  off  to  your 
kennel,  for  it’s  past  your  bed-time.  Come.  Get  out.” 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip  and  knit  his  hands  involuntarily,  for  his 
finger-ends  tingled  to  avenge  the  insult,  but  remembering  that 
the  man  was  drunk,  and  that  it  could  come  to  little  but  a  noisy 
brawl,  he  contented  himself  with  darting  a  contemptuous  look 
at  the  tyrant,  and  walked  as  majestically  as  he  could  up  stairs, 
not  a  little  nettled,  however,  to  observe  that  Miss  Squeers,  and 
Master  Squeers,  and  the  servant  girl,  were  enjoying  the  scene 
from  a  snug  corner;  the  two  former  indulging  in  many  edifying 
remarks  about  the  presumption  of  poor  upstarts ;  which  occa¬ 
sioned  a  vast  deal  of  laughter,  in  which  even  the  most  miserable 
of  all  miserable  of  servant  girls  joined,  while  Nicholas,  stung  to 
the  quick,  drew  over  his  head  such  bedclothes  as  he  had,  and 
sternly  resolved  that  the  outstanding  account  between  himself 
and  Mr.  Squeers  should  be  settled  rather  more  speedily  than  the 
latter  anticipated. 

Another  day  came,  and  Nicholas  was  scarcely  awake  when 
he  heard  the  wheels  of  a  chaise  approaching  the  house.  It 
stopped.  The  voice  of  Mrs.  Squeers  was  heard,  and  in  exul¬ 
tation,  ordering  a  glass  of  spirits  for  somebody,  which  was  in 
itself  a  sufficient  sign  that  something  extraordinary  had  hap¬ 
pened.  Nicholas  hardly  dared  to  look  out  of  the  window,  but 
he  did  so,  and  the  very  first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  the 
wretched  Smike;  so  bedabbled  with  mud  and  rain,  so  haggard 
and  worn,  and  wild,  that,  but  for  his  garments  being  such  as 


180 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


no  scarecrow  was  ever  seen  to  wear,  he  might  have  been  doubt¬ 
ful,  even  then,  of  his  identity. 

“  Lift  him  out,”  said  Squeers,  after  he  had  literally  feasted 
his  eyes  in  silence  upon  the  culprit.  “  Bring  him  iu  ;  bring 
him  iu.” 

“  Take  care,”  cried  Mrs.  Squeers,  as  her  husband  proffered 
his  assistance.  “We  tied  his  legs  under  the  apron  and  made 
’em  fast  to  the  chaise,  to  prevent  his  giving  us  the  slip  again.” 

With  hands  trembling  with  delight,  Squeers  unloosened  the 
cord,  and  Smike,  to  all  appearance  more  dead  than  alive,  was 
brought  into  the  house  and  securely  locked  up  in  a  cellar,  until 
such  time  as  Mr.  Squeers  should  deem  it  expedient  to  operate 
upon  him  in  presence  of  the  assembled  school. 

Upon  a  hasty  consideration  of  the  circumstances,  it  may  be 
matter  of  surprise  to  some  persons,  that  Mr.  and  A1  rs.  Squeers 
should  have  taken  so  much  trouble  to  repossess  themselves  of  an 
incumbrance,  of  which  it  was  their  wont  to  complain  so  loudly; 
but  their  surprise  will  cease  when  they  are  informed  that  the  mani¬ 
fold  services  of  the  drudge,  if  performed  by  any  body  else,  would 
have  cost  the  establishment  some  ten  or  twelve  shillings  per  week 
in  the  shape  of  wages ;  and  furthermore,  that  all  runaways 
were,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  made  severe  examples  of  at  Dothe- 
boys  Hall,  inasmuch  as  in  consequence  of  the  limited  extent  of 
its  attractions  there  was  but  little  inducement,  beyond  the 
powerful  im|)ulse  of  fear,  for  any  pupil  provided  with  the  usual 
number  of  legs  and  the  power  of  using  them,  to  remain. 

The  news  that  Smike  had  been  caught  and  brought  back  in 
triumph,  ran  like  wild-Qre  through  the  hungry  community,  and 
expectation  was  on  tip-toe  all  the  morning.  On  tip-toe  it  was  des¬ 
tined  to  remain,  however,  until  afternoon  ;  when  Squeers,  hav¬ 
ing  refreshed  himself  with  his  dinner,  and  further  strengthened 
himself  by  an  extra  libation  or  so,  made  his  appearance  (accom¬ 
panied  by  his  amiable  partner)  with  a  countenance  of  portentous 
imjiort,  and  a  fearful  instrument  of  flagellation,  strong,  supple, 
wax-ended,  and  new. — in  short,  purchased  that  morning  expressly 
for  the  occasion. 

“Is  every  boy  here?”  asked  Squeers,  in  a  tremendous  voice. 

Every  boy  was  there,  but  every  boy  was  afraid  to  speak;  so 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


181 


Squeers  glared  along  the  lines  to  assure  himself,  and  every  eye 
drooped  and  every  head  cowered  down  as  he  did  so. 

“Each  boy  keep  his  place,”  said  Squeers,  administering  his 
favorite  blow  to  the  desk,  and  regarding  wiUi  gloomy  satisfac¬ 
tion  the  universal  start  which  it  never  failed  to  occasion,  “  Nick- 
leby,  to  your  desk.  Sir.” 

It  was  remarked  by  more  than  one  small  observer,  that  there 
was  a  very  curious  and  unusual  expression  in  the  usher’s  face, 
but  he  took  his  seat  without  opening  his  lips  in  reply;  and 
Squeers  casting  a  triumphant  glance  at  his  assistant  and  a  look 
of  most  comprehensive  despotism  on  the  boys,  left  the  room, 
and  shortly  afterwards  returned  dragging  Sraike  by  the  collar 
■ — or  rather  by  that  fragment  of  his  jacket  which  was  nearest 
the  place  where  his  collar  would  have  been,  had  he  boasted 
such  a  decoration. 

In  any  other  place  the  appearance  of  the  wretched,  jaded, 
spiritless  object  would  have  occasioned  a  murmur  of  compas¬ 
sion  and  remonstrance.  It  had  some  effect  even  there;  for  the 
lookers-on  moved  uneasily  in  their  seats,  and  a  few  of  the 
boldest  ventured  to  steal  looks  at  each  other,  expressive  of 
indignation  and  pity. 

They  were  lost  on  Squeers,  however,  whose  gaze  was  fastened 
on  the  luckle.ss  Smike,  as  he  inquired,  according  to  custom  in 
such  cases,  whether  he  had  any  thing  to  say  for  himself. 

“Nothing,  I  suppose?”  said  Squeers,  with  a  diabolical  grin. 

Smike  glanced  round,  and  his  eye  rested  for  an  instant  on 
Nicholas,  as  if  he  had  expected  him  to  intercede ;  but  his  look 
was  riveted  on  his  desk, 

“  Have  you  any  thing  to  say  ?”  demanded  Squeers  again ;  giv¬ 
ing  his  right  arm  two  or  three  flourishes  to  try  its  power  and 
suppleness.  “Stand  a  little  out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Squeers,  ray 
dear;  I’ve  hardly  got  room  enough.” 

“S|)are  me.  Sir,”  cried  Smike. 

“Oh!  that’s  all,  is  it?”  said  Squeers.  “Yes,  I’ll  flog  you 
within  an  inch  of  your  life,  and  spare  you  that.” 

“Ha,  ha,  ha,”  laughed  Mrs.  Squeers,  “that’s  a  good  ’un.” 

“I  was  driven  to  do  it,”  said  Smike  faintly  ;  and  casting  another 
imploring  look  about  him. 


182 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Driven  to  do  it,  were  you?”  said  Squeers.  “Oh I  it  wasn’t 
your  fault;  it  was  mine,  I  suppose — eh?” 

“A  nasty,  ungrateful,  pig-headed,  brutish,  obstinate,  sneak¬ 
ing  dog,”  exclaimed  Mrs,  Squeers,  taking  Smike’s  head  under 
her  arm,  and  administering  a  culf  at  every  epithet;  “what  does 
he  mean  by  that  ?” 

“Stand  aside,  my  dear,”  replied  Squeers.  “We’ll  try  and 
find  out.” 

Mrs.  Squeers  being  out  of  breath  with  her  exertions,  com¬ 
plied,  Squeers  caught  the  boy  firmly  in  his  grip ;  one  desperate 
cut  had  fallen  on  his  body — he  was  wincing  from  the  lash  and 
uttering  a  scream  of  pain — it  was  raised  again,  and  again  about 
to  fall — when  Nicholas  Nickleby  suddenly  starting  up,  cried 
“Stop !”  in  a  voice  that  made  the  rafters  ring. 

“Who  cried  stop?”  said  Squeers,  turning  savagely  round. 

“I,”  said  Nicholas,  stepping  forward.  “This  must  not  go 
on.” 

“Must  not  go  on  !”  cried  Squeers  almost  in  a  shriek. 

“No!”  thundered  Nicholas. 

Aghast  and  stupefied  by  the  boldness  of  the  interference, 
Squeers  released  his  hold  of  Smike,  and  falling  back  a  pace 
or  two,  gazed  upon  Nicholas  with  looks  that  were  positively 
frightful. 

“I  say  must  not,”  repeated  Nicholas,  nothing  daunted;  “shall 
not.  I  will  prevent  it.” 

Squeers  continued  to  gaze  upon  him,  with  his  eyes  starting 
out  of  his  head;  but  astonishment  had  actually  for  the  moment 
bereft  him  of  speech. 

“You  have  disregarded  all  my  quiet  interference  in  the  mis¬ 
erable  lad’s  behalf,”  said  Nicholas;  “returned  no  answer  to  th^ 
letter  in  which  I  begged  forgiveness  for  him,  and  offered  to 
be  responsible  that  he  would  remain  quietly  here.  Don’t 
blame  me  for  this  public  interference.  You  have  brought  it 
upon  yourself;  not  I.” 

“Sit  down,  beggar !”  screamed  Squeers,  almost  beside  him¬ 
self  with  rage,  and  seizing  Smike  as  he  spoke. 

“Wretch,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  fiercely,  “touch  him  at  your 
peril  1  I  will  not  stand  by  and  see  it  done;  my  blood  is  up, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


188 


and  I  have  the  strength  of  ten  such  men  as  you.  Look  to 
yourself,  for  by  Heaven  I  will  not  spare  you,  if  you  drive  me  on.” 

"Stand  back,”  cried  Squeers,  brandishing  his  weapon. 

"I  have  a  long  series  of  insults  to  avenge,”  said  Nicholas, 
flashed  with  passion;  "and  my  indignation  is  aggravated  by 
the  dastardly  cruelties  practiced  on  helpless  infancy  in  this  foul 
den.  Have  a  care ;  for  if  you  do  raise  the  devil  within  me,  the 
consequences  shall  fall  heavily  upon  your  own  head.” 

lie  had  scarcely  spoken  when  Squeers,  in  a  violent  outbreak 
of  wrath  and  with  a  cry  like  the  howl  of  a  wild  beast,  spat  upon 
him  and  struck  him  a  blow  across  the  face  with  his  instrument  of 
torture,  which  raised  up  a  bar  of  livid  flesh  as  it  was  inflicted. 
Smarting  with  the  agony  of  the  blow,  and  concentrating  into 
that  one  moment  all  his  feelings  of  rage,  scorn,  and  indignation, 
Nicholas  sprang  upon  him,  wrested  the  weapon  from  his  hand, 
and,  pinning  him  by  the  throat,  beat  the  ruffian  till  he  roared 
for  mercy. 

The  boys — with  the  exception  of  Master  Squeers,  who,  com¬ 
ing  to  his  father’s  assistance,  harassed  the  enemy  in  the  rear — 
moved  not  hand  or  foot;  but  Mrs.  Squeers,  with  many  shrieks 
for  aid,  hung  on  to  the  tail  of  her  partner’s  coat  and  endeavored 
to  drag  him  from  his  infuriated  adversary;  while  Miss  Squeers, 
who  had  been  peeping  through  the  key- hole  in  expectation  of  a 
very  different  scene,  darted  in  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
attack,  and  after  launching  a  shower  of  inkstands  at  the  usher’s 
head,  beat  Nicholas  to  her  heart’s  content,  animating  herself 
at  every  blow  with  the  recollection  of  his  having  refused  her 
proffered  love,  and  thus  imparting  additional  strength  to  an  arm 
which  (as  she  took  after  her  mother  in  this  respect)  was  at  no 
time  one  of  the  weakest. 

Nicholas,  in  the  full  torrent  of  his  violence,  felt  the  blows  no 
more  than  it  they  had  been  dealt  with  feathers  ;  but  becoming 
tired  of  the  noise  and  uproar,  and  feeling  that  his  arm  grew 
weak  besides,  he  threw  all  his  remaining  strength  into  half-a- 
dozen  finishing  cuts,  and  flung  Squeers  from  him  with  all  the 
force  he  could  muster.  The  violence  of  his  fall  precipitated  Mrs. ' 
Squeers  completely  over  an  adjacent  form,  and  Squeers,  striking 
his  head  against  it  in  his  descent,  lay  at  his  full  lengtli  on  the 
ground,  stunned  and  motionless. 


184 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Having  brought  affairs  to  this  happy  termination,  and  ascer¬ 
tained  to  his  thorough  satisfaction  that  Squeers  was  only 
stunned,  and  not  dead  (upon  which  point  he  had  had  some 
unpleasant  doubts  at  first),  Nicholas  left  his  family  to  restore 
him,  and  retired  to  consider  what  course  he  had  better  adopt. 
He  looked  anxiously  round  for  Smike  as  he  left  the  room,  but 
lie  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

After  a  brief  consideration  he  packed  up  a  few  clothes  in  a 
small  leathern  valise,  and  finding  that  nobody  offered  to  oppose 
his  progress,  marched  boldly  out  by  the  front-door,  and  shortly 
afterwards  struck  into  the  road  which  led  to  Greta  Bridge. 

When  he  had  cooled  sufficiently  to  be  enabled  to  give  his 
present  circumstances  some  little  reflection,  they  did  not  appear 
in  a  very  encouraging  light,  for  he  had  only  four  shillings  and  a 
few  pence  in  his  pocket,  and  was  something  more  than  two  hun¬ 
dred  and  fifty  miles  from  London,  whither  he  resolved  to  direct 
his  steps,  that  he  might  ascertain,  among  other  things,  what 
account  of  the  morning’s  proceedings  Mr.  Squeers  transmitted 
to  his  most  affectionate  uncle. 

Lifting  up  his  eyes,  as  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  there 
was  no  remedy  for  this  unfortunate  state  of  things,  he  beheld  a 
Horseman  coming  towards  him,  whom,  on  his  nearer  approach, 
he  discovered,  to  his  infinite  chagrin,  to  be  no  other  than  Mr. 
Tohn  Browdie,  who,  clad  in  cords  and  leather  leggings,  was 
urging  his  animal  forward  by  means  of  a  thick  ash  stick,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  recently  cut  from  some  stout  sapling. 

“I  am  in  no  mood  for  more  noise  and  riot,”  thought  Nicholas, 
•  Mid  yet,  do  what  I  will,  I  shall  have  an  altercation  with  this 
honest  blockhead,  and  perhaps  a  blow  or  two  from  yonder 
staff.” 

In  truth  there  appeared  some  reason  to  expect  that  such  a 
result  would  follow  from  the  encounter,  for  John  Browdie  no 
sooner  saw  Nicholas  advancing,  than  he  reined  in  his  horse  by 
the  footpath,  and  waited  until  such  time  as  he  should  come  up  ; 
looking  meanwhile  very  sternly  between  the  horse’s  ears  at 
Nicholas,  as  he  came  on  at  his  leisure. 

Servant,  young  genelman,”  said  John. 

“Yours,”  said  Nicholas. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


185 


"Weel;  we  ha’  met  at  last,”  observed  John,  making  tho 
etirrup  ring  under  a  smart  touch  of  the  ash  stick. 

"Yes,”  replied  Nicholas,  hesitating.  “Come,”  he  said, 
frankly,  after  a  moment’s  pause,  “  we  parted  on  no  very  good 
terms  the  last  time  we  met ;  it  was  my  fault,  1  believe ;  but 
I  had  no  intention  of  offending  you,  and  no  idea  that  I  was 
doing  so.  1  was  very  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  Will  you  shake 
hands  ?” 

“Shake  bonds  I”  cried  the  good-humored  Yorkshiremaii ; 
“  ah  I  that  I  weel at  the  same  time  he  bent  down  from  the 
saddle,  and  gave  Nicholas’s  fist  a  huge  wrench  ;  “but  wa’at  be 
the  matther  wi’  thy  fcace,  mun  ?  It  be  all  brokken  loike.” 

"It  is  a  cut,”  said  Nicholas,  turning  scarlet  as  he  spoke, — 
"  a  blow ;  but  I  returned  it  to  the  giver,  and  with  good  interest 
too.” 

"Noa,  did  ’ee  though?”  exclaimed  John  Browdie.  “Weel 
deane,  I  loike  ’un  for  thot.” 

“  The  fact  is,”  said  Nicholas,  not  very  well  knowing  how  to 
make  the  avowal,  “the  fact  is,  that  I  have  been  ill-treated.” 

"Noa  I”  interposed  John  Browdie,  in  a  tone  of  com¬ 
passion  ;  for  he  was  a  giant  in  strength  and  stature,  and 
Nicholas  very  likely  in  his  eyes  seemed  a  mere  dwarf;  “dean’t 
say  thot.” 

"Yes,  I  have,”  replied  Nicholas,  “by  that  man  Squeers, 
and  I  have  beaten  him  soundly,  and  am  leaving  this  place  in 
consequence.” 

“  What !”  cried  John  Browdie,  with  such  an  ecstatic  shout,  that 
the  horse  quite  shyed  at  it.  “Beatten  the  schoolmeasther  1  IIol 
-  ho  !  ho  !  Beatten  the  schoolmeasther  1  who  ever  heard  o’  the 
loike  o’  that  noo  !  Giv’  us  thee  bond  agean,  yoongster.  Beatten 
a  schoolmeasther  1  Dang  it,  I  loove  thee  for’t.” 

With  these  expressions  of  delight,  John  Browdie  laughed  and 
laughed  again — so  loud  that  the  echoes  far  and  wide  sent  back 
nothing  but  jovial  peals  of  merriment — and  shook  Nicholas  by 
the  hand  meanwhile  no  less  heartily.  When  his  mirth  had  sub¬ 
sided,  he  inquired  what  Nicholas  meant  to  do  ;  on  his  inform¬ 
ing  him,  to  go  straight  to  London,  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully, 
and  inquired  if  he  knew  how  much  the  coaches  charged  to  carry 
passei'.gers  so  far. 


186 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“No,  I  do  not,”  said  Nicholas;  “but  it  is  of  no  great  con¬ 
sequence  to  me,  for  I  intend  walking.” 

“Gang  awa’  to  Lunnun  afoot !”  cried  John,  in  amazement. 

“Every  step  of  the  way,”  replied  Nicholas.  “I  should  be 
many  steps  furtlier  on  by  this  time,  and  so  good-by.” 

“Nay,  noo,”  replied  the  honest  countryman,  reining  in  his 
impatient  horse,  “  stan’  still,  tehee,  IIoo  much  cash  hast  thee 
gotten  ?” 

“Not  much,”  said  Nicholas,  coloring,  “but  I  can  make  it 
enough.  Where  there’s  a  will  there’s  a  way,  you  know.” 

John  Browdie  made  no  verbal  answer  to  this  remark,  but 
putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  an  old  purse  of  soiled 
leather,  and  insisted  that  Nicholas  should  borrow  from  him 
whatever  he  required  for  his  present  necessities. 

“Dean’t  be  afeard,  mun,”  he  said ;  “tak’  eneaf  to  carry  thee 
whoam.  Thee’lt  pay  me  yan  day,  a’  warrant.” 

Nicholas  could  by  no  means  be  prevailed  upon  to  borrow 
more  than  a  sovereign,  with  which  loan  Mr.  Browdie,  after 
many  entreaties  that  he  would  accept  of  more  (observing,  with 
a  touch  of  Yorkshire  caution,  that  if  he  didn’t  spend  it  all  he 
could  put  the  surplus  by,  till  he  had  an  opportunity  of  remitting 
it  carriage  free),  was  fain  to  content  himself. 

“  Tak’  that  bit  o’  timber  to  help  thee  on  wi’,  mun,”  he 
added,  pressing  his  stick  on  Nicholas,  and  giving  his  hand 
another  squeeze;  “keep  a  good  hart,  and  bless  thee.  Beatten 
a  schoolmeasther !  ’Cod  it’s  the  best  thing  a’ve  heerd  this 
twenty  year  !” 

So  saying,  and  indulging,  with  more  delicacy  than  could  have 
been  expected  from  him,  in  another  series  of  loud  laughs,  foi 
the  purpose  of  avoiding  the  thanks  which  Nicholas  poured  forth, 
John  Browdie  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  went  off  at  a  smart 
canter,  looking  back  from  time  to  time  as  Nicholas  stood  gazing 
after  him  ;  and  waving  his  hand  cheerily,  as  if  to  encourage  him 
on  his  way.  Nicholas  watched  the  horse  and  rider  until  they 
disappeared  over  the  brow  of  a  distant  hill,  and  then  set  forward 
on  his  journey. 

lie  did  not  travel  far  that  afternoon,  for  by  this  time  it  was 
nearly  dark,  and  there  had  been  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  which  nor 
only  rendered  the  way  toilsome,  but  the  track  uncertain  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


187 


difficult  to  find  after  daylight,  save  by  experienced  wayfarers. 
He  lay  that  night  at  a  cottage,  where  beds  were  let  at  a  cheap 
rate  to  the  more  humble  class  of  travelers,  and  rising  betimes  next 
morning,  made  his  way  before  night  to  Boroughbridge.  Passing 
through  that  town  in  search  of  some  cheap  resting-place,  he 
stumbled  upon  an  empty  barn  wdthin  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
of  the  road-side ;  in  a  warm  corner  of  which  he  stretched  his 
weary  limbs,  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  next  morning,  and  tried  to  recollect  his 
dreams,  vvliich  had  been  all  connected  with  his  recent  sojourn 
at  Dotheboys  Hall,  he  sat  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stared — not 
with  the  most  composed  countenance  possible — at  some  motion¬ 
less  object  which  seemed  to  be  stationed  within  a  few  yards  in 
front  of  him. 

“  Strange  I”  cried  Nicholas ;  “  can  this  be  some  lingering 
creation  of  the  visions  that  have  scarcely  left  me  I  It  cannot 
be  real — and  yet  I — I  am  awake.  Smike  !” 

The  form  moved,  rose,  advanced,  and  dropped  upon  its 
knees  at  his  feet.  It  was  Smike  indeed. 

“  Why  do  you  kneel  to  me  V’  said  Nicholas,  hastily  raising 
him. 

“  To  go  with  you — any  where — every  where — to  the  world’s 
end — to  the  church-yard  grave,”  replied  Smike,  clinging  to  his 
hand.  “  Let  me,  oh  do  let  me.  You  are  my  home — my  kind 
friend — take  me  wdth  you,  pray.” 

“I  am  a  friend  who  can  do  little  for  you,”  said  Nicholas, 
kindly.  “  How  came  you  here  ?” 

He  had  followed  him,  it  seemed ;  had  never  lost  sight  of  him 
all  the  way  ;  had  watched  while  he  slept,  and  when  he  halted 
for  refreshment ;  and  feared  to  appear  before,  lest  he  should 
be  sent  back.  He  had  not  intended  to  appear  now,  but  Nicho¬ 
las  had  awakened  more  suddenly  than  he  looked  for,  and  he  had 
no  time  to  conceal  himself. 

“Poor  fellow!”  said  Nicholas,  “your  hard  fate  denies  you 
any  friend  but  one,  and  he  is  nearly  as  poor  and  helpless  as 
yourself.” 

“  May  I — may  I  go  with  you  ?”  asked  Smike,  timidly.  “  I 
will  be  your  faithful  hard-working  servant,  I  will,  indeed.  I 
want  no  clothes  ’’  added  the  poor  creature,  drawing  lus  rags 


188 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


together;  “these  will  do  very  well.  I  only  want  to  be  near 
you.” 

“  And  yon  shall,”  cried  Nicholas.  “  And  the  w^orld  shall 
deal  by  you  as  it  does  by  me,  till  one  or  both  of  us  shall  quit  it 
for  a  better.  Come.” 

With  these  words  he  strapped  his  burden  on  his  shoulders, 
and  taking  his  stick  in  one  hand,  extended  the  other  to  his  de¬ 
lighted  charge,  and  so  they  passed  out  of  the  old  barn  together. 


CHAPTER  XI Y. 


HAVING  THE  MISFORTUNE  TO  TREAT  OF  NONE  BUT  COMMON  PEO- 

PLE,  18  NECESSARILY  OF  A  MEAN  AND  VULGAR  CHARACTER. 

In  that  quarter  of  London  in  which  Golden  Square  is  situ 
atcd,  there  is  a  by-gone,  faded,  tumble-down  street,  with  two 
irregular  rows  of  tall  meagre  houses,  which  seem  to  have  stared 
each  other  out  of  countenance  years  ago.  The  very  chimneys 
appear  to  have  grown  dismal  and  melancholy,  from  having  had 
nothing  better  to  look  at  than  the  chimneys  over  the  way. 
Their  tops  are  battered,  and  broken,  and  blackened  with  smoke; 
and  here  and  there  some  taller  stack  than  the  rest,  inclining 
heavily  to  one  side,  and  toppling  over  the  roof,  seems  to  medi¬ 
tate  taking  revenge  for  half  a  century’s  neglect,  by  crushing  the 
inhabitants  of  the  garrets  beneath. 

The  fowls  who  peck  about  the  kennels,  jerking  their  bodies 
hither  and  thither  with  a  gait  which  none  but  town  fowls  are 
ever  seen  to  adopt,  and  which  any  country  cock  or  hen  would 
be  puzzled  to  understand,  are  perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  crazy 
habitations  of  their  owners.  Dingy,  ill-plumed,  drowsy  flut- 
terers,  sent,  like  many  of  the  neighboring  children,  to  get  a  live¬ 
lihood  in  the  streets,  they  hop  from  stone  to  stone  in  forlorn 
search  of  some  hidden  eatable  in  the  mud,  and  can  scarcely 
raise  a  crow  among  them.  The  only  one  with  any  thing  ap¬ 
proaching  to  a  voice  is  an  aged  bantam  at  the  baker’s,  and  even 
he  is  hoarse  in  consequence  of  bad  living  in  his  last  place. 

To  judge  from  the  size  of  the  houses,  they  have  been  at  one 
time  tenanted  by  persons  of  better  condition  than  their  present 
occupants,  but  they  are  now  let  off  by  the  week  in  floors  or 
rooms,  and  every  door  has  almost  as  many  plates  or  bell-handles 
as  there  are  apartments  within.  The  windows  are  for  the  same 
reason  sufficiently  diversified  in  appearance,  being  ornamented 
with  every  variety  of  common  blind  and  curtain  that  can  easily 
be  imagined,  while  every  doorway  is  blocked  up  and  rendered 

(1  K9^ 


190 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


nearly  ihipassable  by  a  motley  collection  of  children  and  porter- 
pots  of  all  sizes,  from  the  baby  in  arms  and  the  half-pint  pot,  to 
the  full-grown  girl  and  half-gallon  can. 

In  the  parlor  of  one  of  these  houses,  which  was  perhaps  a 
thought  dirtier  than  any  of  its  neighbors;  which  exhibited  more 
bell-handles,  children,  and  porter-pots,  and  caught  in  all  its 
freshness  the  first  gust  of  the  thick  black  smoke  that  poured 
forth  night  and  day  from  a  large  brewery  hard  by,  hung  a  bill 
announcing  that  there  was  yet  one  room  to  let  within  its  walls, 
although  on  what  story  the  vacant  room  could  be — regard  being 
had  to  the  outward  tokens  of  many  lodgers  Mdiich  the  whole 
front  displayed,  from  the  mangle  in  the  kitchen-window  to  the 
flower-pots  on  the  parapet — it  would  have  been  beyond  the 
power  of  a  calculating  boy  to  discover. 

The  common  stairs  of  this  mansion  were  bare  and  carpetless; 
but  a  curious  visitor  who  had  to  climb  his  way  to  the  top,  might 
have  observed  that  there  were  not  wanting  indications  of  the 
progressive  poverty  of  the  inmates,  although  their  rooms  were 
shut.  Thus  the  first-floor  lodgers,  being  flush  of  furniture,  kept 
an  old  mahogany  table — real  mahogany — on  the  landing-place 
outside,  which  was  only  taken  in  when  occasion  required.  On 
the  second  story  the  spare  furniture  dwindled  down  to  a  couple 
of  old  deal  chairs,  of  which  one,  belonging  to  the  back  room, 
was  shorn  of  a  leg  and  bottomless.  The  story  above  boasted 
no  greater  excess  than  a  worm-eaten  wash-tub  ;  and  the  garret 
landing-place  displayed  no  costlier  articles  than  two  crippled 
pitchers,  and  some  broken  blacking-bottles. 

It  was  on  this  garret  landing-place  that  a  hard-featured, 
square-faced  man,  elderly  and  shabby,  stopped  to  unlock  the 
door  of  the  front  attic,  into  which,  having  surmounted  the  task 
of  turning  the  rusty  key  in  its  still  more  rusty  wards,  he  walked 
with  the  air  of  its  legal  owner. 

This  jicrson  wore  a  wig  of  short,  coarse,  red  hoir,  which  he 
took  off  with  his  hat,  and  hung  ’apon  a  nail.  Having  adopted 
in  its  place  a  dirty  cotton  night-cap,  and  groped  about  in  the 
dark  till  he  found  a  remnant  of  candle,  he  knocked  at  the  par¬ 
tition  which  divided  the  two  garrets,  and  inquired  in  a  loud 
voice  whether  Mr.  Noggs  had  got  a  light. 

The  sounds  that  came  back  were  stifled  by  the  lath  and 


NICHOLAS  N I C  K  L  E  B  Y . 


191 


plaster,  aud  it  seemed  moreover  as  though  the  speaker  had  ut¬ 
tered  them  from  the  interior  of  a  rung  or  other  drinking  vessel; 
but  they  were  in  the  voice  of  Newman,  and  conveyed  a  reply 
in  the  aHirmative. 

“A  nasty  night,  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  the  man  in  the  night-cap, 
stepping  in  to  light  his  candle. 

“  Does  it  rain  asked  Newman. 

“  Does  it  ?”  replied  the  other  pettishly.  “  I  am  wet  through.” 

“  It  doesn’t  take  much  to  wet  you  and  me  through,  Mr. 
Crowl,”  said  Newman,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  lappel  of  his 
threadbare  coat. 

''Well;  and  that  makes  it  the  more  vexatious,”  observed 
Mr.  Crowl,  in  the  same  pettish  tone. 

Uttering  a  low  querulous  growl,  the  speaker,  whose  harsh 
countenance  was  the  very  epitome  of  selfishness,  raked  the 
scanty  fire  nearly  out  of  the  grate,  and,  emptying  the  glass 
which  Noggs  had  pushed  towards  him,  inquired  where  he  kept 
his  coals. 

Newman  Noggs  pointed  to  the  bottom  of  a  cupboard,  and 
Mr.  Crowl,  seizing  the  shovel,  threw  on  half  the  stock,  which 
Noggs  very  deliberately  took  off  again  without  saying  a  word. 

“  You  have  not  turned  saving  at  this  time  of  day,  I  hope  ?” 
said  Crowl. 

Newman  pointed  to  the  empty  glass,  as  though  it  were  a  suf¬ 
ficient  refutation  of  the  charge,  and  briefly  said  that  he  was 
going  down  stairs  to  sui)per. 

“  To  the  Kenwigses  ?”  asked  Crowl. 

Newman  nodded  assent. 

“Think  of  that  now  1”  said  Crowl.  “If  I  didn’t — thinking 
that  you  were  certain  not  to  go,  because  you  said  you  wouldn’t 
— tell  Kenwigs  I  couldn’t  come,  and  make  up  my  mind  to 
8j)end  the  evening  with  you.” 

“  I  was  obliged  to  go,”  said  Newman.  “They  would  have  me.’ 

“Well;  but  what’s  to  become  of  me?”  urged  the  selfish  man, 
who  never  thought  of  any  body  else.  “  It’s  all  your  fault.  I’ll 
tell  you  what — I’ll  sit  by  your  fire  till  you  come  back  again.” 

Newman  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  his  small  store  of  fuel 
but  not  having  the  courage  to  say  no,  a  word  which  in  all  his 
life  he  never  could  say  at  the  right  time,  either  to  himselt'  to 


192 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


any  one  else,  gave  way  to  the  proposed  arrangement,  and  Mr. 
Crowl  immediately  went  about  making  himself  as  comfortable 
with  N’ewman  Xoggs’s  means,  as  circumstances  would  admit  of 
his  being. 

The  lodgers  to  w-hom  Crowl  had  made  allusion  under  the 
designation  of  "  the  Kenwigses,”  were  the  wife  and  olive 
branches  of  one  Mr.  Kenwigs,  a  turner  in  ivory,  who  was  looked 
upon  as  a  person  of  some  consideration  on  the  premises,  inas¬ 
much  as  he  occupied  the  whole  of  the  first  floor,  comprising  a 
suit  of  two  rooms.  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  too,  was  quite  a  lady  in 
her  manners,  and  of  a  very  genteel  family,  having  an  uncle  who 
collected  a  water-rate ;  besides  which  distinction,  the  two  eldest 
of  her  little  girls  went  twice  a  week  to  a  dancing  school  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  had  flaxen  hair  tied  with  blue  ribbons  hang¬ 
ing  in  luxuriant  pigtails  down  their  backs,  and  wore  little  white 
trowsers  with  frills  round  the  ankles — for  all  of  which  reasons, 
and  many  more  equally  valid,  but  too  numerous  to  mention, 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  considered  a  very  desirable  person  to  know, 
and  was  the  constant  theme  of  all  the  gossips  in  the  street,  and 
even  three  or  four  doors  round  the  corner  at  both  ends. 

It  was  the  anniversary  of  that  happy  day  on  which  the 
church  of  England,  as  by  law  established,  had  bestowed  Mrs. 
Kenwigs  upon  Mr.  Kenwigs,  and  in  grateful  commemoration 
of  the  same,  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  invited  a  few  select  friends 
to  cards  and  supper  in  the  first  floor,  and  put  on  a  new  gown  to 
receive  them  in,  which  gown,  being  of  a  flaming  color  and 
made  upon  a  juvenile  principle,  was  so  successful  that  Mr. 
Kenwigs  said  the  eight  years  of  matrimony  and  the  five  chil¬ 
dren  seemed  all  a  dream,  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  younger  and  more 
blooming  than  the  very  first  Sunday  he  kept  company  with  her. 

Beautiful  as  Mrs.  Kenwigs  looked  when  she  was  dressed 
though,  and  so  stately  that  you  would  have  supposed  she  had  a 
cook  and  housemaid  at  least,  and  nothing  to  do  but  order  them 
about,  she  had  had  a  world  of  trouble  with  the  preparations; 
more  indeed  than  she,  being  of  a  delicate  and  genteel  constitution, 
could  have  sustained,  had  not  the  pride  of  housewifery  upheld 
her.  At  last,  however,  all  the  things  that  had  to  be  got  to¬ 
gether  were  got  together,  and  all  the  things  that  had  to  be  got 
cut  of  the  way  were  got  out  of  the  way,  and  every  thing  was 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


193 


read}'',  and  the  collector  himself  having  promised  to  come,  for¬ 
tune  smiled  upon  the  occasion. 

The  party  was  admirably  selected.  There  were  first  of  all 
Mr.  Kenwigs  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  four  olive  Kenwigses  who 
sat  up  to  supper,  firstly,  because  it  was  but  right  that  they 
should  have  a  treat  on  such  a  day;  and  secondly,  because  their 
going  to  bed  in  presence  of  the  company,  would  have  been 
inconvenient,  not  to  say  improper.  Then  there  was  the  young 
lady  who  had  made  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s  dress,  and  who — it  was  the 
most  convenient  thing  in  the  world — living  in  the  two-pair 
back,  gave  up  her  bed  to  the  baby,  and  got  a  little  girl  to 
W’atch  it.  Then,  to  match  this  young  lady,  was  a  young  man, 
who  had  known  Mr.  Kenwigs  when  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  was 
much  esteemed  by  the  ladies,  as  bearing  the  reputation  of  a  rake. 
To  these  wmre  added  a  newly-married  couple,  who  had  visited 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  in  their  courtship,  and  a  sister  of  Mrs. 
Kenwigs’s,  who  was  quite  a  beauty ;  besides  whom,  there  was 
another  young  man  supposed  to  entertain  honorable  designs 
upon  the  lady  last  mentioned,  and  Mr.  Noggs,  who  was  a 
genteel  person  to  ask,  because  he  had  been  a  gentleman 
once.  There  were  also  an  elderly  lady  from  the  back  parlor, 
and  one  more  young  lady,  who,  next  to  the  collector,  per¬ 
haps,  was  the  great  lion  of  the  party,  being  the  daughter  of  a 
theatrical  fireman,  who  “  went  on”  in  the  pantomime,  and  had 
the  greatest  turn  for  the  stage  that  was  ever  known,  being  able 
to  sing  and  recite  in  a  manner  that  brought  the  tears  into  Mrs. 
Kenwigs’s  eyes.  There  was  only  one  drawback  upon  the  plea¬ 
sure  of  seeing  such  friends,  and  that  was,  that  the  lady  in  the 
back  parlor,  who  was  very  fat,  and  turned  of  sixty,  came  in  a 
low  book-muslin  dress  and  short  kid  gloves,  which  so  exas¬ 
perated  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  that  that  lady  assured  her  sister  in  private, 
that  if  it  hadn’t  happened  that  the  supper  was  cooking  at  the 
back-parlor  grate  at  that  moment,  she  certainly  would  have  re¬ 
quested  its  representative  to  withdraw. 

“My  dear,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “wouldn’t  it  be  better  to  be¬ 
gin  a  round  game  ?” 

“  Kenwigs,  my  dear,”  returned  his  wife,  “  I  am  surprised  at 
you.  Would  you  begin  without  my  uncle  ?” 

13 


131 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  1  rorg’ot  the  collector,”  said  Kenwigs ;  “oh,  no,  that  would 
never  do.” 

“  Jle’s  so  particular,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  turning  to  the  other 
married  lady,  “  that  if  we  began  without  him,  I  should  be  out 
of  his  will  forever.” 

“  Dear  I”  cried  the  married  lady. 

“  You’ve  no  idea  what  he  is,”  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs;  “and 
yet  as  good  a  creature  as  ever  breathed.” 

“The  kindest-hearted  man  that  ever  was,”  said  KeiiAvigs 

“  It  goes  to  his  heart,  I  believe,  to  be  forced  to  cut  the  water 
olf  when  the  people  don’t  pay,”  observed  the  bachelor  friend, 
intending  a  joke. 

“  George,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  solemnly,  “  none  of  that,  if  you 
please.” 

“It  was  only  my  joke,”  said  the  friend,  abashed. 

“  George,”  rejoined  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “  a  joke  is  a  wery  good 
thing — a  wery  good  thing — but  when  that  joke  is  made  at  the 
expense  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s  feelings,  I  set  my  face  against  it. 
A  man  in  public  life  expects  to  be  sneered  at — it  is  the  fault  of 
his  elewated  sitiwation,  not  of  himself.  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s  relation 
is  a  public  man,  and  that  he  knows,  George,  and  that  he  can 
bear ;  but  putting  Mrs.  Kenwigs  out  of  the  question  (if  I  could 
put  Mrs.  Kenwigs  out  of  the  question  on  such  an  occasion  as 
this),  I  have  the  honor  to  be  connected  with  the  colleqtor  by 
marriage  ;  and  I  cannot  allow  these  remarks  in  my — ”  Mr. 
Kenwigs  was  going  to  say  “  house,”  but  he  rounded  the  sentence 
with  “apartments.” 

At  the  conclusion  of  these  observations,  which  drew  forth 
evidences  of  acute  feeling  from  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  had  the  in¬ 
tended  effect  of  impressing  the  company  with  a  deep  sense  of  the 
collector’s  dignity,  a  ring  was  heard  at  the  bell. 

“That’s  him,”  whispered  Mr.  Kenwigs,  greatly  excited. 
“  Morleena,  my  dear,  run  down  and  let  your  uncle  in,  and  kiss 
him  directly  you  get  the  door  open.  Hem  !  Let’s  be  talking.” 

Adopting  Mr.  Kenwigs’s  suggestion,  the  company  spoke  very 
loudly  ;  to  look  easy  and  unembarrassed ;  and  almost  as  soon  as 
they  had  begun  to  do  so,  a  short  old  gentleman,  in  drabs  and 
gaiters,  with  a  face  that  might  have  been  carved  out  of  lignum 
xntce,  for  any  thing  that  appeared  to  the  contrary,  was  led  play- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


J95 


fully  in  by  Miss  Morleena  Kenwigs,  regarding  whose  uncommon 
Christian  name  it  may  be  here  remarked  that  it  was  invented 
and  composed  by  Mrs.  Kenwigs  previous  to  her  first  lying-in, 
for  the  special  distinction  of  her  eldest  child,  in  case  it  shou.d 
prove  a  daughter. 

“  Oh  uncle,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs, 
kissing  the  collector  aflectionately  on  both  cheeks.  “  So  glad. ' 

"  Many  happy  returns  of  the  day,  my  dear,”  replied  the  col¬ 
lector,  returning  the  compliment. 

Now  this  was  an  interesting  thing.  Here  wms  a  collector  of 
water-rates  without  his  book,  without  his  pen  and  ink,  without 
his  double  knock,  without  his  intimidation,  kissing — actually 
kissing — an  agreeable  female,  and  leaving  taxes,  summonses, 
notices  that  he  had  called,  or  announcements  that  he  would 
never  call  again  for  two  quarters’  due,  wholly  out  of  the  ques¬ 
tion.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  how  the  company  looked  on,  quite 
absorbed  in  the  sight,  and  to  behold  the  nods  and  wdnks  with 
which  they  expressed  their  gratification  at  finding  so  much 
humanity  in  a  tax-gatherer. 

“  Where  will  you  sit,  uncle  ?”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  in  the  full 
glow  of  family  pride,  which  the  appearance  of  her  distinguished 
relation  occasioned. 

“Anywdieres,  my  dear,  ”  said  the  collector ;  “  I  am  not  particular.” 

Not  particular  1  What  a  meek  collector !  If  he  had  been  an 
author,  who  knew  his  place,  he  couldn’t  have  been  more  humble. 

“  Mr.  Lillyvick,”  said  Kenwigs,  addressing  the  collector, 
“  some  friends  here.  Sir,  are  very  anxious  for  the  honor  of — 
thank  you — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cutler,  Mr.  Lillyvick.” 

“Proud  to  know  you,  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Cutler.  “I’ve  heerd  of 
you  very  often.”  These  were  not  mere  words  of  ceremony  ;  for 
Mr.  Cutler,  having  kept  house  in  Mr.  Lillyvick’s  parish,  had 
heard  of  him  very  often  indeed.  Ilis  attention  in  calling  had 
been  quite  extraordinary. 

“George,  you  know,  I  think,  Mr.  Lillyvick,”  said  Kenwigs ; 
“  lady  from  down  stairs — Mr.  Lillyvick.  Mr.  Snewkes — Mr. 
Lillyvick.  Miss  Green — Mr.  Lillyvick.  Mr.  Lillyvick,  Miss 
Petowker,  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane.  Very  glad  to 
make  two  public  characters  acquainted.  Mi*s.  Kenwigs,  my 
dear,  will  you  sort  the  counters  ?” 


l'J6 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Mrs.  Ken  wigs,  with  the  assistance  of  Newman  Noggs  (wlio, 
as  he  performed  sundry  little  acts  of  kindness  for  the  children  at 
all  times  and  seasons,  was  humored  in  his  request  to  be  taken 
no  notice  of,  and  was  merely  spoken  about  in  a  whisper  as  the 
decayed  gentleman),  did  as  she  was  desired,  and  the  greater  part 
of  the  guests  sat  down  to  speculation,  while  Newman  himself, 
Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  Miss  Fetowker,  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury 
Lane,  looked  after  the  supper  table. 

While  the  ladies  were  thus  busying  themselves,  Mr.  Lilly- 
vick  was  intent  upon  the  game  in  progress,  and  as  all  should  be 
fish  that  comes  to  a  water-collector’s  net,  the  dear  old  gentleman 
was  by  no  means  scrupulous  in  appropriating  to  himself  the 
property  of  his  neighbors,  which,  on  the  contrary,  he  abstracted 
whenever  an  opportunity  presented  itself,  smiling  good-humor¬ 
edly  all  the  while,  and  making  so  many  condescending  speeches 
to  the  owners,  that  they  were  delighted  with  his  amiability,  and 
thought  in  their  hearts  that  he  deserved  to  be  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  at  least. 

After  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  the  administration  of  many 
slaps  on  the  head  to  the  infant  Kenwigses,  whereof  two  of  the 
most  rebellious  were  summarily  banished,  the  cloth  was  laid 
with  great  elegance,  and  a  pair  of  boiled  fowls,  a  large  piec(j.^of 
pork,  apple-pie,  potatoes  and  greens,  were  served;  at  sight  of 
which  the  worthy  Mr.  Lillyvick  vented  a  great  many  witticisms, 
and  plucked  up  amazingly,  to  the  immense  delight  and  satisfac¬ 
tion  of  the  whole  body  of  admirers. 

Very  well  and  very  fast  the  supper  went  off;  no  more  serious 
difficulties  occurring  than  those  which  arose  from  the  incessant 
demand  for  clean  knives  and  forks,  which  made  poor  Mrs.  Ken¬ 
wigs  wish  more  than  once  that  private  society  adopted  the  prin¬ 
ciple  of  schools,  and  required  that  every  guest  should  bring  his 
own  knife,  fork,  and  spoon,  which  doubtless  would  be  a  great 
accommodation  in  many  cases,  and  to  no  one  more  so  than 
to  the  lady  and  gentleman  of  the  house,  especially  if  the  school 
principle  were  carried  out  to  the  full  extent,  and  the  articles  were 
expected,  as  a  matter  of  delicacy,  not  to  be  taken  away  again. 

Every  body  having  eaten  every  thing,  the  table  was  cleared  in 
a  most  alarming  hurry,  and  with  great  noise;  and  the  spirits, 
whereat  the  eyes  of  Newman  Noggs  glistened,  being  arranged 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


197 


in  order,  with  water  both  hot  and  cold,  the  party  composed 
themselves  for  conviviality,  Mr.  Lillyvick  being  stationed  in  a 
large  arm-chair  by  the  fireside,  and  the  four  little  Kenwigscs 
disposed  on  a  small  form  in  front  of  the  company,  with  their 
flaxen  tails  towards  them,  and  their  faces  to  the  fire;  an 
arrangement  which  was  no  sooner  perfected  than  Mrs.  Kenwiga 
was  overpowered  by  the  feelings  of  a  mother,  and  fell  upon  the 
left  shoulder  of  Mr.  Kenwigs,  dissolved  in  tears. 

“  They  are  so  beautiful,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  sobbing. 

“  Oh,  dear,”  said  all  the  ladies,  “  so  they  are;  it’s  very  natural 
you  should  feel  proud  of  that;  but  don’t  give  way,  don’t.” 

“  I  can — not  help  it,  and  it  don’t  signify,”  sobbed  Mrs.  Ken 
v\igs;  “oh  1  they’re  too  beautiful  to  live,  much  too  beautiful.” 

On  hearing  this  alarming  presentiment  of  their  being  doomed 
to  an  early  death  in  the  flower  of  their  infancy,  all  four  little  girls 
raised  a  hideous  cry,  and,  burying  their  heads  in  their  mother’s 
lap  simultaneously,  screamed  until  the  eight  flaxen  tails  vibrated 
again :  Mrs.  Kenwigs  meanwhile  clasping  them  alternately  to 
her  bosom  with  attitudes  expressive  of  distraction,  which  Miss 
Petowker  herself  might  have  copied. 

At  length  the  anxious  mother  permitted  herself  to  be  soothed 
into  a  more  tranquil  state,  and  the  little  Kenwigses  being  also 
composed,  were  distributed  among  the  company,  to  prevent  the 
possibility  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs  being  again  overcome  by  the  blaze 
of  their  combined  beauty.  Which  done,  the  ladies  and  gentle¬ 
men  united  in  prophesying  that  they  would  live  for  many,  many 
years,  and  that  there  was  no  occasion  at  all  for  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
to  distress  herself:  which  in  good  truth  there  did  not  appear 
to  be,  the  loveliness  of  the  children  by  no  means  justifying  her 
apprehensions. 

“This  day  eight  year,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  after  a  pause. 
“  Pear  me — ah  1” 

This  reflection  was  echoed  by  all  present,  who  said  “Ahl” 
first,  and  “  Dear  me”  afterwards. 

“  I  was  younger  then,”  tittered  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

“  No,”  said  the  collector. 

“  Certainly  not,”  added  every  body. 

“  I  remember  my  niece,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  surveying  hia 
audience  with  a  grave  air ;  “  I  remember  her,  on  that  very  after- 


198 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


noon  when  she  first  acknow^ledged  to  her  mother  a  partiality  for 
Kenwdgs.  ‘  Mother,’  she  says,  ‘I  love  him.’  ” 

“‘Adore  him,’  I  said,  uncle,”  interposed  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

“  ‘Love  him,’  I  think,  my  dear,”  said  the  collector,  tirmly. 

“Perhaps  you  are  right,  uncle,”  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  sub¬ 
missively.  “I  thought  it  was  ‘adore.’  ” 

“‘Love,’  my  dear,”  retorted  Mr.  Lillyvick.  “‘Mother,’  she 
says,  ‘I  love  him.’  ‘What  do  I  hear?’  cries  her  mother;  and 
instantly  falls  into  strong  convulsions.” 

A  general  exclamation  of  astonishment  burst  from  the  com¬ 
pany. 

“  Into  strong  convulsions,”  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick,  regard¬ 
ing  them  with  a  rigid  look.  “Kenwdgs  will  excuse  my  saying, 
in  the  presence  of  friends,  that  there  was  a  very  great  objec¬ 
tion  to  him,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  beneath  the  family,  and 
would  disgrace  it.  You  remember  that,  Kenwigs  ?” 

“  Certainly,”  replied  that  gentleman,  in  no  way  displeased  at 
the  reminiscence,  inasmuch  as  it  proved,  beyond  all  doubt,  what 
a  high  family  Mrs.  Kenwdgs  came  of. 

“I  shared  in  that  feeling,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick:  “perhaps  it 
was  natural;  perhaps  it  wasn’t.” 

A  gentle  murmur  seemed  to  say,  that  in  one  of  Mr.  Lilly- 
vick’s  station  the  objection  was  not  only  natural,  but  highly 
praiseworthy. 

“I  came  round  to  him  in  time,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick.  “After 
they  were  married,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it,  I  was  one  of 
the  first  to  say  thut  Kenwigs  must  be  taken  notice  of.  The 
family  did  take  notice  of  him  in  consequence,  and  on  my  repre¬ 
sentation  ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say — and  proud  to  say — that  1 
have  always  found  him  a  very  honest,  well-behaved,  upright,  re¬ 
spectable  sort  of  man.  Kenwigs,  shake  hands.” 

“  I  am  proud  to  do  it.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs. 

“So  am  I,  Kenwigs,”  rejoined  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

“A  very  happy  life  I  have  led  with  your  niece,  Sir,”  said 
Kenwigs. 

“It  would  have  been  your  own  fault  if  you  had  not.  Sir,” 
remarked  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

“  Morleena  Kenwigs,”  cried  her  mother,  at  this  crisis,  much 
affected,  “kiss  your  dear  uncle  ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


139 


The  young  lady  did  as  she  was  requested,  and  the  three 
other  little  girls  were  successively  hoisted  up  to  the  collector’s 
countenance,  and  subjected  to  the  same  process,  which  was  after¬ 
wards  repeated  by  the  majority  of  those  present. 

“Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Kenwigs,”  said  Miss  Petowker,  “while  Mr. 
Noggs  is  making  that  punch  to  drink  happy  returns  in,  do  let 
Morleena  go  through  that  figure  dance  before  Mr.  Lillyvick.” 

“No,  no,  my  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs;  “it  will  only 
worry  my  uncle.” 

“It  can’t  worry  him,  I  am  sure,”  said  Miss  Petowker.  “You 
will  be  very  much  pleased,  won’t  you.  Sir?” 

“That  I  am  sure  I  shall,”  replied  the  collector,  glancing  at 
the  punch-mixer. 

“Well,  then.  I’ll  tell  you  what,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  “Mor¬ 
leena  shall  do  the  steps,  if  uncle  can  persuade  Miss  Petowker 
to  recite  us  the  Blood-Drinker’s  Burial  afterwards.” 

There  was  a  great  clapping  of  hands  and  stamping  of  feet  at 
this  proposition,  the  subject  whereof  gently  inclined  her  head 
several  times,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  reception. 

“You  know,”  said  Miss  Petowker,  reproachfully,  “that  I  dis¬ 
like  doing  any  thing  professional  in  private  parties.” 

“Oh,  but  not  here?”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs.  “We  are  all  so 
very  friendly  and  pleasant,  that  you  might  as  well  be  going 
through  it  in  your  own  room ;  besides,  the  occasion - ” 

“I  can’t  resist  that,”  interrupted  Miss  Petowker;  “any  thing 
in  my  humble  power  I  shall  be  delighted  to  do.” 

Mrs.  Kenwigs  and  Miss  Petowker  had  arranged  a  small  pro¬ 
gramme  of  the  entertainments  between  them,  of  which  this  was 
the  prescribed  order,  but  they  had  settled  to  have  a  little  press¬ 
ing  on  both  sides,  because  it  looked  more  natural.  The  com- 
])any  being  all  ready,  Miss  Petowker  hummed  a  tune,  and  Mor¬ 
leena  danced  a  dance,  having  previously  had  the  soles  of  her 
shoes  chalked  with  as  much  care  as  if  she  were  going  on  the 
tight-rnpe.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  figure,  comprising  a  great 
deal  of  work  for  the  arms,  and  was  received  with  unbounded 
applatise. 

“If  I  was  blessed  with  a — a  child — ’’said  Miss  Petowker, 
blushing,  “of  such  genius  as  that,  I  would  have  her  out  at  the 
Opera  instantly.” 


200 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Mrs.  Kenwigs  sighed  and  looked  at  Mr.  Ken  wigs,  who  shook 
his  head,  and  observed  that  he  was  doubtful  about  it. 

“Kenwigs  is  afraid,”  said  Mrs.  K, 

“What  of?”  inquired  Miss  Petowker;  “not  of  her  failing?” 

“Oh  no,”  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  “but  if  she  grew  up  what 
she  is  now, — only  think  of  the  young  dukes  and  marquises.” 

“Yery  right,”  said  the  collector. 

“Still,”  submitted  Miss  Petowker,  “if  she  has  a  proper  pride 
in  herself,  you  know — ” 

“There’s  a  good  deal  in  that,”  observed  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  look¬ 
ing  at  her  husband. 

“I  only  know — ”  faltered  Miss  Petowker, — “it  may  be  no 
rule  to  be  sure — but  I  have  never  found  any  inconvenience  or 
anpleasantness  of  that  sort.” 

Mr.  Kenwigs,  with  becoming  gallantry,  said  that  settled  the 
question  at  once,  and  that  he  would  take  the  subject  into  his 
serious  consideration :  this  being  resolved  upon.  Miss  Petowker 
was  entreated  to  begin  the  Blood-Drinker’s  Burial,  to  which 
end,  that  young  lady  let  down  her  back  hair,  and  taking  up  her 
position  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  with  the  bachelor  friend 
posted  in  a  corner,  to  rush  out  at  the  cue  “in  death  expire,” 
and  catch  her  in  his  arms  when  she  died  raving  mad,  went 
through  the  performance  with  extraordinary  spirit,  and  to  the 
great  terror  of  the  little  Kenwigses,  who  were  all  but  frightened 
into  fits. 

The  ecstasies  consequent  npon  the  effort  had  not  yet  subsided, 
and  Newman  (who  had  not  been  thoroughly  sober  at  so  late  an 
hour  for  a  long  time)  had  not  yet  been  able  to  put  in  a  word 
of  announcement  that  the  punch  was  ready,  when  a  hasty  knock 
was  heard  at  the  room-door,  which  elicited  a  shriek  from  Mrs. 
Kenwigs,  who  immediately  divined  that  the  baby  had  fallen  out 
of  bed.  N 

“Who  is  that?”  demanded  Mr.  Kenwigs,  sharply. 

“Don’t  be  alarmed,  it’s  only  me,”  said  Growl,  looking  in,  in 
his  nightcap.  “The  baby  is  very  comfortable,  for  I  peeped 
into  the  room  as  I  came  dowm,  and  it’s  fast  asleep,  and  so  ia 
the  girl ;  ana  I  don’t  think  the  candle  will  set  fire  to  the  bed- 
curtain,  unless  a  draught  gets  into  the  room — it’s  Mr.  Noggs 
lhat’o  wanted.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


201 


“Me  !”  cried  Newman,  much  astonished. 

“Why,  it  2S  a  queer  hour,  isn’t  it  ?”  replied  Growl,  who  was 
not  best  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  losing  his  fire  ;  “  and  they 
are  queer-looking  people,  too,  all  covered  with  rain  and  mud. 
Shall  I  tell  them  to  go  away  ?” 

“  No,”  said  Newman,  rising.  “People?  How  many  ?” 

“Two,”  rejoined  Growl. 

“  Want  me  ?  By  name  ?”  asked  Newman. 

“  By  name,”  replied  Growl.  “  Mr.  Newman  Noggs,  as  pat  as 
need  be.” 

Newman  reflected  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  hurried  away, 
muttering  that  he  w^ould  be  back  directly.  He  was  as  good  as 
his  word  ;  for  in  an  exceedingly  short  time  he  burst  into  the 
room,  and  seizing,  without  a  word  of  apology  or  explanation,  a 
lighted  candle  and  tumbler  of  hot  punch  from  the  table,  darted 
away  like  a  madman. 

“  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  him  !”  exclaimed  Growl, 
throwing  the  door  open.  “Harkl  Is  there  any  noise  above?” 

The  guests  rose  in  great  confusion,  and  looking  in  each 
other’s  faces  with  much  perplexity  and  some  fear,  stretched 
their  necks  forward,  and  listened  attentively. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


ACQUAINTS  THE  READER  WITH  THE  CAUSE  AND  ORIGIN  OP 

THE  INTERRUPTION  DESCRIBED  IN  THE  LAST  CHAPTER,  AND 

WITH  SOME  OTHER  MATTERS  NECESSARY  TO  BE  KNOWN. 

Newman  Noggs  scrambled  in  violeot  haste  up  stairs  with 
the  steaming  beverage,  which  he  had  so  unceremoniously 
snatched  from  the  table  of  Mr.  Kenwigs,  and  indeed  from  the 
very  grasp  of  the  water-rate  collector,  who  was  eying  the  con¬ 
tents  of  the  tumbler  at  the  moment  of  its  unexpected  abstraction, 
with  lively  marks  of  pleasure  visible  in  his  countenance,  and 
bore  his  prize  straight  to  his  own  back  garret,  where,  footsore 
and  nearly  shoeless,  wet,  dirty,  jaded,  and  disfigured  with  every 
mark  of  fatiguing  travel,  sat  Nicholas,  and  Smike,  at  once  the 
cause  and  partner  of  his  toil :  both  perfectly  worn  out  by  their 
unwonted  and  protracted  exertion. 

Newman’s  first  act  was  to  compel  Nicholas,  with  gentle  force, 
to  swallow  half  of  the  punch  at  a  breath,  nearly  boiling  as  it 
was,  and  his  next  to  pour  the  remainder  down  the  throat  of 
Smike,  who,  never  having  tasted  any  thing  stronger  tlian  ape¬ 
rient  medicine  in  his  whole  life,  exhibited  various  odd  mani¬ 
festations  of  surprise  and  delight,  during  the  passage  of  the 
liquor  down  his  throat,  and  turned  up  his  eyes  most  emphati¬ 
cally  when  it  was  all  gone. 

“  You  are  wet  through,”  said  Newman,  passing  his  hand 
hastily  over  the  coat  which  Nicholas  had  thrown  otf;  “and  I — 
I — haven’t  even  a  change,”  he  added,  with  a  wistful  glance  at 
the  shabby  clothes  he  wore  himself. 

“  I  have  dry  clothes,  or  at  least  such  as  will  serve  my  turn 
well,  in  my  bundIe^”  replied  Nicholas.  “  If  you  look  so  dis¬ 
tressed  to  see  me,  you  will  add  to  the  pain  I  feel  already,  at 
being  compelled  for  one  night  to  cast  myself  upon  your  slender 
means  for  aid  and  shelter.” 

Newman  did  not  look  the  less  distressed  to  henr  NichMas 

(202) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


203 


talking  in  this  strain  ;  but  upon  his  young  friend  grasping  him 
heartily  by  the  hand,  and  assuring  him  that  nothing  but  implicit 
confidence  in  the  sincerity  of  his  professions,  and  kindness  of 
feeling  towards  himself,  would  have  induced  him,  on  any  con¬ 
sideration,  even  to  have  made  him  acquainted  with  his  arrival 
in  London,  Mr.  Noggs  brightened  up  again,  and  went  about 
making  such  arrangements  as  were  in  his  power  for  the  comfort 
of  his  visitors,  with  extreme  alacrity. 

These  were  simple  enough,  poor  Newman’s  means  halting 
at  a  very  considerable  distance  short  of  his  inclinations ;  but, 
slight  as  they  were,  they  were  not  made  without  much  bustling 
and  running  about.  As  Nicholas  had  husbanded  his  scanty 
stock  of  money  so  well  that  it  was  not  yet  quite  expended,  a 
supper  of  bread  and  cheese,  with  some  cold  beef  from  the 
cook’s  shop,  Avas  soon  placed  upon  the  table  ;  and  these  viands 
being  flanked  by  a  bottle  of  spirits  and  a  pot  of  porter,  there 
was  no  ground  for  apprehension  on  the  score  of  hunger  and 
thirst,  at  all  events.  Such  preparations  as  Newman  had  it  in 
his  power  to  make,  for  the  accommodation  of  his  guests  during 
the  night,  occupied  no  very  great  time  in  completing ;  and  as 
he  had  insisted,  as  an  express  preliminary,  that  Nicholas  should 
change  his  clothes,  and  that  Smike  should  invest  himself  in  his 
solitary  coat  (which  no  entreaties  would  dissuade  him  from 
stripping  off  for  the  purpose),  the  travelers  partook  of  their 
frugal  fare,  with  more  satisfaction  than  one  of  them  at  least  had 
derived  from  many  a  better  meal. 

They  then  drew  near  the  fire,  which  Newman  Noggs  had 
made  up  as  well  as  he  could,  after  the  inroads  of  Growl  upon 
the  fuel ;  and  Nicholas,  who  had  hitherto  been  restrained  by 
the  extreme  anxiety  of  his  friend  that  he  should  refresh  himself 
after  his  journey,  now  pressed  him  with  earnest  questions  con¬ 
cerning  his  mother  and  sister. 

“Well,”  replied  Newman,  with  his  accustomed  taciturnity; 
“both  well.” 

“  They  are  living  in  the  city  still  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  They  are,”  said  Newman. 

“  And  my  sister” — added  Nicholas.  “  Is  she  still  engaged 
in  the  business  which  she  wrote  to  tell  me  she  thought  she 
should  like  so  much  ?” 


204 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Newman  opened  his  eyes  rather  wider  than  usual,  but  merely 
replied  by  a  gasp,  which,  according  to  the  action  of  the  head 
that  accompanied  it,  w^as  interpreted  by  his  friends  as  meaning 
yes  or  no.  In  the  present  instance,  the  pantomime  consisted 
of  a  nod,  and  not  a  shake,  so  Nicholas  took  the  answer  as  a 
favorable  one, 

“  Now  listen  to  me,”  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  on  New¬ 
man’s  shoulder.  “  Before  I  would  make  an  effort  to  see  them, 
I  deemed  it  expedient  to  come  to  you,  lest,  by  gratifying  ray 
own  selfish  desire,  I  should  inflict  an  injury  upon  them  which  I 
can  never  repair.  What  has  my  uncle  heard  from  Yorkshire?” 

Newman  opened  and  shut  his  mouth  several  times,  as  though 
he  were  trying  his  utmost  to  speak,  but  could  make  nothing  of 
it,  and  finally  fixed  his  eyes  on  Nicholas  with  a  grim  and 
ghastly  stare. 

“What  has  he  heard?”  urged  Nicholas,  coloring.  “You 
see  that  I  am  prepared  to  hear  the  very  worst  that  malice  can 
have  suggested.  Why  should  you  conceal  it  from  me?  I  must 
know  it  sooner  or  later ;  and  what  purpose  can  be  gained  by 
trifling  with  the  matter  for  a  few  minutes,  when  half  the  time 
would  put  me  in  possession  of  all  that  has  occurred  ?  Tell  me 
at  once,  pray.” 

“  To-morrow  morning,”  said  Newman ;  “  hear  it  to-morrow.” 

“  What  purpose  would  that  answer  ?”  urged  Nicholas. 

“  You  would  sleep  the  better,”  replied  Newman. 

“  I  should  sleep  the  worse,”  answered  Nicholas,  impatiently. 
“  Sleep  1  Exhausted  as  I  am,  and  standing  in  no  common 
need  of  rest,  I  cannot  hope  to  close  my  eyes  all  night,  unless 
you  tell  me  every  thing.” 

“  And  if  I  should  tell  you  every  thing,”  said  Newman, 
hesitating. 

“  Why,  then  you  may  rouse  my  indignation  or  wound  my 
pride,”  rejoined  Nicholas ;  “  but  you  will  not  break  my  rest ; 
for  if  the  scene  were  acted  over  again,  I  could  take  no  other 
part  than  I  have  taken  ;  and  whatever  consequences  may  accrue 
to  layself  from  it,  I  shall  never  regret  doing  as  I  have — never, 
if  r  starve  or  beg  in  consequence.  What  is  a  little  poverty  or 
suflcring,  to  the  disgrace  of  the  basest  and  most  inhuman 
cowardice  1  I  tell  you,  if  I  had  stood  by,  tamely  and  passively. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


205 


f  should  have  hated  myself,  and  merited  the  contempt  of  every 
man  in  existence.  The  black-hearted  scoundrel  I” 

With  this  gentle  allusion  to  the  absent  Mr.  Squeers,  Nicholas 
repressed  his  rising  wrath,  and  relating  to  Newman  exactly 
what  had  passed  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  entreated  him  to  speak  out 
without  further  pressing.  Thus  adjured,  Mr.  Noggs  took  from 
an  old  trunk  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  appeared  to  have  been 
scrawled  over  in  great  haste  ;  and,  after  sundry  extraordinary 
demonstrations  of  reluctance,  delivered  himself  in  the  following 
terms. 

“  My  dear  young  man,  you  mustn’t  give  way  to — this  sort  of 
thing  will  never  do,  you  know — as  to  getting  on  in  the  world, 
if  you  take  every  body’s  part  that’s  ill-treated — Damn  it,  I  am 
proud  to  hear  it ;  and  would  have  done  it  myself  1” 

Newman  accompanied  this  very  unusual  outbreak  with  a  vio¬ 
lent  blow  upon  the  table,  as  if,  in  the  heat  of  the  moment,  he 
had  mistaken  it  for  the  chest  or  ribs  of  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers ; 
and  having,  by  this  open  declaration  of  his  feelings,  quite  pre¬ 
cluded  himself  from  offering  Nicholas  any  cautious  worldly 
advice  (which  had  been  his  first  intention),  Mr.  Noggs  went 
straight  to  the  point. 

“The  day  before  yesterday,”  said  Newman,  “your  uncle 
received  this  letter.  I  took  a  hasty  copy  of  it  while  he  was  out. 
Shall  I  read  it  ?” 

“  If  you  please,”  replied  Nicholas.  Newman  Noggs  accord¬ 
ingly  read  as  follows  : 


“  Dotheboys  Hall, 

''Thursday  Morning. 

"  Sir, 

"  My  pa  requests  me  to  write  to  you.  The  doctors  con¬ 
sidering  it  doubtful  whether  he  will  ever  recuvver  the  use  of 
his  legs  which  prevents  his  holding  a  pen. 

“  We  ai*e  in  a  state  of  mind  beyond  every  thing,  and  my  pa 
is  one  mask  of  brooses  both  blue  and  green  likewise  two  forms 
are  steepled  in  his  Goar.  We  were  kirapelled' to  have  him  car¬ 
ried  down  into  the  kitchen  where  he  now  lays.  You  will  judge 
from  this  that  he  has  been  brought  very  low. 

‘  When  your  nevew  that  you  recommended  for  a  teacher  had 


20G 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


done  this  to  my  pa  and  jumped  upon  his  body  with  his  feet  and 
also  langwedge  which  I  would  not  pollewt  my  pen  with  describ¬ 
ing,  he  assaulted  my  ma  with  dreadful  violence,  dashed  her  to  the 
earth,  and  drove  her  back  comb  several  inches  into  her  head.  A 
very  little  more  and  it  must  have  entered  her  skull.  We  have 
a  medical  certilikct  that  if  it  had,  the  tortcrshell  would  have 
affected  the  brain. 

“  Me  and  my  brother  were  then  the  victims  of  his  feury  since 
which  we  have  suffered  very  much  which  leads  us  to  the  arrow¬ 
ing  belief  that  we  have  received  some  injury  in  our  insides, 
especially  as  no  marks  of  violence  are  visible  externally.  I  am 
screaming  out  loud  all  the  time  I  write  and  so  is  my  brother 
which  takes  off  my  attention  rather,  and  I  hope  will  excuse 
mistakes. 

“  The  monster  having  satiated  his  thirst  for  blood  ran  away, 
taking  with  him  a  boy  of  desperate  caracter  that  he  had  excited 
to  rebellyon,  and  a  garnet  ring  belonging  to  my  ma,  and  not 
having  been  apprehended  by  the  constables  is  supposed  to  have 
been  took  up  by  some  stage-coach.  My  pa  begs  that  if  he 
comes  to  you  the  ring  may  be  returned,  and  that  you  will  let  the 
thief  and  assassin  go,  as  if  we  prosecuted  him  he  would  only  be 
transported,  and  if  he  is  let  go  he  is  sure  to  be  hung  before 
long,  which  will  save  us  trouble,  and  be  much  more  satisfactory. 
Hoping  to  hear  from  you  when  convenient 
*  “  I  remain 

“  Yours  and  cetrer 
'‘Fanny  Squeers. 

“P.  S.  I  pity  his  ignorance  and  despise  him.” 

A  profound  silence  succeeded  to  the  reading  of  this  choiee 
epistle,  during  which  Newman  Noggs,  as  he  folded  it  up,  gazed 
with  a  kind  of  grotesque  pity  at  the  boy  of  desperate  charactei 
therein  referred  to ;  who,  having  no  more  distinct  perception 
of  the  matter  in  hand,  than  that  he  had  been  the  unfortunate 
cause  of  heaping  trouble  and  falsehood  upon  Nicholas,  sat  mute 
and  dispirited,  with  a  most  wobegone  and  heart-stricken  look. 

“INIr.  Noggs,”  said  Nicholas,  after  a  few  moments’  reflection, 
“  1  must  go  out  at  once.” 

“  Go  outl”  cried  Newman. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


207 


“  5fes,”  said  Nicholas,  “to  Golden  Square.  Nobody  who 
knows  me  would  believe  this  story  of  the  ring ;  but  it  may  suit 
the  purpose,  or  gratify  the  hatred,  of  Mr.  Ilalph  Nickleby  to 
feign  to  attach  credence  to  it.  It  is  due — not  to  him,  but  to 
myself — that  I  should  state  the  truth  ;  and,  moreover,  I  have  a 
word  or  two  to  exchange  with  him,  which  will  not  keep  cool.” 

“They  must,”  said  Newman. 

“  They  must  not,  indeed,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  firmly,  as  he 
prepared  to  leave  the  house. 

“Hear  me  speak,”  said  Newman,  planting  himself  before  hia 
impetuous  young  friend.  “  lie  is  not  there.  He  is  away  from 
town.  He  will  not  be  back  for  three  days;  and  I  know  that 
letter  will  not  be  answered  before  he  returns.” 

“Are  you  sure  of  this?”  asked  Nicholas,  chafing  violently, 
and  pacing  the  narrow  room  with  rapid  strides. 

“  Quite,”  rejoined  Newman.  “  He  had  hardly  read  it  when 
he  was  called  away.  Its  contents  are  known  to  nobody  but 
himself  and  us.” 

“Are  you  certain?”  demanded  Nicholas,  precipitately; 
“  not  even  to  my  mother  or  sister  ?  If  I  thought  that  they — I 
will  go  there — I  must  see  them.  Which  is  the  way  ?  Where 
is  it  ?” 

“Now  be  advised  by  me,”  said  Newman,  speaking  for  the 
moment,  in  his  earnestness,  like  any  other  man — “  make  no 
effort  to  see  even  them,  till  he  comes  home.  I  know  the  man. 
Do  not  seem  to  have  been  tampering  with  any  body.  When  he 
returns,  go  straight  to  him,  and  speak  as  boldly  as  you  like. 
Guessing  at  the  real  truth,  he  knows  it  as  well  as  you  or  I, 
Trust  him  for  that.” 

“You  mean  well  to  me,  and  should  know  him  better  than  I 
can,”  replied  Nicholas,  after  some  further  thought.  “  Well ; 
let  it  be  so.” 

Newman,  who  had  stood  during  the  foregoing  conversation 
with  his  back  planted  against  the  door  ready  to  oppose  any 
egress  from  the  apartment  by  force,  if  necessary,  resumed  his 
seat  with  much  satisfaction  ;  and  as  the  water  in  the  kettle  was 
by  this  time  boiling,  made  a  glassful  of  si)irits  and  water  for 
Nicholas,  and  a  cracked  mug-full  for  the  joint  accommodation 
of  himself  and  Smike,  of  wdiich  the  two  partook  in  great  bar- 


208 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


raony,  while  Nicholas,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  remained 
buried  in  melancholy  meditation. 

Meanwhile  the  company  below  stairs,  after  listening  atten¬ 
tively  and  not  hearing  any  noise  which  would  justify  them  in  in¬ 
terfering  for  the  gratification  of  their  curiosity,  returned  to  the 
chamber  of  the  Kenwigses,  and  employed  themselves  in  hazar  d¬ 
ing  a  great  variety  of  conjectures  relative  to  the  cause  of  JSlr. 
Noggs’s  sudden  disappearance  and  detention. 

“  Lor’,  I’ll  tell  you  what,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs.  “  Suppose  it 
should  be  an  express  sent  up  to  say  that  his  property  has  ail 
come  back  again  I” 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs;  “it’s  not  impossible.  Per¬ 
haps,  in  that  case,  we’d  better  send  up  and  ask  if  he  won’t  take 
a  little  moi’e  punch.” 

“  Kenwigs,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  in  a  loud  voice,  “  I’m  sur¬ 
prised  at  you.” 

“  What’s  the  matter.  Sir  ?”  asked  Mr.  Kenwigs,  with  becom¬ 
ing  submission  to  the  collector  of  water-rates. 

“  Making  such  a  remark  as  that.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick, 
angrily.  “  He  has  had  punch  already,  has  he  not.  Sir  ?  I  con¬ 
sider  the  way  in  which  that  punch  was  cut  off,  if  I  may  use  the 
expression,  highly  disrespectful  to  this  company ;  scandalous, 
perfectly  scandalous.  It  may  be  the  custom  to  allow  such  things 
in  this  house,  but  it’s  not  the  kind  of  behavior  that  I’ve  been 
used  to  see  displayed,  and  so  I  don’t  mind  telling  you,  Kenwigs. 
A  gentleman  has  a  glass  of  punch  before  him  to  which  he  is 
just  about  to  set  his  lips,  when  another  gentleman  comes  and 
collars  that  glass  of  pnnch,  without  a  ‘  with  your  leave,’  or  ‘  by 
your  leave,’  and  carries  that  glass  of  punch  away.  This  may  be 
good  manners — I  dare  say  it  is — but  I  don’t  understand  it,  that’s 
all ;  and  what’s  more,  I  don’t  care  if  I  never  do.  It’s  my  way 
to  speak  my  mind,  Kenwigs,  and  that  is  my  mind ;  and  if  you 
don’t  like  it,  it’s  past  my  regular  time  for  going  to  bed,  and  I 
can  find  my  way  home  without  making  it  later.” 

Here  was  an  untoward  event.  The  collector  had  sat  swelling 
and  fuming  in  oftended  dignity  for  some  minutes,  and  had  now 
fairly  burst  out.  The  great  man. — the  rich  relation — the  unmar¬ 
ried  uncle — who  had  it  in  his  power  to  make  Morleena  an  heir- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


209 


ess,  and  the  very  baby  a  legatee — was  offended.  Gracious 
Powers,  where  was  this  to  end  I 

“  I  am  very  sorry.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  humbly. 

“Don’t  tell  me  you’re  sorry,”  retorted  Mr.  Lillyvick,  with 
much  sharpness.  “You  should  have  prevented  it,  then.” 

The  company  were  quite  paralyzed  by  this  domestic  crash. 
The  back  parlor  sat  with  her  mouth  wide  open,  staring  vacantly 
at  the  collector  in  a  stupor  of  dismay,  and  the  other  guests  were 
scarcely  less  overpowered  by  the  great  man’s  irritation.  Mr. 
Kenwigs  not  being  skillful  in  such  matters,  only  fanned  the  flame 
in  attempting  to  extinguish  it. 

“I  didn’t  think  of  it,  I  am  sure.  Sir,”  said  that  gentleman; 
“  I  didn’t  suppose  that  such  a  little  thing  as  a  glass  of  punch 
would  have  put  you  out  of  temper.” 

“  Out  of  temper  !  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that  piece 
of  impertinence,  Mr.  Kenwigs  ?”  said  the  collector.  “Morleena, 
child — give  me  my  hat.” 

“  Oh,  you’re  not  going,  Mr.  Lillyvick,  Sir,”  interposed  Miss 
Petowker,  with  her  most  bewitching  smile. 

But  still  Mr.  Lillyvick,  regardless  of  the  siren,  cried  obdu¬ 
rately,  “  Morleena,  my  hat !”  upon  the  fourth  repetition  of  which 
demand  Mrs.  Kenwigs  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  with  a  cry  that 
miglit  have  softened  a  water-butt,  not  to  say  a  water-collector ; 
while  the  four  little  girls  (privately  instructed  to  that  effect) 
clasped  their  uncle’s  corduroy  shorts  in  their  arms,  and  prayed 
him  in  imperfect  English  to  remain. 

“  Why  should  I  stop  here,  my  dears  ?”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick ; 
“  I’m  not  wanted  here.” 

“Oh,  do  not  speak  so  cruelly,  uncle,”  sobbed  Mrs.  Kenwigs, 
“  unless  you  wish  to  kill  me.” 

“  I  shouldn’t  wonder  if  some  people  were  to  say  I  did,” 
replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  glancing  angrily  at  Kenwigs.  “  Out  of 
temper  !” 

“  Oh  !  I  cannot  bear  to  see  him  look  so  at  my  husband,”  cried 
Mrs.  Kenwigs.  “  It’s  so  dreadful  in  families.  Oh  1” 

“  Mr.  Lillyvick,”  said  Kenwigs,  “  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  your 
niece,  that  you  won’t  object  to  be  reconciled.” 

The  collector’s  features  relaxed,  as  the  company  added  their 
14 


210 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


entreaties  to  those  of  his  nephew-in-law.  He  gave  up  his  hat 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

“There,  Kenwigs,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick  ;  “and  let  me  tell  you 
at  the  same  time,  to  show  you  how  much  out  of  temper  I  was, 
that  if  I  had  gone  away  without  another  word,  it  would  have 
made  no  difference  respecting  that  pound  or  two  which  I  shall 
leave  among  your  children  when  I  die.” 

“Morleena  KenwigSj”  cried  her  mother,  in  a  torrent  of  affec¬ 
tion,  “  go  down  upon  your  knees  to  your  dear  uncle,  and  beg 
him  to  love  you  all  his  life  through,  for  he’s  more  a  angel  than 
a  man,  and  I’ve  always  said  so.” 

Miss  Morleena  approaching  to  do  homage  in  compliance 
with  this  injunction,  was  summarily  caught  up  and  kissed  by 
Mr.  Lillyvick,  and  thereupon  Mrs.  Kenwigs  darted  forward 
and  kissed  the  collector,  and  an  irrepressible  murmur  of  ap¬ 
plause  broke  from  the  company  who  had  witnessed  his  mag¬ 
nanimity. 

The  worthy  gentleman  then  became  once  more  the  life  and 
Boul  of  the  society,  being  again  reinstated  in  his  old  post  of  lion, 
from  which  high  station  the  temporary  distraction  of  theii 
thoughts  had  for  a  moment  dispossessed  him.  Quadruped  lions 
are  said  to  be  savage  only  when  they  are  hungry  ;  biped  lions 
are  rarely  sulky  longer  than  when  their  appetite  for  distinction 
remains  unappeased.  Mr.  Lillyvick  stood  higher  than  ever, 
for  he  had  shown  his  power,  hinted  at  his  property  and  testa¬ 
mentary  intentions  ;  gained  great  credit  for  disinterestedness 
and  virtue  ;  and  in  addition  to  all,  he  was  finally  accommodated 
with  a  much  larger  tumbler  of  punch  than  that  which  Newman 
Noggs  had  so  feloniously  made  off  with. 

“  I  say,  I  beg  every  body’s  pardon  for  intruding  again,”  said 
Growl,  looking  in  at  this  happy  juncture;  “ but  what  a  queer 
business  this  is,  isn’t  it  ?  Noggs  has  lived  in  this  house  now 
going  on  for  five  years,  and  nobody  has  ever  been  to  see  him 
before  within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant.” 

“  It’s  a  strange  time  of  night  to  be  called  away.  Sir,  cer¬ 
tainly,”  said  the  collector;  “and  the  behavior  of  Mr.  Noggs 
himself  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  mysterious.” 

“Well,  so  it  is,”  rejoined  Crowd :  “and  I’ll  tell  you  what’s  more 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


211 


. — I  think  these  two  geniused,  whoever  they  are,  have  run  away 
from  somewhere.” 

”  What  makes  you  think  that,  Sir  ?”  demanded  the  collector, 
who  seemed  by  a  tacit  understanding  to  have  been  chosen  and 
elected  month-piece  to  the  company.  “You  have  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  they  have  run  away  from  any  where  without  pay¬ 
ing  the  rates  and  taxes  due,  I  hope  ?” 

Mr.  Growl,  with  a  look  of  some  contempt,  was  about  to  enter 
a  general  protest  against  the  payment  of  rates  or  taxes,  under 
any  circumstances,  when  he  was  checked  by  a  timely  whisper 
from  Kenwigs,  and  several  frowns  and  winks  from  Mrs.  K.,  which 
providentially  stopped  him. 

“Why,  the  fact  is,”  said  Growl,  who  had  been  listening  at 
Newman’s  door,  with  all  his  might  and  main  ;  “the  fact  is,  that 
they  have  been  talking  so  loud,  that  they  quite  disturbed  me  in 
my  room,  and  so  I  couldn’t  help  catching  a  word  here,  and  a 
word  there ;  and  all  I  heard  certainly  seemed  to  refer  to  their 
having  bolted  from  some  place  or  other.  I  don’t  wish  to  alarm 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  ;  but  I  hope  they  haven’t  come  from  any  jail  or 
hospital,  and  brought  away  a  fever  or  some  unpleasantness  of 
that  sort,  which  might  be  catching  for  the  children.” 

Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  so  overpowered  by  this  supposition,  that 
it  needed  all  the  tender  attentions  of  Miss  Petowker,  of  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  to  restore  her  to  any  thing  like  a 
state  of  calmness  ;  not  to  mention  the  assiduity  of  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
who  held  a  fat  smelling-bottle  to  his  lady’s  nose,  until  it  became 
matter  of  some  doubt  whether  the  tears  which  coursed  down  her 
face,  were  the  result  of  feelings  or  sal  volatile. 

The  ladies,  having  expressed  their  sympathy,  singly  and  sepa¬ 
rately,  fell,  according  to  custom,  into  a  little  chorus  of  soothing 
expressions,  among  which,  such  condolences  as  “  Poor  dear !” — 
“  I  should  feel  just  the  same,  if  I  was  her” — “  To  be  sure,  it’s  a 
very  trying  thing” — and  “Nobody  but  a  mother  knows  what  a 
mother’s  feelings  is,”  were  among  the  most  prominent  and  most 
frecpiently  repeated.  In  short,  the  opinion  of  the  company  was 
so  clearly  manifested,  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  was  on  the  point  of  re¬ 
pairing  to  Mr.  Noggs’s  room,  to  demand  an  explanation;  and 
hod  indeed  swallowed  a  preparatory  glass  of  punch,  with  groat 


212 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


inflexibility  and  steadiness  of  purpose,  when  the  attention  of  all 
present  was  diverted  by  a  new  and  terrible  surprise. 

This  was  nothing  less  than  the  sudden  pouring  forth  of  a 
rapid  succession  of  the  shrillest  and  most  piercing  screams,  from 
an  upper  story ;  and  to  all  appearance  from  the  very  two-pair 
back  in  which  the  infant  Kenwigs  was  at  that  moment  enshrined. 
They  were  no  sooner  audible,  than  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  opining  that 
a  strange  cat  had  come  in,  and  sucked  the  baby’s  breath  while 
the  girl  was  asleep,  made  for  the  door,  wringing  her  hands,  and 
shrieking  dismally ;  to  the  great  consternation  and  confusion 
of  the  company. 

“Mr.  Kenwigs,  see  what  it  is;  make  haste!”  cried  the 
sister,  laying  violent  hands  upon  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  holding 
her  back  by  force.  “  Oh,  don’t  twist  about  so,  dear,  or  I  can 
never  hold  you.” 

“My  baby,  my  blessed,  blessed,  blessed,  bmssed  baby,” 
screamed  Mrs!  Kenwigs,  making  every  blessed  louder  than  the 
last.  “  My  own  darling,  sweet,  innocent  Lillyvick — Oh  let  me 
go  to  him.  Let  me  go-o-o-o.” 

Pending  the  utterance  of  these  frantic  cries,  and  the  wails 
and  lamentations  of  the  four  little  girls,  Mr.  Kenwigs  rushed 
up  stairs  to  the  room  whence  the  sounds  proceeded,  at  the  door 
of  which  he  encountered  Nicholas,  with  the  child  in  his  arms, 
who  darted  out  with  such  violence,  that  the  anxious  father  was 
thrown  down  six  stairs,  and  alighted  on  the  nearest  landing- 
place,  before  he  had  found  time  to  open  his  mouth  to  ask  what 
was  the  matter. 

“Don’t  be  alarmed,”  cried  Nicholas,  running  down;  “here 
it  is  ;  it’s  all  out,  it’s  all  over  ;  pray  compose  yourselves  ;  there’s 
no  harm  done  ;”  and  with  these,  and  a  thousand  other  assurances, 
he  delivered  the  baby  (whom,  in  his  hurry,  he  had  carried  upside 
down)  to  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  ran  back  to  assist  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
who  was  rubbing  his  head  very  hard,  and  looking  much  bewil¬ 
dered  by  his  tumble. 

Reassured  by  this  cheering  intelligence,  the  company  in  some 
degree  recovered  from  their  fears,  which  had  been  productive 
of  some  most  singular  instances  of  a  total  want  of  presence  of 
mind  ;  thus  the  bachelor  friend  had  for  a  long  time  supported 
in  his  arms  Mrs  Kenwigs’s  sister,  instead  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs  ; 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


213 


and  the  worthy  Mr.  Lillyvick  had  been  actually  seen,  in  I  he 
perturbation  of  his  spirits,  to  kiss  Miss  Petowker  several  times, 
behind  the  room  door,  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  distressing  were 
going  forward. 

“It  is  a  mere  nothing,”  said  Nicholas,  returning  to  Mrs. 
Kenwigs ;  “  the  little  girl,  who  was  watching  the  child,  being 
tired,  I  suppose,  fell  asleep,  and  set  her  hair  on  fire.” 

“  Oh  you  malicious  little  wretch  I”  cried  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  im¬ 
pressively  shaking  her  fore-finger  at  the  small  unfortunate,  who 
might  be  thirteen  years  old,  and  was  looking  on  with  a  singed 
head  and  a  frightened  face. 

“I  heard  her  cries,”  continued  Nicholas,  “and  ran  down  in 
time  to  prevent  her  setting  fire  to  any  thing  else.  You  may 
depend  upon  it  that  the  child  is  not  hurt ;  for  I  took  it  off  the 
bed  myself,  and  brought  it  here  to  convince  you.” 

This  brief  explanation  over,  the  infant,  who,  as  he  was  chris¬ 
tened  after  the  collector,  rejoiced  in  the  names  of  Lillyvick 
Kenwigs,  was  partially  suffocated  under  the  caresses  of  the 
audience,  and  squeezed  to  his  mother’s  bosom  until  he  roared 
again.  The  attention  of  the  company  was  then  directed,  by  a 
natural  transition,  to  the  little  girl  who  had  had  the  audacity 
to  burn  her  hair  off,  and  who,  after  receiving  sundry  small  slaps 
and  pushes  from  the  more  energetic  of  the  ladies,  was  mercifully 
sent  home ;  the  ninepence,  with  which  she  was  to  have  been  re¬ 
warded,  being  escheated  to  the  Kenwigs  family. 

“And  whatever  we  are  to  say  to  you.  Sir,”  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Kenwigs,  addressing  young  Lillyvick’s  deliverer,  “  I  am  sure  I 
don’t,  know.” 

“  You  need  say  nothing  at  all,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  I  have 
done  nothing  to  found  any  very  strong  claim  upon  your  elo¬ 
quence,  I  am  sure.” 

“  He  might  have  been  burnt  to  death,  if  it  hadn’t  been  for 
you.  Sir,”  simpered  Miss  Petowker. 

“  Not  very  likely,  I  think,”  replied  Nicholas  ;  “for  there  was 
abundance  of  assistance  here,  which  must  have  reached  him  be¬ 
fore  he  had  been  in  any  danger.” 

“  You  will  let  us  drink  your  health,  any  vays,  Sir  ?”  said  Mr. 
Kenwigs,  motioning  towards  the  table. 

“  — In  my  absence,  by  all  means,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  with  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


21  t 

i3mile  “T  hare  had  a  very  fatiguing  journey,  and  should  be 
most  indilTereiit  company — a  far  greater  check  upon  your  mer¬ 
riment,  than  a  promoter  of  it,  even  if  I  kept  awake,  which  I 
think  very  doubtful.  If  you  will  allow  me.  I’ll  return  to  my 
friend,  Mr.  Noggs,  who  went  up  stairs  again,  vhen  he  found 
nothing  serious  had  occurred.  Good  night.” 

Excusing  himself  in  these  terms  from  joining  in  the  festivi¬ 
ties,  Nicholas  took  a  most  winning  farewell  of  Mrs.  Kenwiga 
and  the  other  ladies,  and  retired,  after  making  a  very  extraor¬ 
dinary  impression  upon  the  company. 

“  What  a  delightful  young  man  !”  cried  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

“  Uncommon  gentlemanly,  really,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  “Don’t 
you  think  so,  Mr.  Lillyvick  ?” 

“  Yes,”  said  the  collector,  with  a  dubious  shrug  of  his  shoul¬ 
ders.  “He  is  gentlemanly,  very  gentlemanly — in  appearance.” 

“  I  hope  you  don’t  see  any  thing  against  him,  uncle  ?”  inquired 
Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

“No,  my  dear,”  replied  the  collector,  “no.  I  trust  he  may 
not  turn  out — well — no  matter — my  love  to  you,  my  dear,  and 
long  life  to  the  baby.” 

“Your  namesake,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  with  a  sweet  smile. 

“  And  I  hope  a  worthy  namesake,”  observed  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
willing  to  propitiate  the  collector.  “  I  hope  a  baby  as  will 
never  disgrace  his  godfather,  and  as  may  be  considered  in  arter 
years  of  a  piece  with  the  Lillyvicks  whose  name  he  bears.  I 
do  say — and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  is  of  the  same  sentiment,  and  feels 
it  as  strong  as  I  do — that  I  consider  his  being  called  Lillyvick 
one  of  the  greatest  blessings  and  honors  of  my  existence.” 

“The  greatest  blessing,  Kenwigs,”  murmured  his  lady. 

“The  greatest  blessing,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  correcting  him¬ 
self.  “  A  blessing  that  I  hope  one  of  these  day  I  may  be  able 
to  deserve.” 

This  was  a  politic  stroke  of  the  Kenwigses,  because  it  made 
Mr.  Lillyvick  the  great  head  and  fountain  of  the  baby’s  import¬ 
ance.  The  good  gentleman  felt  the  delicacy  and  dexterity  of 
the  touch,  and  at  one  proposed  the  health  of  the  gentleman, 
name  unknown,  who  had  signalized  himself  that  night  by  his 
coolness  and  alacrity. 

“Who,  I  don’t  mind  saying,”  observed  Mr.  Lillyvick,  as  a 


NICHOLAS  NIOKLEBY. 


215 


great  concession,  “  is  a  good-looking  yonng  man  enough,  with 
manners  that  I  hope  his  character  may  be  equal  to.” 

“  He  has  a  very  nice  face  and  style,  really,”  said  Mrs.  Ken- 
wigs. 

“  He  certainly  has,”  added  Miss  Petowker.  “  There’s  some¬ 
thing  in  his  appearance  quite — dear,  dear,  what’s  that  word 
again  ?” 

“What  word?”  inquired  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

“  Why — dear  me,  how  stupid  I  am  I”  replied  Miss  Petowker, 
hesitating.  “  What  do  you  call  it  when  Lords  break  olf  door¬ 
knockers  and  beat  policemen,  and  play  at  coaches  with  other 
people’s  money,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ?” 

“Aristocratic  1”  suggested  the  collector. 

“Ah!  aristocratic,”  replied  Miss  Petowker;  “something 
very  aristocratic  about  him,  isn’t  there  ?” 

The  gentlemen  held  their  peace  and  smiled  at  each  other,  as 
who  should  say,  “  Well  1  there’s  no  accounting  for  tastes but 
the  ladies  resolved  unanimously  that  Nicholas  had  an  aristo¬ 
cratic  air,  and  nobody  caring  to  dispute  the  position  it  was 
established  triumphantly. 

The  punch  being  by  this  time  drunk  out,  and  the  little  Ken- 
wigses  (who  had  for  some  time  previously  held  their  little  eyes 
open  with  their  little  fore-fingers)  becoming  fractious,  and  re¬ 
questing  rather  urgently  to  be  put  to  bed,  the  collector  made  a 
move  by  pulling  out  his  watch,  and  acquainting  the  company 
that  it  was  nigh  two  o’clock ;  whereat  some  of  the  guests  were 
surprised  and  others  shocked,  and  hats  and  bonnets  being 
groped  for  under  the  tables,  and  in  course  of  time  found,  their 
owners  went  away,  after  a  vast  deal  of  shaking  of  hands,  and 
many  remarks  how  they  had  never  spent  such  a  delighful  evening, 
and  how  they  marveled  to  find  it  so  late,  expecting  to  have  heard 
that  it  was  half-past  ten  at  the  very  latest,  and  how  they  wished 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  a  wedding-day  once  a  week, 
and  how  they  wondered  by  what  hidden  agency  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
could  {)0ssibly  have  managed  so  well ;  and  a  great  deal  more 
of  the  same  kind.  To  all  of  which  flattering  expressions  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  replied,  by  thanking  every  lady  and  gentle¬ 
man,  seriatim  for  the  favor  of  their  company,  and  hoping  they 


216 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


miglit  have  enjoyed  themselves  only  half  as  well  as  they  said 
they  had. 

As  to  Nicholas,  quite  unconscious  of  the  impression  he  had 
produced,  he  had  long  since  fallen  asleep,  leaving  Mr.  Newman 
Noggs  and  Smike  to  empty  the  spirit  bottle  between  them;  and 
this  office  they  performed  with  such  extreme  good  will,  that 
Newman  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  determine  whether  he  himself 
was  quite  sober,  and  whether  he  had  ever  seen  any  gentleman 
so  heavily,  drowsily,  and  completely  intoxicated  as  his  new 
acquaintance. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


mCHOLAS  SEEKS  TO  EMPLOY  UIMSELP  IN  A  NEW  CAPACITY, 
AND  BEING  UNSUCCESSFUL,  ACCEPTS  AN  ENGAGEMENT  AS 
TUTOR  IN  A  PRIVATE  FAMILY. 

The  first  care  of  Nicholas  next  morning  was  to  look  after 
some  room  in  which,  until  better  times  dawned  upon  him,  he 
he  could  contrive  to  exist,  without  trenching  upon  the  hospi¬ 
tality  of  Newman  Noggs,  who  would  have  slept  upon  the  stairs 
with  pleasure,  so  that  his  young  friend  was  accommodated. 

The  vacant  apartment  to  which  the  bill  in  the  parlor  window 
bore  reference,  appeared  on  inquiry  to  be  a  small  back  room 
on  the  second  floor,  reclaimed  from  the  leads,  and  overlooking 
a  soot-bespeckled  prospect  of  tiles  and  chimney-pots.  For  the 
letting  of  this  portion  of  the  house  from  week  to  wmek,  on  rea¬ 
sonable  terms,  the  parlor  lodger  was  empowered  to  treat,  he 
being  deputed  by  the  landlord  to  dispose  of  the  rooms  as  they 
became  vacant,  and  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out  that  the  lodgers 
didn’t  run  away.  As  a  means  of  securing  the  punctual  dis¬ 
charge  of  which  last  service  he  was  permitted  to  live  rent-free, 
lest  he  should  at  any  time  be  tempted  to  run  away  himself. 

Of  this  chamber  Nicholas  became  the  tenant;  and  having 
hired  a  few  common  articles  of  furniture  from  a  neighboring 
broker,  and  paid  the  first  week’s  hire  in  advance,  out  of  a  small 
fund  raised  by  the  conversion  of  some  spare  clothes  into  ready 
money,  he  sat  himself  down  to  ruminate  upon  his  prospects, 
which,  like  that  outside  his  window,  were  sufficiently  confined 
and  dingy.  As  they  by  no  means  improved  on  better  acquaint¬ 
ance,  and  as  familiarity  breeds  contempt,  he  resolved  to  banish 
them  from  his  thoughts  by  dint  of  hard  walking.  So,  taking 
up  his  hat,  and  leaving  poor  Smike  to  arrange  and  re-arrange 
the  room  with  as  much  delight  as  if  it  had  been  the  costliest 
palace,  he  betook  himself  to  the  streets,  and  mingled  with  the 
crowd  which  thronged  them. 


(2111 


218 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Although  a  man  may  lose  a  sense  of  his  own  importance 
when  he  is  a  mere  unit  among  a  busy  throng,  all  utterly  regard¬ 
less  of  him,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  he  can  dispossess  him¬ 
self,  with  equal  facility,  of  a  very  strong  sense  of  the  importance 
and  magnitude  of  his  cares.  The  unhappy  state  of  his  own 
affairs  was  the  one  idea  which  occupied  the  brain  of  Nicholas, 
walk  as  fast  as  he  would ;  and  when  he  tried  to  dislodge  it  by 
speculating  on  the  situation  and  prospects  of  the  people  who 
surrounded  him,  he  caught  himself  in  a  few  seconds  contrasting 
their  condition  with  his  own,  and  gliding  almost  imperceptibly 
back  iutc  his  old  train  of  thought  again. 

Occupied  in  these  reflections,  as  he  was  making  his  way  along 
one  of  the  great  public  thoroughfares  of  London,  he  chanced  to 
raise  his  eyes  to  a  blue  board,  whereon  vs'as  inscribed  in  charac¬ 
ters  of  gold,  “  General  Agency  Office  ;  for  places  and  situa¬ 
tions  of  all  kinds  inquire  within.”  It  was  a  shop-front,  fitted 
up  with  a  gauze  blind  and  an  inner  door ;  and  in  the  window 
hung  a  long  and  tempting  array  of  written  placards,  announcing 
vacant  places  of  every  grade,  from  a  secretary’s  to  a  footboy’s. 

Nicholas  halted  instinctively  before  this  temple  of  promise, 
and  ran  his  eye  over  the  capital-text  openings  in  life  which 
were  so  profusely  displayed.  When  he  had  completed  his  sur¬ 
vey,  he  walked  on  a  little  way,  and  then  back,  and  then  on 
again  ;  at  length,  after  pausing  irresolutely  several  times  before 
the  door  of  the  General  Agency  Office,  he  made  up  his  mind 
and  stepped  in. 

He  found  himself  in  a  little  floor-clothed  room,  with  a  high 
desk  railed  off  in  one  corner,  behind  which  sat  a  lean  youth  with 
cunning  eyes  and  a  protruding  chin,  whose  performances  in  capi¬ 
tal-text  darkened  the  window.  He  had  a  thick  ledger  lying 
open  before  him,  and  with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  inserted 
between  the  leaves,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  very  fat  old  lady  in 
a  mobcap — evidently  the  proprietress  of  the  establishment — 
who  was  airing  herself  at  the  fire,  seemed  to  be  only  waiting 
her  directions  to  refer  to  some  entries  contained  within  its  rusty 
clasps. 

As  there  as  a  board  outside,  which  acquainted  the  public 
that  servants-of-all-work  were  perpetually  in  waiting  to  be  hired 
from  ten  till  four,  Nicholas  knew  at  once  that  some  half-dozen 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEI5T. 


219 


Strong  young  women,  each  with  pattens  and  an  umbrella,  who 
were  sitting  upon  a  form  in  one  corner,  were  in  attendance  for 
that  purpose,  especially  as  the  poor  things  looked  anxious  and 
weary.  He  was  not  quite  so  certain  of  the  callings  and  stations 
of  two  smart  young  ladies  who  were  in  conversation  with  the 
fat  lady  before  the  fire,  until — having  sat  himself  down  in  a 
corner,  and  remarked  that  he  would  wait  until  the  other  cus¬ 
tomers  had  been  served — the  fat  lady  resumed  the  dialogue 
which  his  entrance  had  interrupted. 

''  Cook,  Tom,”  said  the  fat  lady,  still  airing  herself  aa 
aforesaid. 

“  Cook,”  said  Tom,  turning  over  some  leaves  of  the  ledger. 
“  Well.” 

“  Read  out  an  easy  place  or  two,”  said  the  fat  lady. 

Pick  out  very  light  ones,  if  you  please,  young  man,”  inter¬ 
posed  a  genteel  female  in  shepherd’s-plaid  boots,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  client. 

“  ‘  Mrs.  Marker,’  ”  said  Tom,  reading,  “  ‘  Russell  Place, 
Russell  Square ;  offers  eighteen  guineas,  tea  and  sugar  found. 
Two  in  family,  and  see  very  little  company.  Five  servants 
kept.  No  man.  No  followers.’ ” 

“  Oh  Lor’ !”  tittered  the  client.  “  That  won’t  do.  Read 
another,  young  man,  will  you  ?” 

‘■‘‘Mrs.  Wrymug,’ ”  said  Tom.  “‘Pleasant  Place,  Fins¬ 
bury.  Wages,  twelve  guineas.  No  tea,  no  sugar.  Serious 
family — ’  ” 

“  Ah  !  you  needn’t  mind  reading  that,”  interrupted  the  client. 

“  ‘  Three  serious  footmen,’  ”  said  Tom,  impressively. 

“  Three,  did  you  say  ?”  asked  the  client,  in  an  altered  tone. 

“  Three  serious  footmen,”  replied  Tom.  “  ‘  Cook,  house¬ 
maid,  and  nursemaid  ;  each  female  servant  required  to  join  the 
Little  Bethel  Congregation  three  times  every  Sunday — with  a 
serious  footman.  If  the  cook  is  more  serious  than  the  footman, 
she  will  be  expected  to  improve  the  footman  ;  if  the  footman  is 
more  serious  than  the  cook,  he  will  be  expected  to  improve  the 
cook.’  ” 

“I’ll  take  the  address  of  that  place,”  said  the  client;  “I  don’t 
know  but  what  it  mightn’t  suit  me  pretty  wmll.” 

“Here’s  another,”  remarked  Tom,  turning  over  the  leaves; 


T20 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“  ‘  Family  of  Mr.  Gallanbile,  M.  P.  Fifteen  guineas,  tea  and 
sugar,  and  servants  allowed  to  see  male  cousins,  if  godly.  Note. 
Cold  dinner  in  the  kitchen  on  the  Sabbath,  Mr.  Gallanbile  being 
devoted  to  the  Observance  question.  No  victuals  whatever 
cooked  on  the  Lord’s  Day,  with  the  exception  of  dinner  for  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gallanbile,  which,  being  a  work  of  piety  and  necessity, 
is  exempted.  Mr.  Gallanbile  dines  late  on  the  day  of  rest,  in 
order  to  prevent  the  sinfulness  of  the  cook’s  dressing  herself.’” 

“I  don’t  think  that’ll  answer  as  well  as  the  other,”  said  the 
client,  after  a  little  whispering  with  her  friend.  “I’ll  take  the 
other  direction,  if  you  please,  young  man.  I  can  but  come 
back  again,  if  it  don’t  do.  ” 

Tom  made  out  the  address,  as  requested,  and  the  genteel 
client,  having  satisfied  the  fat  lady  with  a  small  fee  meanwhile, 
went  away,  accompanied  by  her  friend. 

As  Nicholas  opened  his  mouth,  to  request  the  young  man  to 
turn  to  letter  S,  and  let  him  know  what  secretaryships  remained 
undisposed  of,  there  came  into  the  office  an  applicant,  in  whose 
favor  he  immediately  retired,  and  whose  appearance  both  sur¬ 
prised  and  interested  him. 

This  was  a  young  lady  who  could  be  scarcely  eighteen,  of  very 
slight  and  delicate  figure,  but  exquisitely  shaped,  who,  walking 
timidly  up  to  the  desk,  made  an  inquiry,  in  a  very  low  tone 
of  voice,  relative  to  some  situation  as  governess,  or  companion 
to  a  lady.  She  raised  her  vail  for  an  instant,  while  she  pre¬ 
ferred  the  inquiry,  and  disclosed  a  countenance  of  most  uncom¬ 
mon  beauty,  although  shaded  by  a  cloud  of  sadness,  which  in 
one  so  young  was  doubly  remarkable.  Having  received  a  card 
of  reference  to  some  person  on  the  books,  she  made  the  usual 
acknowledgment,  and  glided  away. 

She  was  neatly  but  very  quietly  attired ;  so  much  so,  indeed, 
that  it  seemed  as  though  her  dress,  if  it  had  been  worn  by  one 
who  imparted  fewer  graces  of  her  own  to  it,  might  have  looked 
poor  and  shabby.  Her  attendant — for  she  had  one — was  a 
red-faced,  round-eyed,  slovenly  girl,  who,  from  a  certain  rough¬ 
ness  about  the  bare  arras  that  peeped  from  under  her  draggled 
shawl,  and  the  half-washed-out  traces  of  smut  and  black-lead 
which  tattooed  her  countenance,  was  clearly  of  a  kin  with  the  ser- 
vants-of-all-work  on  the  form,  between  whom  ajid  herself  there 


NIC  II  ox  AS  NICKLEBY. 


221 


had  passed  various  grins  and  glances,  indicative  of  the  free 
masonry  of  the  craft. 

This  girl  followed  her  mistress;  and  before  Nicholas  had 
rccovei'ed  from  the  first  effects  of  his  surprise  and  admiration, 
the  young  lady  was  gone.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  such  complete 
and  utter  improbability  as  some  sober  people  may  think,  that 
he  would  have  followed  them  out,  had  he  not  been  restrained 
by  what  passed  between  the  fat  lady  and  her  book-keeper. 

“When  is  she  coming  again,  Tom?”  asked  the  fat  lady. 

“To-morrow  morning,”  replied  Tom,  mending  his  pen. 

“Where  have  you  sent  her  to  ?”  asked  the  fat  lady. 

“Mrs.  Clark’s,”  replied  Tom. 

“  She’ll  have  a  nice  life  of  it,  if  she  goes  there,”  observed  the 
fat  lady,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  a  tin  box. 

Tom  made  no  other  reply  than  thrusting  his  tongue  into  his 
cheek,  and  pointing  the  feather  of  his  pen  towards  Nicholas — 
reminders  which  elicited  from  the  fat  lady  an  inquiry  of  “Now, 
Sir,  what  can  we  do  for  you  ?” 

Nicholas  briefly  replied,  that  he  wanted  to  know  whether 
there  was  any  such  post  as  secretary  or  amanuensis  to  a  gentle¬ 
man  to  be  had. 

“Any  suchl”  rejoined  the  mistress;  “a  dozen  such.  Ain’t 
there,  Tom  ?” 

“/  should  think  so,”  answered  that  young  gentleman ;  and  as 
he  said  it,  he  winked  towards  Nicholas  with  a  degree  of  famili¬ 
arity  which  he  no  doubt  intended  for  a  rather  flattering  compli¬ 
ment,  but  with  which  Nicholas  was  most  ungratefully  disgusted. 

Upon  reference  to  the  book,  it  appeared  that  the  dozen 
secretaryships  had  dwindled  down  to  one.  Mr.  Gregsbury, 
ttie  great  member  of  parliament,  of  Manchester  Buildings 
Westminster,  wanted  a  young  man,  to  keep  his  papers  and  cor¬ 
respondence  in  order;  and  Nicholas  was  exactly  the  sort  of 
young  man  that  Mr.  Gregsbury  wanted. 

“I  don’t  know  what  the  terras  are,  as  he  said  he’d  settle 
them  himself  with  the  party,”  observed  the  fat  lady;  “but  they 
must  be  pretty  good  ones,  because  he’s  a  member  of  parlia¬ 
ment.” 

Inexperienced  as  he  was,  Nicholas  did  not  feel  quite  assured 
of  the  force  of  this  reasoning  or  the  justice  of  this  conclusion; 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


but  without  troubling  himself  to  question  it,  he  took  down  the 
address,  and  resolved  to  wait  upon  Mr.  Gregsbury  without 
delay, 

"I  don’t  know  w'hat  the  number  is,'’’ said  Tom;  “but  Man* 
Chester  Buildings  isn’t  a  large  place;  and  if  the  worst  cornea 
to  the  worst,  it  won’t  take  you  very  long  to  knock  at  all  the 
doors  on  both  sides  of  the  way  till  you  find  him  out.  I  say, 
what  a  good-looking  gal  that  was,  wasn’t  she?” 

“What  girl.  Sir  ?”  demanded  Nicholas,  sternly. 

“Oh  yes.  I  know — what  gal,  eh?”  whispered  Tom,  shutting 
one  eye,  and  cocking  his  chin  in  the  air,  “  You  didn’t  see  her, 
you  didn’t — I  say,  don’t  you  wish  you  was  me,  when  she  comes 
to-morrow  morning  ?” 

Nicholas  looked  at  the  ugly  clerk,  as  if  he  had  a  mind  to 
reward  his  admiration  of  the  young  lady  by  beating  the  ledger 
about  his  ears,  but  he  refrained,  and  strode  haughthy  out  of  the 
office;  setting  at  defiance,  in  his  indignation,  those  ancient  laws 
of  chivalry,  which  not  only  made  it  proper  and  lawful  for  all 
good  knights  to  hear  the  praise  of  the  ladies  to  whom  they 
were  devoted,  but  rendered  it  incumbent  upon  them  to  roam 
about  the  world,  and  knock  at  head  all  such  matter-of-fact  and 
unpoetical  characters,  as  declined  to  exalt,  above  all  the  earth, 
damsels  whom  they  had  never  chanced  to  look  upon  or  hear  of 
- — as  if  that  were  any  excuse. 

Thinking  no  longer  of  his  own  misfortunes,  but  wondering 
what  could  be  those  of  the  beautiful  girl  he  had  seen,  Nicholas, 
with  many  wrong  turns,  and  many  inquiries,  and  almost  as  many 
mis  irections,  bent  his  steps  towards  the  place  wdiither  he  had 
been  directed. 

Within  the  precincts  of  the  ancient  city  of  Westminster,  and 
within  half  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  its  ancient  sanctuary,  is  a 
narrow  and  dirty  region,  the  sanctuary  of  the  smaller  members 
of  parliament  in  modern  days.  It  is  all  comprised  in  one  street 
of  gloomy  lodging-houses,  from  whose  windows,  in  vacation  time, 
there  frown  long,  melancholy  rows  of  bills,’ which  say  as  plainly 
as  did  the  countenances  of  their  occupiers,  ranged  on  ministe¬ 
rial  and  opposition  benches  in  the  session  which  slumbers  with 
its  fathers,  “  To  Let” — “To  Let.”  In  busier  periods  of  the 
year  these  bills  disappear,  and  the  houses  swarm  with  legislators. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


?23 


There  ore  legislators  in  the  parlors,  in  the  first  floor,  in  the 
second,  in  the  third,  in  the  garrets;  the  small  ai)artments  reek 
with  the  breath  of  deputations  and  delegates.  In  damp  weather 
the  place  is  rendered  close  by  the  steams  of  moist  acts  of  Parlia¬ 
ment  and  frowzy  petitions ;  general  postmen  grow  faint  as  they 
enter  its  infected  limits,  and  shabby  figures  in  quest  of  franks, 
flit  restlessly  to  and  fro  like  the  troubled  ghosts  of  Complete 
Letter-writers  departed.  This  is  Manchester  Buildings;  and 
hert,  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  may  be  heard  the  rattling  of 
latch-keys,  in  their  respective  keyholes,  with  now  and  then — • 
when  a  gust  of  wind  sweeping  across  the  water  which  washes 
the  Buildings’  feet,  impels  the  sound  towards  its  entrance — the 
weak,  shrill  voice  of  some  young  member  practicing  the  mor¬ 
row’s  speech.  All  the  live-long  day  there  is  a  grinding  of  or¬ 
gans  and  clashing  and  clanging  of  little  boxes  of  music,  for 
Manchester  Buildings  is  an  eel-pot,  which  has  no  outlet  but  its 
awkward  mouth — a  case-bottle  which  has  no  thoroughfare,  and 
a  short  and  narrow  neck — and  in  this  respect  it  may  be  typical 
of  the  fate  of  some  few  among  its  more  adventurous  residents, 
who,  after  wriggling  themselves  into  Parliament  by  violent 
efforts  and  contortions,  find  that  it  too  is  no  thoroughfare  for 
them;  that,  like  Manchester  Buildings,  it  leads  to  nothing  be¬ 
yond  itself ;  and  that  they  are  fain  at  last  to  back  out,  no  wiser, 
no  richer,  not  one  whit  more  famous,  than  they  went  in. 

Into  Manchester  Buildings  Nicholas  turned,  with  the  address 
of  the  great  Mr.  Gregsbury  in  his  hand ;  and  as  there  vras  a 
stream  of  i)eopIe  pouring  into  a  shabby  house  not  far  from  the 
entrance,  he  waited  until  they  had  made  their  way  in,  and  then 
making  up  to  the  servant,  ventured  to  inquire  if  he  knew  where 
Mr,  Gregsbury  lived. 

The  servant  was  a  very  pale,  shabby  boy,  who  looked  as  if  he 
had  slept  under  ground  from  his  infancy,  as  very  likely  he  had, 
“Mr,  Gregsbury?”  said  he;  “Mr.  Gregsbury  lodges  here.  It’s 
all  right.  Come  in.” 

Nicholas  thought  he  might  as  well  get  in  while  he  could,  so 
in  he  walked ;  and  he  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  the  boy  shut 
the  door  ami  made  off. 

This  was  odd  enough,  but  what  was  more  embarrassing  was, 
that  all  along  the  narrow  passage,  and  all  along  the  narrow 


224 


NICHOLAS  NICKIEBY. 


stairs,  blocking  up  the  window,  and  making  tlie  dark  entry 
darker  still,  was  a  confused  crowd  of  persons  with  great  import¬ 
ance  depicted  in  their  looks ;  who  were,  to  all  appearance,  wait¬ 
ing  in  silent  expectation  of  some  coming  event ;  from  time  to 
time  one  man  would  whisper  his  neighbor,  or  a  little  group 
would  whisper  together,  and  then  the  whisperers  would  nod 
fiercely  to  each  other,  or  give  their  heads  a  relentless  shake,  as 
if  they  were  bent  upon  doing  something  very  desperate,  and  were 
determined  not  to  be  put  olf,  whatever  happened. 

As  a  few  minutes  elapsed  without  any  thing  occurring  to  ex¬ 
plain  this  phenomenon,  and  as  he  felt  his  own  position  a  pecu¬ 
liarly  uncomfortable  one,  Nicholas  was  on  the  point  of  seeking 
some  information  from  the  man  next  him,  when  a  sudden  move 
was  visible  on  the  stairs,  and  a  voice  was  heard  to  cry,  “Now, 
gentlemen,  have  the  goodness  to  walk  up.” 

So  far  from  walking  up,  the  gentlemen  on  the  stairs  began  to 
walk  down  with  great  alacrity,  and  to  entreat,  with  extraordi¬ 
nary  politeness,  that  the  gentlemen  nearest  the  street  would  go 
first :  the  gentlemen  nearest  the  street  retorted,  with  equal  cour¬ 
tesy,  that  they  couldn’t  think  of  such  a  thing  on  any  account ; 
but  they  did  it  without  thinking  of  it,  inasmuch  as  the  other 
gentlemen  pressing  some  half-dozen  (among  whom  was  Nicholas) 
forward,  and  closing  up  behind,  pushed  them,  not  merely  up 
the  stairs,  but  into  the  very  sitting-room  of  Mr.  Gregsbury, 
which  they  were  thus  compelled  to  enter  with  most  unseemly 
precipitation,  and  without  the  means  of  retreat;  the  press  be¬ 
hind  them  more  than  filling  the  apartment. 

“  Gentlemen,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  “you  are  welcome.  I  am 
rejoiced  to  see  you.” 

For  a  gentleman  who  was  rejoiced  to  see  a  body  of  visitors, 
Mr.  Gregsbury  looked  as  uncomfortable  as  might  be;  but  per¬ 
haps  this  was  occasioned  by  senatorial  gravity,  and  a  statesman¬ 
like  habit  of  keeping  his  feelings  under  control.  He  was  a 
tough,  burly,  thick-headed  gentleman,  with  a  loud  voice,  a 
pompous  manner,  a  tolerable  command  of  sentences  with  no 
meaning  in  them,  and,  in  short,  every  requisite  for  a  very  good 
member  indeed. 

“Now,  gentlemen,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  tossing  a  great 
bundle  of  papers  into  a  wicker-basket  at  his  feet,  and  throwing 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


225 


himself  back  in  his  chair  with  his  arms  over  the  elbows,  “you 
are  dissatisfied  with  my  conduct,  I  see  by  the  newspapers.” 

“Yes,  Mr.  Gregsbury,  we  are,”  said  a  plump  old  gentleman 
in  a  violent  heat,  bursting  out.  of  the  throng,  and  planting  him¬ 
self  in  the  front, 

“Do  my  eyes  deceive  me,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  looking  to¬ 
wards  the  speaker,  “  or  is  that  my  old  friend  Pugstyles  ?” 

“I  am  that  man,  and  no  other.  Sir,”  replied  the  plump  old 
gentleman. 

“  Give  me  your  hand,  my  worthy  friend,”  said  Mr.  Gregs¬ 
bury.  “Pugstyles,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you 
here.” 

“I  am  very  sorry  to  be  here.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Pugstyles; 
“  but  your  conduct,  Mr,  Gregsbury,  has  rendered  this  deputa¬ 
tion  from  your  constituents  imperatively  necessary.” 

“  My  conduct,  Pugstyles,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  looking  round 
upon  the  deputation  with  gracious  magnanimity — “  My  conduct 
has  been,  and  ever  will  be,  regulated  by  a  sincere  regard  for  the 
true  and  real  interests  of  this  gieat  and  happy  country. 
Whether  I  look  at  home  or  abroad,  whether  I  behold  the  peace¬ 
ful,  industrious  communities  of  our  island  home,  her  rivers 
covered  with  steam-boats,  her  roads  with  locomotives,  her  streets 
with  cabs,  her  skies  with  balloons  of  a  power  and  magnitude 
hitherto  unknown  in  the  history  of  aeronautics  in  this  or  any 
other  nation — I  say,  whether  I  look  merely  at  home,  or  stretch¬ 
ing  my  eyes  further,  contemplate  the  boundless  prospect  of  con¬ 
quest  and  possession- — achieved  by  British  perseverance  and 
British  valor — which  is  outspread  before  me,  I  clasp  my  hands, 
and  turning  my  eyes  to  the  broad  expanse  above  my  head,  ex¬ 
claim,  ‘  Tliank  heaven,  I  am  a  Briton  !’” 

The  time  had  been  when  this  burst  of  enthusiasm  would  have 
been  cheered  to  the  very  echo  ;  but  now  the  deputation  received 
it  with  chilling  coldness.  The  general  impression  seemed  to 
be,  that  as  an  explanation  of  Mr.  Gregsbury’s  political  conduct, 
it  did  not  enter  quite  enough  into  detail,  and  one  gentleman  in 
the  rear  did  not  scruple  to  remark  aloud,  that  for  his  purpose  it 
savored  rather  too  much  of  a  “gammon”  tendency, 

“The  meaning  of  that  term— gammon,”  said  Mr  Gregsbury, 
‘is  unknown  to  me.  If  it  means  that  I  grow  a  little  too  fervid. 

o 

If) 


22G 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


or  perhaps  even  hyperbolical,  in  extolling  my  native  land,  I 
admit  the  full  justice  of  the  remark.  I  am  proud  of  this  free 
and  happy  country.  My  form  dilates,  my  eye  gdistens,  my 
breast  heaves,  my  heart  swells,  my  bosom  burns,  when  I  call  to 
mind  her  greatness  and  her  glory.” 

“We  wish.  Sir,”  remarked  Mr.  Pugstyles,  calmly,  “to  ask 
you  a  few  questions.” 

“If  you  please,  gentlemen;  ray  time  is  yours — and  my 
country’s — and  my  country’s — ”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

This  permission  being  conceded,  Mr.  Pugstyles  put  on  his  spec¬ 
tacles,  and  referred  to  a  written  paper  which  he  drew  from  his 
pocket,  whereupon  nearly  every  other  member  of  the  deputation 
pulled  a  written  paper  from  his  pocket,  to  check  Mr.  Pugstyles 
off,  as  he  read  the  questions. 

This  done,  Mr.  Pugstyles  proceeded  to  business. 

“  Question  number  one. — Whether,  Sir,  you  did  not  give  a 
voluntary  pledge  previous  to  your  election,  that  in  the  event  of 
your  being  returned  you  would  immediately  put  down  the  prac¬ 
tice  of  coughing  and  groaning  in  the  House  of  Commons.  And 
whether  you  did  not  submit  to  be  coughed  and  groaned  down 
in  the  very  first  debate  of  the  session,  and  have  since  made  no 
effort  to  effect  a  reform  in  this  respect  ?  Whether  you  did  not 
also  pledge  yourself  to  astonish  the  government,  and  make  them 
shrink  in  their  shoes.  And  whether  you  have  astonished  them 
and  made  them  shrink  in  their  shoes,  or  not  ?” 

“Go  on  to  the  next  one,  my  dear  Pugstyles,”  said  Mr. 
Gregsbury. 

“  Have  you  any  explanation  to  offer  with  reference  to  that 
question.  Sir  ?”  asked  Mr.  Pugstyles. 

“  Certainly  not,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

The  members  of  the  deputation  looked  fiercely  at  each  other, 
and  afterwards  at  the  member,  and  “  dear  Pugstyles”  having 
taken  a  very  long  stare  at  Mr.  Gregsbury  over  the  tops  of  his 
spectacles,  resumed  his  list  of  inquiries. 

“  Question  number  two. — Whether,  Sir,  you  did  not  likewise 
give  a  voluntary  pledge  that  you  would  support  your  colleague 
on  every  occasion ;  and  whether  you  did  not,  the  night  before 
the  last,  desert  him  and  vote  upon  the  other  side,  because  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


227 


wife  of  a  leader  on  that  other  side  had  invited  Mrs.  Gregshury 
to  an  evening  party 

“Go  on,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

“  Nothing  to  say  on  that,  either,  Sir  ?”  asked  the  spokesman. 

“Nothing  whatever,”  replied  Mr.  Gregsbury.  The  deputa¬ 
tion,  who  had  only  seen  him  at  canvassing  or  election  time,  were 
struck  dumb  by  his  coolness.  He  didn’t  appear  like  the  same 
man  ;  then  he  was  all  milk  and  honey- — now  he  was  all  starch 
and  vinegar.  But  men  are  so  difierent  at  different  times. 

“  Question  number  three — and  last — ”  said  Mr.  Pugstyles, 
emphatically.  “  Whether,  Sir,  you  did  not  state  upon  the  hus¬ 
tings,  that  it  was  your  firm  and  determined  intention  to  oppose 
every  thing  proposed  ;  to  divide  the  house  upon  every  question, 
to  move  for  returns  on  every  subject,  to  place  a  motion  on  the 
books  every  day,  and,  in  short,  in  your  own  memorable  words, 
to  play  the  devil  with  every  thing  and  every  body  ?”  With 
this  comprehensive  inquiry,  Mr.  Pugstyles  folded  up  his  list  of 
questions,  as  did  all  his  backers. 

Mr.  Gregsbury  reflected,  blew  his  nose,  threw  himself  further 
back  in  his  chair,  came  forward  again,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  made  a  triangle  with  his  two  thumbs  and  his  two  fore¬ 
fingers,  and  tapping  his  nose  with  the  apex  thereof,  replied 
(smiling  as  he  said  it),  “  I  deny  every  thing.” 

At  this  unexpected  answer,  a  hoarse  murmur  arose  from  the 
deputation ;  and  the  same  gentleman  who  had  expressed  an 
opinion  relative  to  the  gammoning  nature  of  the  introductory 
speech,  again  made  a  monosyllabic  demonstration,  by  growling 
out,  “Resign;”  which  growl  being  taken  up  by  his  fellows, 
swelled  into  a  very  earnest  and  general  remonstrance. 

“  I  am  requested.  Sir,  to  express  a  hope,”  said  Mr.  Pugstyles, 
with  a  distant  bow,  “  that  on  receiving  a  requisition  to  that 
effect,  from  a  great  majority  of  your  constituents,  you  will  not 
object  at  once  to  resign  your  seat  in  favor  of  some  candidate 
whom  they  think  the}^  can  better  trust.” 

'J'o  which  Mr.  Gregsbury  read  the  following  reply,  which, 
aniicipating  the  request,  he  had  composed  in  the  form  of  a  letter, 
whereof  copies  had  been  made  to  send  round  to  the  newspapers. 


U28 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBir. 


Mt  dear  Pugstyi.es, 

“Next  to  the  welfare  of  our  beloved  island — this  great 
nud  free  and  happy  country,  whose  powers  and  resources  are,  I 
sincerely  believe,  illimitable — I  value  that  noble  iiidependeiiee 
which  is  an  Englishman’s  proudest  boast,  and  which  I  fondly 
hope  to  bequeath  to  my  children  untarnished  and  unsullied. 
Actuated  by  no  personal  motives,  but  moved  only  by  high  and 
great  constitutional  considerations  which  I  will  not  attempt  to 
explain,  for  they  are  really  beneath  the  comprehension  of  those 
who  have  not  made  themselves  masters,  as  I  have,  of  the  intri¬ 
cate  and  arduous  study  of  politics,  I  would  rather  keep  my  seat, 
and  intend  doing  so. 

“  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  present  my  compliments  to  the 
constitueut  body,  and  acquaint  them  with  this  circumstance  ? 

“With  great  esteem, 

“  My  dear  Pugstyles, 

“  &c.,  &c.” 

“  Then  you  will  not  resign,  under  any  circumstances  ?”  asked 
the  spokesman. 

Mr.  Gregsbury  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

“Then  good  morning.  Sir,”  said  Pugstyles,  angrily. 

“  God  bless  you,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  And  the  deputation, 
with  many  growls  and  scowls,  filed  off  as  quickly  as  the  narrow¬ 
ness  of  the  staircase  would  allow  of  their  getting  down. 

The  last  man  being  gone,  Mr.  Gregsbury  rubbed  his  hands 
and  chuckled,  as  merry  fellows  will,  when  they  think  they  have 
said  or  done  a  more  than  commonly  good  thing;  he  was  so  en¬ 
grossed  in  this  self-congratulation,  that  he  did  not  observe  that 
Nicholas  had  been  left  behind  in  the  shadow  of  the  window- 
curtains,  until  that  young  gentleman  fearing  he  might  otherwise 
overhear  some  soliloquy  intended  to  have  no  listeners,  coughed 
twice  or  thrice  to  attract  the  member’s  notice. 

“What’s  that?”  sai^-^  Mr.  Gregsbury,  in  sharp  accents. 

Nicholas  stepped  forward  and  bowed. 

“  What  do  you  do  here.  Sir  ?”  asked  Mr.  Gregsbury  ;  “  a  spy 
upon  my  privacy !  A  concealed  voter!  You  have  heard  my 
answer,  Sir.  Pray  follow  the  deputation.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


22'J 


"  I  should  have  done  so  if  I  had  belonged  to  it,  but  I  do  not,” 
said  Nicholas. 

“  Then  how  came  you  here,  Sir  ?”  was  the  natural  inquiry  of 
Mr.  Gregsbury,  M.  P.  “And  where  the  devil  have  you  come 
from.  Sir  ?”  was  the  question  which  followed  it. 

“  I  brought  this  card  from  the  General  Agency  Office,  Sir,'* 
said  Nicholas,  “wishing  to  offer  myself  as  your  secretary,  and 
understanding  that  you  stood  in  need  of  one.” 

“  That’s  all  you  have  come  for,  is  it  ?”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury, 
eying  him  in  some  doubt. 

Nicholas  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

“You  have  no  connection  with  any  of  these  rascally  papers, 
have  you?”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  “You  didn’t  get  into  the 
room  to  hear  what  was  going  forward,  and  put  it  in  print,  eh?” 

“  I  have  no  connection,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  with  any  thing 
at  present,”  rejoined  Nicholas, — politely  enough,  but  quite  at 
his  ease. 

“  Oh  !”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  “  How  did  you  find  your  way 
up  here,  then  ?” 

Nicholas  related  how  he  had  been  forced  up  by  the  depu¬ 
tation. 

*■ 

“That  was  the  way,  was  it?”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  “Sit 
down.” 

Nicholas  took  a  chair,  and  Mr.  Gregsbury  stared  at  him 
for  a  long  time,  as  if  to  make  certain,  before  he  asked  any 
further  questions,  that  there  were  no  objections  to  his  outward 
appearance. 

“  You  want  to  be  my  secretary,  do  you  ?”  he  said  at  length. 

“I  wish  to  be  employed  in  that  capacity,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Well,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury;  “now  what  can  you  do  ?” 

“  I  suppose,”  replied  Nicholas,  smiling,  “  that  I  can  do  what 
usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  other  secretaries.” 

“What’s  that?”  inquired  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

“What  is  it?”  replied  Nicholas. 

“Ah  !  What  is  it?”  retorted  the  member,  looking  shrewdly 
at  him,  with  his  head  on  one  side. 

“A  secretary’s  duties  are  rather  difficult  to  define,  perhaps.” 
said  Nicholas,  considering.  “They  include,  I  presume,  con*cs 
pondence.” 


230 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Good,”  into  posed  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

“  The  arrangement  of  papers  and  doeuments — ” 

“Very  good,” 

“Occasionally,  perhaps,  the  writing  from  your  dictation;  and 
possibly,” — said  Nicholas,  with  a  half  smile,  “the  copying  ol 
your  speech,  for  some  public  journal,  when  you  have  made  one 
of  more  than  usual  importance.” 

“  Certainly,”  rejoined  Mr.  Gregsbury,  “  What  else  ?” 

“  Really,”  said  Nicholas,  after  a  moment’s  reflection,  “I  am 
not  able,  at  this  instant,  to  recapitulate  any  other  duty  of  a 
secretary,  beyond  the  general  one  of  making  himself  as  agree¬ 
able  and  useful  to  his  employer  as  he  can,  consistently  with  his 
own  respectability,  and  without  over-stepping  that  line  of  duties 
which  he  undertakes  to  perform,  and  which  the  designation  of 
his  olfice  is  usually  understood  to  imply.” 

Mr,  Gregsbury  looked  fixedly  at  Nicholas  for  a  short  time, 
and  then  glancing  warily  round  the  room,  said  in  a  suppressed 
voice — 

“  This  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  —  what  is  your  name  ?” 

“  Nickleby.” 

“  This  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Nickleby,  and  very  proper,  so  far 
as  it  goes — so  far  as  it  goes,  but  it  doesn’t  go  far  enough. 
There  are  other  duties,  Mr.  Nickleby,  which  a  secretary  to  a 
parliamentary  gentleman  must  never  lose  sight  of.  I  should 
require  to  be  crammed.  Sir.” 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  interposed  Nicholas,  doubtful  whether 
he  had  heard  aright. 

“ — To  be  crammed.  Sir,”  repeated  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

“  May  I  beg  your  pardon  again,  if  I  inquire  what  you  mean  ?” 
said  Nicholas. 

“  My  meaning,  Sir,  is  perfectly  plain,”  replied  Mr.  Gregsbury, 
with  a  solemn  aspect.  “  My  secretary  would  have  to  make  hira- 
Bclf  master  of  the  foreign  policy  of  the  world,  as  it  is  mirrored 
in  the  newspapers  ;  to  run  his  eye  over  all  accounts  of  public 
meetings,  all  leading  articles,  and  accounts  of  the  proceedings 
of  public  bodies;  and  to  make  notes  of  any  thing  which  it  ap¬ 
peared  to  him  might  be  made  a  point  of,  in  any  little  speech 
upon  the  question  of  some  petition  lying  on  the  table,  or  any 
tLing  of  that  kind.  Do  you  understand  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NlCKLEliY. 


231 


“  I  lliink  I  do,  Sir,”  replied  jS^icliolas. 

“  Then,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbuiy,  “it  would  be  necessary  for  biin 
to  make  himself  acquainted  from  day  to  day  with  newspaper 
paragraphs  on  passing  events  ;  such  as  ‘  Mysterious  disappear¬ 
ance,  and  supposed  suicide  of  a  pot-boy,’  or  any  thing  of  that 
sort,  upon  which  I  might  found  a  question  to  the  Secretary  of 
State  for  the  Home  Department.  Then  he  would  have  to  copy 
the  question,  and  as  much  as  I  remembered  of  the  answer  (in¬ 
cluding  a  little  compliment  about  my  independence  and  good 
sense) ;  and  to  send  the  manuscript  in  a  frank  to  the  local  papes, 
with  perhaps  half  a  dozen  lines  of  leader,  to  the  effect,  that  I  was 
always  to  be  found  in  my  place  in  parliament,  and  never  shrunk 
from  the  discharge  of  ray  responsible  and  arduous  duties,  and  so 
forth.  You  see  ?” 

Nicholas  bowed. 

“Besides  which,”  continued  Mr.  Gregsbury,  “  I  should  expect 
him  now  and  then  to  go  through  a  few  figures  in  the  printed 
tables,  and  to  pick  out  a  few  results,  so  that  I  might  come  out 
pretty  well  on  timber  duty  quesiions,  and  finance  questions,  and 
BO  on  ;  and  I  should  like  him  to  get  up  a  few  little  arguments 
about  the  disastrous  effects  of  a  return  to  cash  payments  and  a 
metallic  currency,  with  a  touch  now  and  then  about  the  ex¬ 
portation  of  bullion,  and  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  and  bank 
notes,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  which  it’s  only  necessary  to 
talk  fluently  about,  because  nobody  understands  it.  Do  you 
take  me  ?” 

“I  think  I  understand,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  With  regard  to  such  questions  as  are  not  political,”  con¬ 
tinued  Mr.  Gregsbury,  warming ;  “  and  which  one  can’t  be 
expected  to  care  a  damn  about,  beyond  the  natural  care  of  not 
allowing  inferior  peoi)le  to  be  as  well  off  as  ourselves,  else  where 
are  our  privileges  ?  I  should  wish  ray  secretary  to  get  together 
a  few  little  flourishing  speeches,  of  a  patriotic  cast.  For  in¬ 
stance,  if  any  preposterous  bill  were  brought  forward  for  giving 
])oor  grubbing  devils  of  authors  a  riglit  to  their  own  property,  I 
should  like  to  say,  that  I  for  one  would  never  consent  to  oppo¬ 
sing  an  insurmountable  bar  to  the  diffusion  of  literature  among 
the  jieojile, — you  understand  ?  that  the  creations  of  the  pocket, 
being  man’s,  might  belong  to  one  man,  or  one  family  ;  bat  that 


232 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


tlie  creations  of  the  brain,  being  God’s,  ought  as  a  matter  of 
course  to  belong  to  the  people  at  large — and  if  I  was  pleasantly 
disposed,  I  should  like  to  make  a  joke  about  posterity,  and  say 
that  those  who  wrote  for  posterity,  should  be  content  to  be  re¬ 
warded  by  the  approbation  of  posterity  ;  it  might  take  with  the 
house,  and  could  never  do  me  any  harm,  because  posterity  can’t 
be  expected  to  know  any  thing  about  me  or  my  jokes  either-— 
don’t  you  see  ?” 

“  I  see  that.  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“You  must  always  bear  in  mind,  in  such  cases  as  this,  where 
our  interests  are  not  affected,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  “to  put  it 
very  strong  about  the  people,  because  it  comes  out  very  well  at 
election-time  ;  and  you  could  be  as  funny  as  you  liked  about  the 
authors  ;  because  I  believe  the  greater  part  of  them  live  in  lodg¬ 
ings,  and  are  not  voters.  This  is  a  hasty  outline  of  the  chief 
things  you’d  have  to  do,  except  waiting  in  the  lobby  every  night, 
in  case  I  forgot  any  thing,  and  should  want  fresh  cramming ; 
and  now  and  then,  during  great  debates,  sitting  in  the  front 
row  of  the  gallery,  and  saying  to  the  people  about — ‘  You  see 
that  gentleman,  with  his  hand  to  his  face,  and  his  arm  twisted 
round  the  pillar — that’s  Mr.  Gregsbury- — the  celebrated  Mr. 
Gregsbury — ’  with  any  other  little  eulogium  that  might  strike 
you  at  the  moment.  And  for  salary,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury, 
winding  up  with  great  rapidity ;  for  he  was  out  of  breath — • 
“  And  for  salary,  I  don’t  mind  saying  at  once  in  round  num¬ 
bers,  to  prevent  any  dissatisfaction — though  it’s  more  than  I’ve 
been  accustomed  to  give — fifteen  shillings  a  week,  and  find  your¬ 
self.  There.” 

With  this  handsome  offer  Mr.  Gregsbury  once  more  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked  like  a  man  who  has  been 
most  profligately  liberal,  but  is  determined  not  to  repent  of  it 
notwithstanding. 

“  Fifteen  shillings  a  week  is  not  much,”  said  Nicholas, 
mildly. 

“  Not  much  !  Fifteen  shillings  a  week  not  much,  young  man  V' 
cried  Mr.  Gregsbury.  “Fifteen  shillings  a - ” 

“Fray  do  not  suppose  that  I  quarrel  with  the  sum,”  replied 
^Jicholas;  “for  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess,  that  whatever  it 
may  be  in  itself,  to  me  it  is  a  great  deal.  But  the  duties  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


233 


responsibilities  make  tlie  recompense  small,  and  they  are  so  very 
heavy  that  I  fear  to  undertake  them.  ” 

“Do  you  decline  to  undertake  them,  Sir?”  inquired  Mr. 
Gregsbury,  with  his  hand  on  the  bell-rope. 

“  I  fear  they  are  too  great  for  my  powers,  however  good  my 
will  may  be,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  That  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  had  rather  not  accej  t 
the  place,  and  that  you  consider  fifteen  shillings  a  week  too 
little,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  ringing.  “  Do  you  decline  it, 
Sir?” 

“I  have  no  alternative  but  to  do  so,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Door,  Matthews,”  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  as  the  boy  appeared. 

“I  am  sorry  I  have  troubled  you  unnecessarily.  Sir,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“I  am  sorry  you  have,”  rejoined  Mr.  Gregsbury,  turning  his 
back  upon  him.  “Door,  Matthews.” 

“  Good  morning,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Door,  Matthews,”  cried  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

The  boy  beckoned  Nicholas,  and  tumbling  lazily  down  staii’s 
before  him,  opened  the  door  and  ushered  him  into  the  street. 
With  a  sad  and  pensive  air  he  retraced  his  steps  homewards. 

Smike  had  scraped  a  meal  together  from  the  remnant  of  last 
night’s  supper,  and  was  anxiously  awaiting  his  return.  The 
occurrences  of  the  morning  had  not  improved  Nicholas’s  appe¬ 
tite,  and  by  him  the  dinner  remained  untasted.  He  was  sitting 
in  a  thoughtful  attitude,  with  the  plate  which  the  poor  fellow  had 
assiduously  filled  with  the  choicest  morsels  untouched,  by  his  side, 
when  Newman  Noggs  looked  into  the  room. 

“  Come  back  ?”  asked  Newman. 

“Yes,”  replied  Nicholas,  “tired  to  death;  and  what  is  worse, 
might  have  remained  at  home  for  all  the  good  I  have  done.” 

“Couldn’t  expect  to  do  much  in  one  morning,”  said  New¬ 
man. 

“  May  be  so,  but  I  am  sanguine,  and  did  expect,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  “  and  am  proportionately  disappointed.”  Saying  which,  he 
gave  Newman  an  account  of  his  ju'oceedings. 

.  If  I  could  do  any  thing,”  said  Nicholas,  “  any  thing,  how¬ 
ever  slight,  until  Ralph  Nickleby  returns,  and  I  have  eased  my 
mind  by  confronting  him,  I  should  feel  happier.  I  should  think 


2S4 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


it  no  disgrace  to  work,  Heaven  knows.  Lying  indolently  here, 
like  a  half-tamed,  sullen  beast,  distracts  me.” 

“I  don’t  know,”  said  Newman^  “small  things  offer — they 
would  pay  the  rent,  and  more — but  you  wouldn’t  like  them ;  no, 
you  could  hardly  be  expected  to  undergo  it — no,  no.” 

“  What  could  I  hardly  be  expected  to  undergo  ?”  asked 
IS^icholas,  raising  his  eyes.  “  Show  me,  in  this  wide  waste  of 
London,  any  honest  means  by  which  I  could  even  defray  the 
weekly  hire  of  this  poor  room,  and  see  if  I  shrink  from  resorting 
to  them.  Undergo  !  I  have  undergone  too  much,  my  friend,  to 
feel  pride  or  squeamishness  now.  Except — ”  added  Nicholas 
hastily,  after  a  short  silence,  “  except  such  squeamishness  as  is 
common  honesty,  and  so  much  pride  as  constitutes  self-respect. 
I  see  little  to  choose,  between  the  assistant  to  a  brutal  peda¬ 
gogue,  and  the  toad-eater  of  a  mean  and  ignorant  upstart,  be  he 
member  or  no  member.” 

“  I  hardly  know  whether  I  should  tell  you  what  I  heard  this 
morning  or  not,”  said  Newman. 

“  Has  it  reference  to  what  you  said  just  now  ?”  asked 
Nicholas. 

“  It  has.” 

“  Then,  in  Heaven’s  name,  my  good  friend,  tell  it  me,”  said 
Nicholas.  “  For  God’s  sake  consider  my  deplorable  condition  ; 
and  while  I  promise  to  take  no  step  without  taking  counsel  with 
you,  give  me,  at  least,  a  vote  in  my  own  behalf.” 

Moved  by  this  entreaty,  Newman  stammered  forth  a  variety 
of  most  unaccountable  and  entangled  sentences,  the  upshot  of 
which  was,  that  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  examined  him  at  great 
length  that  morning  touching  the  origin  of  his  acquaintance  with, 
and  the  whole  life,  adventures,  and  pedigree  of  Nicholas ;  that 
Newman  had  parried  these  questions  as  long  as  he  could,  but 
being  at  length  hard  pressed  and  driven  into  a  corner,  had  gone 
BO  far  as  to  admit,  that  Nicholas  was  a  tutor  of  great  accom¬ 
plishments,  involved  in  some  misfortunes  which  he  was  not  at 
liberty  to  explain,  and  bearing  the  name  of  Johnson.  That  Mrs. 
Kenwigs,  impelled  by  gratitude,  or  ambition,  or  maternal  pride, 
or  maternal  love,  or  all  four  powerful  motives  conjointly,  had 
taken  secret  conference  with  Mr.  Kenwigs,  and  finally  returned 
to  propose  that  Mr.  Johnson  should  instnict  the  four  Miss 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


235 


Kenwigscs  in  the  French  language  as  spoken  by  natives,  at  the 
weekly  stipend  of  live  shillings  current  coin  of  the  realm,  being 
at  the  rate  of  one  shilling  per  week  per  each  Miss  Ken  wigs,  and 
one  shilling  over,  until  such  time  as  the  baby  might  be  able  to 
take  it  out  in  grammar. 

“  Which,  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,”  observed  Mrs 
Kenwigs  in  making  the  proposition,  “will  not  be  very  long;  for 
such  clever  children,  Mr.  Noggs,  never  were  born  into  this  world, 
I  do  believe.” 

“  There,”  said  Newman,  “  that’s  all.  It’s  beneath  you,  I 
know;  but  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  might - ” 

“  Might  I”  said  Nicholas,  with  great  alacrity ;  “  of  course  I  shall. 
I  accept  the  offer  at  once.  Tell  the  worthy  mother  so  without 
delay,  my  dear  fellow ;  and  that  I  am  ready  to  begin  whenever 
she  pleases.” 

Newman  hastened  with  joyful  steps  to  inform  Mrs.  Kenwdgs 
of  his  friend’s  acquiescence,  and  soon  returning,  brought  back 
word  that  they  wmuld  be  happy  to  see  him  in  the  first  floor  as 
soon  as  convenient ;  that  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  upon  the  instant 
sent  out  to  secure  a  second-hand  French  grammar  and  dialogues, 
which  had  long  been  fluttering  in  the  sixpenny  box  at  the  book¬ 
stall  round  the  corner ;  and  that  the  family,  highly  excited  at 
the  prospect  of  this  addition  to  their  gentility,  wished  the 
initiatory  lesson  to  come  off  immediately. 

And  here  it  may  be  observed,  that  Nicholas  was  not,  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  a  young  man  of  high  spirit.  He 
would  resent  an  affront  to  himself,  or  interpose  to  redress  a 
wrong  offered  to  another,  as  boldly  and  freely  as  any  knight  that 
ever  set  lance  in  rest ;  but  he  lacked  that  peculiar  excess  of  cool¬ 
ness  and  great-minded  selfishness,  which  invariably  distinguish 
gentlemen  of  high  spirit.  In  truth,  for  our  own  part,  we  are 
rather  disposed  to  look  upon  such  gentlemen  as  being  rather 
encumbrances  than  otherwise  in  rising  families,  happening  to 
be  acquainted  with  several  whose  spirit  prevents  their  settling 
down  to  any  groveling  occupation,  and  only  disi)lays  itself  in  a 
tendency  to  cultivate  mustaches,  and  look  fierce;  and  although 
mustaches  and  ferocity  are  both  very  pretty  things  in  their  way. 
and  very  much  to  be  commended,  we  confess  to  a  desire  to  see 


236 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


them  bred  at  tlie  owner’s  proper  cost,  rather  than  at  the  expense 
of  low-spirited  people. 

Nicholas,  therefore,  not  being  a  high-spirited  young  man 
according  to  common  parlance,  and  deeming  it  a  greater  degra¬ 
dation  to  borrow,  for  the  supply  of  his  necessities,  from  New¬ 
man  Noggs,  than  to  teach  French  to  the  little  Kenwigses  for 
five  shillings  a  week,  accepted  the  offer  with  the  alacrity  already 
described,  and  betook  himself  to  the  first  floor  with  all  con¬ 
venient  speed. 

Here  he  was  received  by  Mrs.  Kenwigs  with  a  genteel  air, 
kindly  intended  to  assure  him  of  her  protection  and  support ; 
and  here  too  he  found  Mr.  Lillyvick  and  Miss  Petowker;  the 
four  Miss  Kenwigses  on  their  form  of  audience,  and  the  baby 
in  a  dwarf  porter’s  chair  with  a  deal  tray  before  it,  amusing 
himself  with  a  toy  horse  without  a  head ;  the  said  horse  being 
composed  of  a  small  wooden  cylinder  supported  on  four  crooked 
pegs,  not  unlike  an  Italian  iron,  and  painted  in  ingenious  re¬ 
semblance  of  red  wafers  set  in  blacking. 

“How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Johnson?”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 
“Uncle — Mr.  Johnson.” 

“  How  do  you  do.  Sir  ?”  said  Mr,  Lillyvick — rather  sharply ; 
for  he  had  not  known  what  Nicholas  was,  on  the  previous  night, 
and  it  was  rather  an  aggravating  circumstance  if  a  tax-collector 
had  been  too  polite  to  a  teacher. 

“  Mr.  Johnson  is  engaged  as  private  master  to  the  children, 
uncle,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

“  So  you  said  just  now,  my  dear,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

“But  I  hope,”  said  Mrs,  Kenwigs,  drawing  herself  up,  “that 
that  will  not  make  them  proud  ;  but  that  they  will  bless  their 
own  good  fortune,  which  has  born  them  superior  to  common  peo¬ 
ple’s  children.  Do  you  hear,  Morleena  ?” 

“  Yes,  ma,”  replied  Miss  Kenwigs. 

“  And  when  you  go  out  in  the  streets,  or  elsewhere,  I  desire 
that  you  don’t  boast  of  it  to  the  other  children,”  said  Mrs. 
Kenwigs;  “and  that  if  you  must  say  any  thing  about  it,  you 
don’t  say  no  more  than  ‘We’ve  got  a  private  master  comes  to 
teach  ns  at  home,  but  we  ain’t  proud,  because  ma  says  it's  sin¬ 
ful.’  Do  you  hear,  Morleena  ?” 

“  Yes,  ma,”  replied  Miss  Kenwigs  again. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


237 


“Then  mind  you  recollect,  and  do  as  I  tell  you,”  said  Mrs 
Kenwigs.  “Shall  Mr.  Johnson  begin,  uncle  ?” 

“I  am  ready  to  hear,  if  Mr.  Johnson  is  ready  to  commence, 
my  dear,”  said  the  collector,  assuming  the  air  of  a  profound 
critic.  “What  sort  of  language  do  you  consider  French, 
Sir  ?” 

“  flow  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  Nieholas. 

“  Do  you  consider  it  a  good  language.  Sir  ?”  said  the  col¬ 
lector  ;  “  a  pretty  language,  a  sensible  language  ?” 

“A  pretty  language,  certainly,”  replied  Nicholas;  “and  as 
it  has  a  name  for  every  thing,  and  admits  of  elegant  conversa¬ 
tion  about  every  thing,  I  presume  it  is  a  sensible  one.” 

“I  don’t  know,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  doubtfully.  “Do  you 
call  it  a  cheerful  language,  now  ?” 

“  Yes,”  replied  Nicholas,  “I  should  say  it  was,  certainly.” 

“It’s  very  much  changed  since  my  time,  then,”  said  the  col¬ 
lector,  “  very  much.” 

“  Was  it  a  dismal  one  in  your  time  ?”  asked  Nicholas,  scarcely 
able  to  repress  a  smile. 

“  Very,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  with  some  vehemence  of  man¬ 
ner.  “  It’s  the  war  time  that  I  speak  of;  the  last  war.  It  may 
be  a  cheerful  language.  I  should  be  sorry  to  contradict  any 
body  ;  but  I  can  only  say  that  I’ve  heard  the  French  prisoners, 
who  were  natives,  and  ought  to  know  how  to  speak  it,  talking 
in  sach  a  dismal  manner,  that  it  made  one  miserable  to  hear 
them.  Ay,  that  I  have,  fifty  times.  Sir — fifty  times.” 

Mr.  Lillyvick  was  waxing  so  cross,  that  Mrs.  Kenwigs  thought 
it  expedient  to  motion  to  Nicholas  not  to  say  any  thing ;  and 
it  was  not  until  Miss  Fetowker  had  practiced  several  blandish¬ 
ments,  to  soften  the  excellent  old  gentleman,  that  he  deigned  to 
break  silence,  by  asking, 

“  VVTiat’s  the  water  in  French,  Sir?” 

“  U Eau,^’’  replied  Nicholas. 

“Ah!”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  shaking  his  head  mournfully,  “I 
thought  as  iniufii.  Lo,  eh  ?  I  don’t  think  any  thing  of  that 
language — nothing  at  all.” 

“I  sujipose  the  children  may  begin,  uncle?’’  said  Mrs.  Ken¬ 
wigs. 


238 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Oil  yes;  they  may  begin,  my  dear,”  replied  the  collector, 
discontentedly,  “/have  no  wish  to  prevent  them,” 

This  pei’mission  being  conceded,  the  four  Miss  Kenwigses  sat 
in  a  row,  with  their  tails  all  one  way,  and  Morleena  at  the  top, 
while  Nicholas,  taking  the  book,  began  his  preliminary  expla¬ 
nations.  Miss  Petowker  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  looked  on  in  silent 
admiration,  broken  only  by  the  whispered  assurances  of  the  lat¬ 
ter,  that  Morleena  would  have  it  all  by  heart  in  no  time ;  and 
Mr.  Lilly vick  regarded  the  group  with  frowning  and  attentive 
eyes,  lying  in  wait  for  something  upon  which  he  could  open  a 
fresh  discussion  on  the  language. 


CHAPTER  XVTl. 


FOLLOWS  THE  FORTUNES  OF  MISS  NICKLEBY. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  many  sad  forebodings  which 
no  effort  could  banish,  that  Kate  Kickleby,  on  the  morning  ap¬ 
pointed  for  the  commencement  of  her  engagement  with  Madame 
Mantalini,  left  the  city  when  its  clocks  yet  wanted  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  of  eight,  and  threaded  her  way  alone,  amid  the  noise 
and  bustle  of  the  streets,  towards  the  ^vest  end  of  London. 

At  this  early  hour  many  sickly  girls,  whose  business,  like 
that  of  the  poor  worm,  is  to  produce  with  patient  toil  the  finery 
that  bedecks  the  thoughtless  and  luxurious,  traverse  our  streets, 
making  towards  the  scene  of  their  daily  labor,  and  catching  as 
if  by  stealth,  in  their  hurried  walk,  the  only  gasp  of  wholesome 
air  and  glimpse  of  sunlight  which  cheers  their  monotonous  ex¬ 
istence  during  the  long  train  of  hours  that  make  a  working  day. 
As  she  drew  nigh  to  the  more  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town, 
Kate  marked  many  of  this  class  as  they  passed  by,  hurrying 
like  herself  to  their  painful  occupation,  and  saw,  in  their  un¬ 
healthy  looks  and  feeble  gait,  but  too  clear  an  evidence  that 
her  misgivings  were  not  wdiolly  groundless. 

She  arrived  at  Madame  Mantalini’s  some  minutes  before  the 
appointed  hour,  and  after  walking  a  few  times  up  and  down,  in 
the  hope  that  some  other  female  might  arrive  and  spare  her 
the  embarrassment  of  stating  her  business  to  the  servant,  knocked 
timidly  at  the  door,  which  after  some  delay  was  opened  by  the 
footman,  who  had  been  putting  on  his  striped  jacket  as  he  came 
up  stairs,  and  was  now  intent  on  fastening  his  apron. 

“  Is  INIadame  Mantalini  in  ?”  faltered  Kate. 

“  Not  often  out  at  this  time,  ]\Iiss,”  replied  the  man  in  a  tone 
which  rendered  “  Miss,”  something  more  offensive  than  “My 
dear.” 

“  Can  I  see  her  ?”  asked  Kate. 

“Eh?”  replied  the  man.  holding  the  door  in  his  hand,  and 

(239) 


5540 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


honoring  the  inquirer  with  a  stare  and  a  broad  grin,  “Lord, 
no.” 

“I  came  by  her  own  appointment,”  said  Kate;  “I  am — I 
am — to  be  employed  he^e.” 

“Oh  1  you  should  have  rung  the  worker's  Dell,”  said  the  foot¬ 
man,  touching  the  handle  of  one  in  the  door-post.  “  Let  me 
see,  though,  I  forgot — Miss  Nickleby,  is  it  1'” 

“  Yes,”  replied  Kate. 

“You’re  to  walk  up  stairs  then,  please,”  said  the  man 
“  Madame  Mantalini  wants  to  see  you — this  way — take  care  of 
these  things  on  the  floor.” 

Cautioning  her  in  these  terms  not  to  trip  over  a  heterogeneous 
litter  of  pastry-cook’s  trays,  lamps,  waiters  full  of  glasses,  and 
piles  of  rout  seats  which  were  strewm  about  the  hall,  plainly 
bespeaking  a  late  party  on  the  previous  night,  the  man  led  the 
way  to  the  second  story,  and  ushered  Kate  into  a  back  room, 
communicating  by  folding-doors  with  the  apartment  in  which 
she  had  first  seen  the  mistress  of  the  establishment. 

“  If  you’ll  wait  here  a  minute,”  said  the  man,  “  I’ll  tell  her 
presently.”  Having  made  this  promise  with  much  affability, 
he  retired  and  left  Kate  alone. 

There  was  not  much  to  amuse  in  the  room ;  of  which  the 
most  attractive  feature  was,  a  half-length  portrait  in  oil  of  Mr. 
Mantalini,  whom  the  artist  had  depicted  scratching  his  head 
in  an  easy  manner,  and  thus  displaying  to  advantage  a  diamond 
ring,  the  gift  of  Madame  Mantalini  before  her  marriage.  There 
was,  however,  the  sound  of  voices  in  conversation  in  the  next 
room  ;  and  as  the  conversation  was  loud  and  the  partition  thin, 
Kate  could  not  help  discovering  that  they  belonged  to.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Mantalini. 

“  If  you  will  be  odiously,  demnebly,  outn'geously  jealous,  my 
soul,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  “you  will  be  very  miserable — horrid 
miserable — demnition  miserable.”  And  then  there  came  a  sound 
as  though  Mr.  Mantalini  were  sipping  his  coffee. 

“  I  am  miserable,”  returned  Madame  Mantalini,  evidently 
pouting. 

“  Then  you  are  an  ungrateful,  unworthy,  demd  unthankful 
little  fairy,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini. 

“  1  am  not,”  returned  Madame,  with  a  sob. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


241 


“  Do  not  put  itself  out  of  humor,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  break¬ 
ing  an  egg.  “  It  is  a  pretty  bewitching  little  demd  countenance, 
and  it  should  not  be  out  of  humor,  for  it  spoils  its  loveliness, 
and  makes  it  cross  and  gloomy  like  a  frightful,  naughty,  demd 
hobgoblin.” 

“  I  am  not  to  be  brought  round  in  that  way,  always,”  rejoined 
Madame,  sulkily. 

“It  shall  be  brought  round  in  any  way  it  likes  best,  and  not 
brought  round  at  all  if  it  likes  that  better,”  retorted  Mr.  Man- 
taliui,  with  his  egg-spoon  in  his  mouth. 

“It’s  very  easy  to  talk,”  said  Mrs.  Mantalini. 

“  Not  so  easy  when  one  is  eating  a  demnition  egg,”  replied 
Mr.  Mantalini ;  “for  the  yolk  runs  down  the  waistcoat,  and  yolk 
of  egg  does  not  match  any  waistcoat  but  a  yellow  waistcoat, 
demmit.” 

“  You  were  flirting  with  her  during  the  whole  night,”  said 
Madame  Mantalini,  apparently  desirous  to  lead  the  conversation 
back  to  the  point  from  which  it  had  strayed. 

“  No,  no,  my  life.” 

“  You  were,”  said  Madame  ;  “  I  had  my  eye  upon  you  all  the 
time.” 

“  Bless  the  little  winking,  twinkling  eye ;  was  it  on  me  all 
the  time  1”  cried  Mantalini,  in  a  sort  of  lazy  rapture.  “  Oh, 
demmit  1” 

“And  I  say  once  more,”  resumed  Madame,  “that  you  ought 
not  to  waltz  with  any  body  but  your  own  wife ;  and  I  will  not 
bear  it,  Mantalini,  if  I  take  poison  first.” 

“  She  will  not  take  poison  and  have  horrid  pains,  will  she  ?” 
said  Mantalini ;  who,  by  the  altered  sound  of  his  voice,  seemed 
to  have  moved  his  chair  and  taken  up  his  position  nearer 
to  his  wife.  “  She  will  not  take  poison,  because  she  had  a 
demd  fine  husband  who  might  have  married  two  countesses  and 
a  dowager - ” 

“  Two  countesses,”  interposed  Madame.  “You  told  me  one 
before !” 

“Two  I”  cried  Alantalini.  “Two  demd  fine  women,  real 
countesses  and  splendid  fortunes,  demmit.” 

“  And  why  didn’t  you  ?”  asked  Madame,  playfully. 

“Why  didn’t  1 1”  replied  her  husband.  “  Had  I  not  seen  at 
16 


242  , 


NICHOLAS  NIOKLEBY. 


a  morning  concert  the  demdest  little  fascinator  in  all  the  world, 
and  while  that  little  fascinator  is  my  wife,  may  not  all  the 
countesses  and  dowagers  in  England  be - ” 

Mr,  Mantalini  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  he  gave  Madame 
Mantalini  a  very  loud  kiss,  which  Madame  Mantalini  returned ; 
after  which  there  seemed  to  be  some  more  kissing,  mixed  up  with 
the  progress  of  the  breakfast. 

“  And  what  about  the  cash,  my  existence’s  jewel  ?”  said  Man¬ 
talini,  when  these  endearments  ceased,  "How  much  have  we 
in  hand  ?” 

“Very  little  indeed,”  replied  Madame. 

“We  must  have  some  more,”  said  Mantalini;  “we  must 
have  some  discount  out  of  old  Kickleby  to  carry  on  the  war 
with,  demmit.” 

“  You  can’t  want  any  more  just  now,”  said  Madame,  coax- 
ingly. 

“My  life  and  soul,”  returned  her  husband,  “there  is  a  horse 
for  sale  at  Scrubbs’s,  which  it  would  be  a  sin  and  crime  to  lose 
— going,  my  senses’ joy,  for  nothing.” 

“For  nothing  1”  cried  Madame.  “I  am  glad  of  that.” 

“For  actually  nothing,”  replied  Mantalini,  “A  hundred 
guineas  down  will  buy  him ;  mane,  and  crest,  and  legs,  and  tail, 
all  of  the  demdest  beauty.  I  will  ride  him  in  the  park  before 
the  very  chariots  of  the  rejected  countesses.  The  demd  old 
dowager  will  faint  with  grief  and  rage  ;  the  other  two  will  say, 
‘  He  is  married,  he  has  made  away  with  himself,  it  is  a  demd 
thing,  it  is  all  up.’  They  will  hate  each  other  demnebly,  and 
wish  you  dead  and  buried.  Ha  I  ha  1  Demmit.” 

Madame  Mantalini’s  prudence,  if  she  had  any,  was  not  proof 
against  these  triumphal  pictures  ;  after  a  little  jingling  of  keys, 
she  observed  that  she  would  see  what  her  desk  contained,  and 
rising  for  that  purpose,  opened  the  folding-doer,  and  walked 
into  the  room  where  Kate  was  seated. 

“  Dear  me,  child !”  exclaimed  Madame  Mantalinij  recoiling 
in  surprise.  “  How  came  you  here  ?” 

“  Child  1”  cried  Mantalini,  hurrying  in.  “  IIow  came  it — 
eh  I — oh. — demmit,  how  d’ye  do  ?” 

“  I  have  been  waiting  here  some  time.  Ma’am,”  said  Kate, 


addressing  Madame  Mantalini.  “  The  man  must  have  forgotten 
to  let  you  know  that  I  was  here,  I  think.” 

“You  really  must  see  to  that  man,” said  Madame,  turning  to 
her  husband.  “  He  forgets  every  thing.” 

“  I  will  twist  his  demd  nose  off  his  countenance  for  leaving 
such  a  very  pretty  creature  all  alone  by  herself,”  said  her 
husband. 

“Mantalini,”  cried  Madame,  “you  forget  yourself.” 

“  I  don’t  forget  you,  my  soul,  and  never  shall,  and  never  can,” 
said  Mantalini,  kissing  his  wife’s  hand,  and  grimaeing,  aside,  to 
Miss  Nickleby,  who  turned  contemptuously  away. 

Appeased  by  this  compliment,  the  lady  of  the  business  took 
some  papers  from  her  desk,  which  she  handed  over  to  Mr.  Man¬ 
talini,  who  received  them  with  great  delight.  She  then  re¬ 
quested  Kate  to  follow  her,  and  after  several  feints  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Mantalini  to  attract  the  young  lady’s  attention,  they 
went  away,  leaving  that  gentleman  extended  at  full  length 
on  the  sofa,  with  his  heels  in  the  air  and  a  newspaper  in  his 
hand. 

Madame  Mantalini  led  the  way  down  a  flight  of  stairs,  and 
through  a  passage,  to  a  large  room  at  the  back  of  the  premises, 
where  were  a  number  of  young  women  employed  in  sewing,  cut¬ 
ting  out,  making  up,  altering,  and  various  other  processes  known 
only  to  those  who  are  cunning  in  the  arts  of  millinery  and  dress¬ 
making.  It  was  a  close  room  with  a  sky-light,  and  as  dull  and 
quiet  as  a  room  could  be. 

On  Madame  Mantalini  calling  aloud  for  Miss  Knag,  a  short, 
bustling,  over-dressed  female,  full  of  importance,  presented  her¬ 
self,  and  all  the  young  ladies  suspending  their  operations  for 
the  moment,  whispered  to  eaeh  other  sundry  criticisms  upon 
the  make  and  texture  of  Miss  Kickleby’s  dress,  her  complexion, 
cast  of  features,  and  personal  appearance,  with  as  much  good¬ 
breeding  as  could  have  been  displayed  by  the  very  best  society 
in  a  crowded  ball-room. 

“  Oh,  Miss  Knag,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  “this  is  the  young 
person  I  spoke  to  you  about.” 

Miss  Knag  bestowed  a  reverential  smile  upon  Madame  Man¬ 
talini,  which  she  dexterously  transformed  into  a  gracious  one 
for  Kate,  and  said  that  certainly,  although  it  was  a  great  deal 


241 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


of  trouble  to  have  young  people,  who  were  wholly  unused  to 
the  business,  still  she  was  sure  the  young  person  would  try  to 
do  her  best — impressed  with  which  conviction  she  (Miss  Knag) 
felt  an  interest  in  her  already. 

“I  think  that,  for  the  present  at  all  events,  it  will  be  better 
for  Miss  Nickleby  to  come  into  the  show-room  with  you,  and 
try  things  on  for  people,”  said  Madame  Mantalini.  “She  will 
not  be  able  for  the  present  to  be  of  much  use  in  any  other  way ; 
and  her  appearance  will — ” 

“Suit  very  well  with  mine,  Madame  Mantalini,”  interrupted 
Miss  Knag.  “So  it  will;  and  to  be  sure  I  might  have  known 
that  you  would  not  be  long  in  finding  that  out;  for  you  have 
so  much  taste  in  all  those  matters,  that  really,  as  I  often  say  to 
the  young  ladies,  I  do  not  know  how,  when,  or  where,  you  pos¬ 
sibly  could  have  acquired  all  you  know- — hem — Miss  Nickleby 
and  I  are  quite  a  pair,  Madame  Mantalini,  only  I  am  a  little 
darker  than  Miss  Nickleby,  and — hem — I  think  my  foot  may 
be  a  little  smaller.  Miss  Nickleby,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be 
offended  at  my  saying  that,  when  she  hears  that  our  family 
always  have  been  celebrated  for  small  feet  ever  since — hem — 
ever  since  our  family  had  any  feet  at  all,  indeed,  I  think.  I  had 
an  uncle  once,  Madame  Mantalini,  who  lived  in  Cheltenham, 
and  had  a  most  excellent  business  as  a  tobacconist — hem — who 
had  such  small  feet,  that  they  were  no  bigger  than  those  which 
are  usually  joined  to  wooden  legs — the  most  symmetrical  feet, 
Madame  Mantalini,  that  even  you  can  imagine.” 

“They  must  have  had  something  the  appearance  of  club  feet, 
Miss  Knag,”  said  Madame. 

“  Well  now,  that  is  so  like  you,”  returned  Miss  Knag.  “Ha  1 
hal  ha  I  Of  club  feetl  Oh  very  good  I  As  I  often  remark 
to  the  young  ladies,  ‘Well  I  must  say,  and  I  do  not  care  who 
knows  it,  of  all  the  ready  humor — hem — I  ever  heard  anywhere’ 
— and  I  have  heard  a  good  deal ;  for  when  my  dear  brother  was 
alive  (I  kept  house  for  him.  Miss  Nickleby),  we  had  to  supper 
once  a  week  two  or  three  young  men,  highly  celebrated  in  those 
days  for  their  humor,  Madame  Mantalini — ‘Of  all  the  ready 
humor,’  I  say  to  the  young  ladies,  ‘/"ever  heard,  Madame  Man- 
talini’s  is  the  most  remarkable — hem.  It  is  so  gentle,  so  sar¬ 
castic,  and  yet  so  good-natured  (as  I  was  observing  to  Miss 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


215 


Simmonds  only  this  morning),  that  how,  or  when,  or  by  what 
means  she  acquired  it,  is  to  me  a  mystery  indeed.’” 

Here  Miss  Knag  paused  to  take,  breath,  and  while  she  pauses, 
it  may  be  observed — not  that  she  was  marvelously  loquacious 
and  marvelously  deferential  to  Madame  Mantalini,  since  these 
are  facts  which  require  no  comment;  but  that  every  now  and 
then  she  was  accustomed,  in  the  torrent  of  her  discourse,  to' 
introduce  a  loud,  shrill,  clear  “hem  !”  the  import  and  meaning 
of  which  was  variously  interpreted  by  her  acquaintance ;  some 
holding  that  Miss  Knag  dealt  in  exaggeration,  and  introduced 
the  monosyllable,  when  any  fresh  invention  was  in  course  of 
coinage  in  her  brain ;  and  others,  that  when  she  wanted  a  word, 
she  threw  it  in  to  gain  time,  and  prevent  any  body  else  from 
striking  into  the  conversation.  It  may  be  further  remarked,  that 
Miss  Knag  still  aimed  at  youth,  though  she  had  shot  beyond  it 
years  ago ;  and  that  she  was  weak  and  vain,  and  one  of  those 
people  who  are  best  described  by  the  axiom,  that  you  may 
trust  them  as  far  as  you  can  see  them,  and  no  farther. 

“You’ll  take  care  that  Miss  Nickleby  understands  her  hours, 
and  so  forth,”  said  Madame  Mantalini;  “and  so  I’ll  leave  her 
with  you.  You’ll  not  forget  my  directions,  Miss  Knag?” 

Miss  Knag  of  course  replied,  that  to  forget  any  thing  Madame 
Mantalini  had  directed,  was  a  moral  impossibility;  and  that 
lady,  dispensing  a  general  good  morning  among  her  assistants, 
sailed  away. 

“Charming  creature,  isn’t  she.  Miss  Nickleby?”  said  Miss 
Knag,  rubbing  her  hands  together. 

“  I  have  seen  very  little  of  her,”  said  Kate.  “I  hardly  know 
yet.” 

“Have  you  seen  Mr.  Mantalini?”  inquired  Miss  Knag. 

“Yes;  I  have  seen  him  twice.” 

“Isn’t  he  a  charming  creature?” 

“Indeed  he  does  not  strike  me  as  being  so,  by  any  means,” 
replied  Kate. 

“No,  my  dear!”  cried  Miss  Knag,  elevating  her  hands. 
“Why,  goodness  gracious  mercy,  wdiere’s  your  taste ?  Such  a 
fine  tall,  full-whiskered,  dashing,  gentlemanly  man,  with  such 
teeth  and  hair,  and — hem — w'^ell  now,  you  do  astonish  me.  ” 

“1  dare  say  I  am  very  foolish,”  replied  Kate,  laying  aside 


246 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


lier  bonnet;  “but  as  my  opinion  is  of  very  little  importance  to 
him  or  any  one  else,  I  do  not  regret  having  formed  it,  and 
shall  be  slow  to  change  it,  I  think.” 

“He  is  a  very  fine  man,  don’t  you  think  so?”  asked  one  of 
the  young  ladies. 

“  Indeed  he  may  be,  for  any  thing  I  could  say  to  the  con¬ 
trary,”  replied  Kate. 

“And  drives  very  beautiful  horses,  doesn’t  he?”  inquired 
another. 

“  I  dare  say  he  may,  but  I  never  saw  f  hern,”  answered  Kate. 

“Never  saw  them  I”  interposed  Miss  Knag.  “Oh,  well,  there 
it  is  at  once,  you  know;  how  can  you  possibly  pronounce  an 
opinion  about  a  gentleman — hem — if  you  don’t  see  him  as  he 
turns  out  altogether  ?” 

There  was  so  much  of  the  world — even  of  the  little  world  of 
the  country  girl — in  this  idea  of  the  old  milliner,  that  Kate, 
who  was  anxious  for  every  reason  to  change  the  subject,  made 
no  further  remark,  and  left  Miss  Knag  in  possession  of  the 
field. 

After  a  short  silence,  during  which  most  of  the  young  people 
made  a  closer  inspection  of  Kate’s  appearance,  and  compared 
notes  respecting  it,  one  of  them  offered  to  help  her  olf  with  her 
shawl,  and  the  offer  being  accepted,  inquired,  whether  she  did  not 
find  black  very  uncomfortable  wear. 

“I  do  indeed,”  replied  Kate,  with  a  bitter  sigh. 

“  So  dusty  and  hot,”  observed  the  same  speaker,  adjusting 
her  dress  for  her. 

Kate  might  have  said,  that  mourning  was  the  coldest  wear 
which  mortals  can  assume  ;•  that  it  not  only  chills  the  breast  of 
those  it  clothes,  but  extending  its  influence  to  summer  friends, 
freezes  up  their  sources  of  good-will  and  kindness,  and  wither¬ 
ing  all  the  buds  of  promise  they  once  so  liberally  put  forth, 
leaves  nothing  but  bared  and  rotten  hearts  exposed.  There  are 
few  who  have  lost  a  friend  or  relative  constituting  in  life  their 
sole  dependence,  who  have  not  keenly  felt  this  chilling  influence 
of  their  sable  garb.  She  had  felt  it  acutely,  and  feeling  it  at 
the  moment,  could  not  restrain  her  tears. 

“  I  am  verv  sorry  to  have  wounded  you  by  my  thoughtless 


NICHOLAS'  NICKLEBY. 


247 


speecli,”  said  her  companion.  “  I  did  not  think  of  it.  You  are 
in  mourning  for  some  near  relation.” 

“For  my  father,”  answered  Kate,  weeping. 

“  For  what  relation.  Miss  Simmonds  ?”  asked  Miss  Knag  in 
an  audible  voice. 

.  “  Her  father,”  replied  the  other  softly. 

“  Her  father,  eh  ?”  said  Miss  Knag,  without  the  slightest 
depression  of  her  voice.  “  Ah  I  A  long  illness.  Miss  Sim- 
nionds  ?” 

“  Hush — pray,”  replied  the  girl ;  “  I  don’t  know.” 

“Our  misfortune  was  very  sudden,”  said  Kate,  turning  away, 
“  or  I  might  perhaps,  at  a  time  like  this,  be  enabled  to  support 
it  better.” 

There  had  existed  not  a  little  desire  in  the  room,  according 
to  invariable  custom  when  any  new  “young  person”  came,  to 
know  who  Kate  was,  and  what  she  was,  and  all  about  her;  but 
although  it  might  have  been  very  naturally  increased  by  her 
appearance  and  emotion,  the  knowledge  that  it  pained  her  to 
be  questioned,  was  sufficient  to  repress  even  this  curiosity,  and 
Miss  Knag,  finding  it  hopeless  to  attempt  extracting  any  further 
particulars  just  then,  reluctantly  commanded  silence,  and  bade 
the  work  proceed. 

In  silence,  then,  the  tasks  were  plied  until  half-past  one,  when 
a  baked  leg  of  mutton,  with  potatoes  to  correspond,  were 
served  in  the  kitchen.  The  meal  over,  and  the  young  ladies 
having  enjoyed  the  additional  relaxation  of  washing  their  hands, 
the  work  began  again,  and  was  again  performed  in  silence,  until 
the  noise  of  carriages  rattling  through  the  streets,  and  of  loud 
double  knocks  at  doors,  gave  token  that  the  day’s  work  of  the 
more  fortunate  members  of  society  was  proceeding  in  its  turn. 

One  of  these  double  knocks  at  Madame  Mantalini’s  door 
announced  the  equipage  of  some  great  lady — or  rather  rich 
one,  for  there  is  occasionally  a  wide  distinction  between  riches 
and  greatness — who  had  come  with  her  daughter  to  approve  of 
some  court-dresses  which  had  been  a  long  time  preparing,  and 
upon  whom  Kate  was  deputed  to  wait — accompanied  by  Miss 
Knag,  and  officered  of  course  by  Madame  iMantalini. 

Kate’s  part  in  the  pageant  was  humble  enough,  her  duties 
being  limited  to  holding  articles  of  costume  until  Miss  Knag 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


‘2iS 

was  ready  to  try  them  on,  and  now  and  then  tying  a  string  or 
fastening  a  hook-and-eye.  She  might,  not  unreasonably,  have 
supposed  herself  beneath  the  reach  of  any  arrogance,  or  bad 
humor;  but  it  happened  that  the  rich  lady  and  the  rich 
daughter  were  both  out  of  temper  that  day,  and  the  poor  girl 
came  in  for  her  share  of  their  revilings.  She  was  awkward — her 
hands  were  cold — dirty — coarse — she  could  do  nothing  right ; 
they  wondered  how  Madame  Mantalini  could  have  such  people 
about  her  ;  requested  they  might  see  some  other  70ung  woman 
the  next  time  they  came,  and  so  forth. 

So  common  an  occurrence  would  be  hardly  deserving  of 
mention,  but  for  its  effect.  Kate  shed  many  bitter  tears  when 
these  people  were  gone,  and  felt,  for  the  first  time,  humbled  by 
her  occupation.  She  had,  it  is  true,  quailed  at  the  prospect  of 
drudgery  and  hard  service ;  but  she  had  felt  no  degradation  in 
working  for  her  bread,  until  she  found  herself  exposed  to  inso¬ 
lence  and  the  coarsest  pride.  Philosophy  would  have  taught 
her  that  the  degradation  was  on  the  side  of  those  who  had  sunk 
so  low  as  to  display  such  passions  habitually,  and  without  cause ; 
but  she  was  too  young  for  such  consolation,  and  her  honest 
feeling  was  hurt.  May  not  the  complaint,  that  common  people 
are  above  their  station,  often  take  its  rise  in  the  fact  of  wncom- 
mon  people  being  below  theirs  ? 

In  such  scenes  and  occupations  the  time  wore  on  until  nine 
o’clock,  when  Kate,  jaded  and  dispirited  with  the  occurrences 
of  the  day,  hastened  from  the  confinement  of  the  work-room, 
to  join  her  mother  at  the  street  corner,  and  walk  home  : — the 
more  sadly,  from  having  to  disguise  her  real  feelings,  and  feign 
to  participate  in  all  the  sanguine  visions  of  her  companion. 

“  Bless  my  soul,  Kate,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “  I’ve  been 
thinking  all  day,  what  a  delightful  thing  it  would  be  for  Madame 
Mantalini  to  take  you  into  partnership — such  a  likely  thing  too, 
you  know.  Why  your  poor  dear  papa’s  cousin’s  sister-in-law — 
a  Miss  Browndock — was  taken  into  partnership  by  a  lady  that 
kept  a  school  at  Hammersmith,  and  made  her  fortune  in  no 
time  at  all ;  I  forget,  by  the  by,  whether  that  Miss  Browndock 
was  the  same  lady  that  got  the  ten  thousand  pounds  prize  in  the 
lottery,  but  I  think  she  was ;  indeed,  now  I  come  to  thiidv  of  it, 
1  am  sure  she  was.  ‘Mantalini  and  Nickleby,’' how  well  it 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


249 


would  sound  I — and  if  Nicholas  has  any  good  fortune,  you 
might  have  Doctor  Nickleby,  the  head-master  of  Westminster 
School,  living  in  the  same  street.” 

“  Dear  Nicholas  I”  cried  Kate,  taking  from  her  reticule  her 
brother’s  letter  from  Dotheboys  Hall.  “In  all  our  misfortunes, 
how  happy  it  makes  me,  mamma,  to  hear  he  is  doing  well,  and 
to  find  him  writing  in  such  good  spirits !  It  consoles  me  for  all 
we  may  undergo,  to  think  that  he  is  comfortable  and  happy.” 

Poor  Kate  I  she  little  thought  how  weak  her  consoiadon 
was,  and  how  soon  she  would  be  undeceived. 


CEAPTER  XYIII. 


MISS  KNAG,  AFTER  DOTING  ON  KA.TE  NICKLEBY  FOR  THREE 
WHOLE  DAYS,  MAKES  UP  HER  MIND  TO  HATE  HER  FOR  EVER¬ 
MORE.  THE  CAUSES  WHICH  LEAD  MISS  KNAG  TO  FORM  THIS 
RESOLUTION. 

There  are  many  lives  of  much  pain,  hardship,  and  suffering, 
which,  having  no  stirring  interest  for  any  but  those  who  lead 
them,  are  disregarded  by  persons  who  do  not  want  thought  or 
feeling,  but  who  pamper  their  compassion  and  need  high  stimu¬ 
lants  to  rouse  it. 

There  are  not  a  few  among  the  disciples  of  charity,  who 
require  in  their  vocation  scarcely  less  excitement  than  the  vota¬ 
ries  of  pleasure  in  theirs  ;  and  hence  it  is  that  diseased  sympa¬ 
thy  and  compassion  are  every  day  expended  on  out-of-the- 
way  objects,  when  only  too  many  demands  upon  the  legitimate 
exercise  of  the  same  virtues  in  a  healthy  state,  are  constantly 
within  the  sight  and  hearing  of  the  most  unobservant  person 
alive.  In  short,  charity  must  have  its  romance,  as  the  novelist 
or  playwright  must  have  his.  A  thief  in  fustian  is  a  vulgar 
character,  scarcely  to  be  thought  of  by  persons  of  refinement; 
but  dress  him  in  green  velvet,  with  a  high-crowned  hat,  and 
change  the  scene  of  his  operations  from  a  thickly- peopled  city 
to  a  mountain  road,  and  you  shall  find  in  him  the  very  soul  of 
poetry  and  adventure.  So  it  is  with  the  one  great  cardinal 
virtue,  which,  properly  nourished  and  exercised,  leads  to,  if  it 
does  not  necessarily  include,  all  the  others.  It  must  have  its 
romance ;  and  the  less  of  real  hard  struggling  work-a-day  life 
there  is  in  that  romance,  the  better. 

The  life  to  which  poor  Kate  Nickleby  was  devoted,  in  conse¬ 
quence  of  the  unforeseen  train  of  circumstances  already  devel¬ 
oped  in  this  narrative,  was  a  hard  one  ;  but  lest  the  very  dullness, 
unhealthy  confinement,  and  bodily  fatigue,  which  made  up  its 
sum  and  substance,  should  deprive  it  of  any  interest  with  the 
(250) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


251 


mass  of  the  charitable  and  sympathetic,  I  would  rather  keep 
Miss  Nicklcby  herself  in  view  just  how,  than  chill  them  in  the 
outset  by  a  minute  and  lengthened  description  of  the  establish¬ 
ment  presided  over  by  Madame  Mantalini. 

“Well,  now,  indeed,  Madame  Mantalini,”  said  Miss  Knag, 
as  Kate  was  taking  her  weary  way  homewards  on  the  first  night 
of  her  novitiate;  “that  Miss  Nicklcby  is  a  very  creditable 
young  person — a  very  creditable  young  person  indeed — hem — ^ 
upon  my  word,  Madame  Mantalini,  it  does  very  extraordinary 
credit  even  to  your  discrimination  that  you  should  have  found 
such  a  very  excellent,  very  well-behaved,  very — hem — very  unas¬ 
suming  young  woman  to  assist  in  the  fitting  on.  I  have  seen 
some  young  women,  when  they  had  the  opportunity  of  display¬ 
ing  before  their  betters,  behave  in  such  a — oh,  dear — well — ^ 
but  you’re  always  right,  Madame  Mantalini,  always ;  and,  as  1 
very  often  tell  the  young  ladies,  how  you  do  contrive  to  be 
always  right,  when  so  many  people  are  so  often  wrong,  is  to 
me  a  mystery  indeed.” 

“  Beyond  putting  a  very  excellent  client  out  of  humor,  Miss 
Nickleby  has  not  done  any  thing  very  remarkable  to-day — that 
I  am  aware  of,  at  least,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  in  reply. 

“  Oh,  dear  1”  said  Miss  Knag  ;  “  but  you  must  allow  a  great 
deal  for  inexperience,  you  know.” 

“  And  youth  ?”  inquired  Madame. 

“Oh,  I  say  nothing  about  that,  Madame  Mantalini,”  replied 
M  iss  Knag,  reddening  ;  “  because  if  youth  were  any  excuse,  you 
wouldn’t  have — ” 

“  Quite  so  good  a  forewoman  as  I  have,  I  suppose,”  sug¬ 
gested  Madame. 

“  Well,  I  never  did  know  any  body  like  you,  Madame  Man¬ 
talini,”  rejoined  Miss  Knag,  most  complaisantly,  “and  that’s 
die  fact,  for  you  know  what  one’s  going  to  say,  before  it  has 
time  to  rise  to  one’s  lips.  Oh,  very  good  I  Ila,  ha,  ha!” 

“  For  myself,”  observed  Madame  Mantalini,  glancing  with 
alfected  carelessness  at  her  assistant,  and  laughing  heartily  in 
lier  sleeve,  “  1  consider  Miss  Nickleby  the  most  awkward  girl 
I  ever  saw  in  my  life.” 

“Boor  dear  thing,”  said  Miss  Knag,  “it’s  not  her  fault.  If 
it  was,  we  might  hope  to  cure  it ;  but  as  it’s  her  misfortune, 


252 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Madame  Mantalini,  why,  really,  you  know,  as  the  man  said 
about  the  blind  horse,  we  ought  to  respect  it.” 

“  Her  uncle  told  me  she  had  been  considered  pret+y,”  re¬ 
marked  Madame  Mantalini.  “  I  think  her  one  of  the  most 
ordinary  girls  I  ever  met  with.” 

"  Ordinary  I”  cried  Miss  Knag,  with  a  countenance  beaming 
delight;  “and  awkward  I  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  Madama 
Mantalini,  that  I  quite  love  the  poor  girl ;  and  that  if  she  was 
twice  as  indifferent-looking,  and  twice  as  awkward  as  she  is,  I 
should  only  be  so  much  the  more  her  friend,  and  that’s  the 
truth  of  it.” 

In  fact.  Miss  Knag  had  conceived  an  incipient  affection  for 
Kate  Nickleby,  after  witnessing  her  failure  that  morning,  and 
this  short  conversation  with  her  superior  increased  the  favorable 
prepossession  to  a  most  surprising  extent ;  which  was  the  more 
remarkable,  as  when  she  first  scanned  that  young  lady’s  face  and 
figure,  she  had  entertained  certain  inward  misgivings  that  they 
would  never  agree. 

“  But  now,”  said  Miss  Knag,  glancing  at  the  reflection  of 
herself  in  a  mirror,  at  no  great  distance,  “  I  love  her — I  quite 
love  her — I  declare  I  do.” 

Of  such  a  highly  disinterested  quality  was  this  devoted  friend¬ 
ship,  and  so  superior  was  it  to  the  little  weaknesses  of  flattery  or 
ill-nature,  that  the  kind-hearted  Miss  Knag  candidly  informed 
Kate  Nickleby,  next  day,  that  she  saw  she  would  never  do  for 
the  business,  but  that  she  need  not  give  herself  the  slightest 
uneasiness  on  this  account,  for  that  she  (Miss  Knag)  by  increased 
exertions  on  her  own  part,  would  keep  her  as  much  as  possible 
in  the  back-ground,  and  that  all  she  would  have  to  do  would  be 
to  remain  perfectly  quiet  before  company,  and  to  shrink  from 
attracting  notice  by  every  means  in  her  power.  This  last  sug¬ 
gestion  was  so  much  in  accordance  with  the  timid  girl’s  own 
feelings  and  wishes,  that  she  readily  promised  implicit  reliance 
on  the  excellent  spinster’s  advice ;  without  questioning,  or 
indeed  bestowing  a  moment’s  reflection  upon  the  motives  tha  j 
dictated  it. 

“  I  take  quite  a  lively  interest  in  you,  my  dear  soul,  upon  my 
word,”  said  Miss  Knag;  “a  sister’s  interest,  actually  It’s 
the  most  singular  circumstance  I  ever  knew.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


253 


Undoubtedly  it  was  singular,  that  if  Miss  Knag  did  feel  a 
strong  interest  in  Kate  Nickleby,  it  should  not  rather  have  been 
the  interest  of  a  maiden  aunt  or  grandmother,  that  being  the 
conclusion  to  which  the  difference  in  their  respective  ages  would 
have  naturally  tended.  But  Miss  Knag  wore  clothes  of  a  very 
youthful  pattern,  and  perhaps  her  feelings  took  the  same  shape. 

“  Bless  you  1”  said  Miss  Knag,  bestowing  a  kiss  upon  Kate, 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  second  day’s  work,  “  how  very  awkward 
you  have  been  all  day  I” 

“  I  fear  your  kind  and  open  communication,  which  has  ren¬ 
dered  me  more  painfully  conscious  of  my  own  defects,  has  not 
improved  me,”  sighed  Kate. 

“  No,  no,  I  dare  say  not,”  rejoined  Miss  Knag,  in  a  most 
uncommon  flow  of  good  humor.  “  But  how  much  better  that 
you  should  know  it  at  first,  and  so  be  able  to  go  on  straight  and 
comfortable  !  Which  way  are  you  walking,  my  love  V 

“  Towards  the  city,”  replied  Kate. 

“  The  city  1”  cried  Miss  Knag,  regarding  herself  with  great 
favor  in  the  glass  as  she  tied  her  bonnet.  “  Goodness  gracious 
me  !  now  do  you  really  live  in  the  city  ?” 

“  Is  it  so  very  unusual  for  any  body  to  live  there  ?”  asked 
Kate,  half  smiling. 

“  I  couldn’t  have  believed  it  possible  that  any  young  woman 
could  have  lived  there  under  any  circumstances  whatever,  for 
three  days  together,”  replied  Miss  Knag. 

“  Reduced — I  should  say,  poor  people,”  answered  Kate,  cor¬ 
recting  herself  hastily,  for  she  was  afraid  of  appearing  proud, 
“  must  live  where  they  can.” 

“  Ah  1  very  true,  so  they  must;  very  proper  indeed!” 
rejoined  Miss  Knag  with  that  sort  of  half  sigh,  which,  accom- 
])anied  by  two  or  three  slight  nods  of  the  head,  is  pity’s  small 
change  in  general  society ;  “  and  that’s  what  I  very  often  tell 
my  brother,  when  our  servants  go  away  ill  one  after  another, 
and  he  thinks  the  back  kitchen’s  rather  too  damp  for  ’em  to 
sleep  in.  These  sort  of  people,  I  tell  him,  are  glad  to  sleep 
any  where  !  Heaven  suits  the  back  to  the  burden.  What  a 
nice  thing  it  is  to  think  that  it  should  be  so,  isn’t  it  ?” 

“  Very,”  replied  Kate,  turning  away. 

”  I’ll  walk  with  you  part  of  the  way,  my  dear,”  said  Miss 


254 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Knag,  “  for  you  must  go  very  near  our  house  ;  and  as  it’s  quito 
dark,  and  our  last  servant  went  to  the  hospital  a  week  ago, 
with  Saint  Anthony’s  fire  in  her  face,  I  shall  be  glad  of  your 
company.” 

Kate  would  willingly  have  excused  herself  from  this  flattering 
companionship,  but  Miss  Knag,  having  adjusted  her  bonnet  to 
her  entire  satisfaction,  took  her  arm  with  an  air  which  plainly 
showed  how  much  she  felt  the  compliment  she  was  conferring, 
and  they  were  in  the  street  before  she  could  say  another  word. 

“  I  fear,”  said  Kate,  hesitating,  “  that  mamma,  my  mother, 
1  mean — is  w'aiting  for  me.” 

“  You  needn’t  make  the  least  apology,  my  dear,”  said  Miss 
Knag,  smiling  sweetly  as  she  spoke ;  “  I  dare  say  she  is  a  very 
respectable  old  person,  and  I  shall  be  quite — hem  —  quite 
pleased  to  know  her.” 

As  poor  Mrs.  Nickleby  w'as  cooling — not  her  heels  alone,  but 
her  limbs  generally  at  the  street  corner,  Kate  had  no  alternative 
but  to  make  her  known  to  Miss  Knag,  who,  doing  the  last  new 
carriage  customer  at  second-hand,  acknowledged  the  introduc¬ 
tion  with  condescending  politeness.  The  three  then  walked 
aw'ay  arm  in  arm,  with  Miss  Knag  in  the  middle,  in  a  special 
state  of  amiability. 

“  I  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  your  daughter,  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
you  can’t  think,”  said  Miss  Knag,  after  she  had  proceeded  a 
little  distance  in  dignified  silence. 

“I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “though 
it  is  nothing  new  to  me,  that  even  strangers  should  like  Kate.” 

“  Ilem  !”  cried  Miss  Kna^. 

O 

“  You  will  like  her  better  when  you  know  how  good  she  is,” 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  It  is  a  great  blessing  to  me  in  my  mis¬ 
fortunes  to  have  a  child  who  knows  neither  pride  nor  vanity,  and 
whose  bringing-up  might  very  well  have  excused  a  little  of  both 
at  first.  You  don’t  know  what  it  is  to  lose  a  husband.  Miss 
Knag.” 

As  Miss  Knag  had  never  yet  known  what  it  was  to  gain  one, 
it  followed  very  nearly  as  a  matter  of  course  that  she  didn’t 
know  what  it  was  to  lose  one,  so  she  said  in  some  haste,  “  No, 
indeed,  I  don’t,”  and  said  it  with  an  air  intended  to  signify  that 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


255 


slie  should  like  to  catch  herself  marrying  any  body — no,  no,  she 
knew  better  than  that. 

“  Kate  has  improved  even  in  this  little  time,  I  have  no 
doubt,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  glancing  proudly  at  her  daughter. 

“  Oh  1  of  course,”  said  Miss  Knag. 

“And  will  improve  stid  more,”  added  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“That  she  will,  I’ll  be  bound,”  rei)lied  Miss  Knag,  squeezing 
Kate’s  arm  in  her  own,  to  point  the  joke. 

“  Slie  always  was  clever,”  said  poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  bright¬ 
ening  up,  “  always,  from  a  baby.  I  recollect  when  she  was 
only  two  years  and  a  half  old,  that  a  gentleman  who  used  to 
visit  very  much  at  our  house — Mr.  Watkins,  you  know,  Kate, 
mj  dear,  tliat  your  ])oor  papa  went  bail  for,  who  afterwards  ran 
away  to  the  United  States,  and  sent  us  a  pair  of  snow  shoes, 
with  such  an  affectionate  letter  that  it  made  your  poor  dear 
father  cry  for  a  week.  You  remember  the  letter,  in  wdiich  be 
said  that  he  was  very  sorry  he  couldn’t  repay  the  fifty  pounds 
just  then,  because  his  capital  was  all  out  at  interest,  and  he  was 
very  busy  making  his  fortune,  but  that  he  didn’t  forget  you 
were  his  god-daughter,  and  he  should  take  it  very  unkind  if  we 
didn’t  buy  you  a  silver  coral  and  put  it  down  to  his  old 
account — dear  me,  yes,  my  dear,  how  stupid  you  are  1  aud 
Bimke  so  affectionately  of  the  old  port  wine  that  he  used  to 
drink  a  bottle  and  a  half  of  every  time  he  came.  You  must 
remember,  Kate  ?” 

“  Yes,  yes,  mamma;  what  of  him  ?” 

“Why,  that  Mr.  Watkins,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby 
slowly,  as  if  she  were  making  a  tremendous  effort  to  recollect 
something  of  paramount  importance  ;  “  that  Mr.  Watkins — he 
wasn’t  any  relation,  Miss  Knag  w'ill  understand,  to  the  Watkins 
who  kept  the  Old  Boar  in  the  village  ;  by  the  by,  I  don’t  re¬ 
member  whether  it  was  the  Old  Boar  or  the  George  the  Fourth, 
but  it  w'as  one  of  the  two,  I  know,  and  it’s  much  the  same — that 
Mr.  Watkins  said,  when  you  were  oidy  two  years  and  a  half 
old,  that  you  were  one  of  the  most  astonishing  children  he  ever 
saw.  He  did  indeed.  Miss  Knag,  and  he  wasn’t  at  all  fond  of 
children,  and  couldn’t  have  had  the  slightest  motive  for  doing  it. 
I  know  it  was  he  who  said  so.  because  I  recollect,  as  well  as  if 


256 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


it  was  only  yesterday,  his  borrowing  twenty  pounds  of  her  poor 
dear  papa  the  very  moment  afterwards.” 

Having  quoted  this  extraordinary  and  most  disinterested  tes¬ 
timony  to  her  daughter’s  excellence,  Mrs.  Nickleby  stopped  to 
breathe  ;  and  Miss  Knag,  finding  that  the  discourse  was  turning 
upon  family  greatness,  lost  no  time  in  striking  in  with  a  small 
reminiscence  on  her  own  account. 

“  Don’t  talk  of  lending  money,  Mrs.  Nickleby,”  said  Miss 
Knag,  “  or  you’ll  drive  me  crazy,  perfectly  crazy.  My  mamma 
• — hem — was  the  most  lovely  and  beautiful  creature,  with  the 
most  striking  and  exquisite — hem — the  most  exquisite  nose  that 
ever  was  put  upon  a  human  face,  I  do  believe,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
(here  Miss  Knag  rubbed  her  own  nose  sympathetically)  ;  the 
most  delightful  and  accomplished  woman,  perhaps,  that  ever 
was  seen  •,  but  she  had  that  one  failing  of  lending  money,  and 
carried  it  to  such  an  extent  that  she  lent — hem — oh  1  thou¬ 
sands  of  pounds,  all  our  little  fortunes,  and  what’s  more,  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  I  don’t  think,  if  we  were  to  live  till — till — hem — till 
the  very  end  of  time,  that  we  should  ever  get  them  back  again. 
I  don’t  indeed.” 

After  concluding  this  effort  of  invention  without  being  inter¬ 
rupted,  Miss  Knag  fell  into  many  more  recollections,  no  less 
interesting  than  true,  the  full  tide  of  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  in 
vain  attempting  to  stem,  at  length  sailed  smoothly  down,  by 
adding  an  under-current  of  her  own  recollections ;  and  so  both 
ladies  went  on  talking  together  in  perfect  contentment ;  the  only 
difference  between  them  being,  that  whereas  Miss  Knag  ad¬ 
dressed  herself  to  Kate,  and  talked  very  loud,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
kept  on  in  one  unbroken  monotonous  flow,  perfectly  satisfied 
to  be  talking,  and  caring  very  little  whether  '^uy  body  listened 
or  not. 

In  this  m.anner  they  walked  on  very  amicably  until  they 
arrived  at  Miss  Knag’s  brother’s,  who  was  an  ornamental 
stationer  and  small  circulating  library  keeper,  in  a  by-street  oft' 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  who  let  out  by  the  day,  week, 
month,  or  year,  the  newest  old  novels,  whereof  the  titles  were 
displayed  in  pen-and-ink  characters  on  a  sheet  of  pasteboard, 
swinging  at  his  door-post.  As  Miss  Knag  happened  at  the 
moment  to  be  in  the  middle  of  an  account  of  her  twenty- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


257 


second  offer  from  a  gentleman  of  large  property,  she  insisted 
upon  their  all  going  in  to  supper  together  ;  and  in  they  went. 

“  Don’t  go  away,  Mortimer,”  said  Miss  Knag,  as  they  entered 
the  shop.  “  It’s  only  one  of  our  young  ladies  and  her  mother. 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Nickleby.” 

“  Oh,  indeed  !”  said  Mr.  Mortimer  Knag.  “Ah!” 

Having  given  utterance  to  these  ejaculations  with  a  very 
profound  and  thoughtful  air,  Mr.  Knag  slowly  snuffed  two 
kitchen  candles  on  the  counter  and  two  more  in  the  window,  and 
then  snuffed  himself  from  a  box  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

There  was  something  very  impressive  in  the  ghostly  air  with 
which  all  this  was  done,  and  as  Mr.  Knag  was  a  tall  lank  gen¬ 
tleman  of  solemn  features,  wearing  spectacles,  and  garnished 
with  much  less  hair  than  a  gentleman  bordering  on  forty  or 
thereabouts  usually  boasts,  Mrs.  Nickleby  whispered  her  daugh¬ 
ter  that  she  thought  he  must  be  literary. 

“Past  ten,”  said  Mr.  Knag,  consulting  his  watch.  “Thomas, 
close  the  warehouse.” 

Thomas  was  a  boy  nearly  half  as  tall  as  a  shutter,  and  the 
warehouse  was  a  shop  about  the  size  of  three  hackney  coaches. 

“  Ah  I”  said  Mr.  Knag  once  more,  heaving  a  deep  sigh  as  he 
restored  to  its  parent -shelf  the  book  he  had  been  reading 
“  Well — yes — I  believe  supper  is  ready,  sister.” 

With  another  sigh  Mr.  Knag  took  up  the  kitchen  candles 
from  the  counter,  and  preceded  the  ladies  with  mournful  steps 
to  a  back  parlor,  where  a  char-woman,  employed  in  the  absence 
of  the  sick  servant,  and  remunerated  with  certain  eighteeu- 
pences  to  be  deducted  from  her  wages  due,  was  putting  the 
supper  out. 

“Mrs.  Blockson,”  said  Miss  Knag,  reproachfully,  “how  veiy 
often  1  have  begged  you  not  to  come  into  the  room  with  your 
bonnet  on.” 

“  1  can’t  help  it.  Miss  Knag,”  said  the  char-woman,  bridling 
up  on  the  shortest  notice.  “  There’s  been  a  deal  o’  cleaning 
to  do  in  this  house,  and  if  you  don’t  like  it,  I  must  trouble  you 
to  look  out  for  somebody  else,  for  it  don’t  hardly  pay  me,  and 
that’s  the  truth,  if  I  was  to  be  bung  this  minute.” 

“I  don’i  want  any  remarks,  if  ycu  please,”  said  Miss  Knag, 

n 


268 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  personal  pronom\.  “  Is  there  any 
(ire  down  stairs  for  some  hot  water  presently  ?” 

“  No,  there  is  not,  indeed.  Miss  Knag,”  replied  the  substitutej 
‘‘and  so  I  won’t  tell  you  no  stories  about  it.” 

“  Then  why  isn’t  there  ?”  said  Miss  Knag. 

"Because  thei’e  ain’t  no  coals  left  out,  and  if  I  could  make 
coals  I  would,  but  as  I  can’t  I  won’t,  and  so  I  make  bold  to  tell 
you,  Mem,”  replied  Mrs.  Blockson. 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue — female  ?”  said  Mr.  Mortimer 
Knag,  plunging  violently  into  this  dialogue. 

"  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Knag,”  retorted  the  char-woman,  turn¬ 
ing  sharp  round,  "  I’m  only  too  glad  not  to  speak  in  this 
house,  excepting  when  and  where  I’m  spoke  to,  Sir ;  and  with 
regard  to  being  a  female,  Sir,  I  should  wish  to  know  what  you 
considered  yourself  ?” 

"A  miserable  wretch,”  exclaimed  Mr.  Knag,  striking  his  fore¬ 
head.  “  A  miserable  wretch.” 

"  I’m  very  glad  to  find  that  you  don’t  call  yourself  out  of 
your  name.  Sir,”  said  Mrs.  Blockson  ;  "  and  as  I  had  two  twin 
children  the  day  before  yesterday  was  only  seven  weeks,  and 
my  little  Charley  fell  down  a  airy  and  put  his  elber  out  last 
Monday,  I  shall  take  it  as  a  favior  if  you’ll  send  nine  shillings 
for  one  week’s  work  to  my  house,  afore  the  clock  strikes  ten  to¬ 
morrow.” 

With  these  parting  words,  the  good  woman  quitted  the  room 
with  great  ease  of  manner,  leaving  the  door  wide  open,  while 
Mr.  Knag,  at  the  same  moment,  flung  himself  into  the  “ware¬ 
house,”  and  groaned  aloud. 

“What  is  the  matter  with  that  gentleman,  pray?”  inquired 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  greatly  disturbed  by  the  sound. 

“  Is  he  ill  ?”  inquired  Kate,  really  alarmed. 

“  Hush  !”  replied  Miss  Knag  ;  “  a  most  melancholy  history, 
lie  was  once  most  devotedly  attached  to — hem — to  Madame 
Mantalini.” 

“Bless  me!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“Yes,”  continued  Miss  Knag,  “and  received  great  encourage¬ 
ment  too,  and  confidently  hoped  to  marry  her.  He  has  a  most 
romantic  heart,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  as  indeed — hem — as  indeed  all 
our  family  have,  and  the  disappointment  was  a  dreadful  blow. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


2.5(? 

lie  is  a  wonderfully  accomplished  man — most  extraordiniirily 
accomplished — reads — hem — reads  every  novel  that  comes  out 
I  mean  every  novel  that — hem — that  has  any  fashion  in  it,  of 
course.  The  fact  is,  that  he  did  find  so  much  in  the  books  he 
read  applicable  to  his  own  misfortunes,  and  did  find  himself  iii 
every  respect  so  much  like  the  heroes — because  of  course  he  is 
conscious  of  his  own  superiority,  as  we  ail  are,  and  very  natu¬ 
rally — that  he  took  to  scorning  every  thing,  and  became  a 
genius ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  is  at  this  very  present  mo¬ 
ment  writing  another  book.” 

“  Another  book  I”  repeated  Kate,  finding  that  a  pause  was 
left  for  somebody  to  say  something. 

“  Yes,”  said  Miss  Knag,  nodding  in  great  triumph;  “another 
book,  in  three  volumes  post  octavo.  Of  course  it’s  a  great  ad¬ 
vantage  to  him  in  all  his  little  fashionable  descriptions  to  have 
the  benefit  of  my — hem — of  my  experience,  because  of  course 
few  authors  who  write  about  such  things  can  have  such  oppor¬ 
tunities  of  knowing  them  as  I  have.  He’s  so  wrapped  up  in 
high  life,  that  the  least  allusion  to  business  or  worldly  matters — 
like  that  woman  just  now,  for  instance — quite  distracts  him  ;  but, 
as  I  often  say,  I  think  his  disappointment  a  great  thing  for  him, 
because  if  he  hadn’t  been  disappointed  he  couldn’t  have  written 
about  blighted  hopes  and  all  that ;  and  the  fact  is,  if  it  hadn’l 
ha|)pened  as  it  has,  I  don’t  believe  his  genius  would  ever  have 
come  out  at  all.” 

How  much  more  communicative  Miss  Knag  might  have  be¬ 
come  under  more  favorable  circumstances  it  is  impossible  to 
divine,  but  as  the  gloomy  one  was  within  ear-shot  and  the  fire 
wanted  making  up,  her  disclosures  stopped  here.  To  judge 
from  all  appearances,  and  the  difficulty  of  making  the  water 
warm,  the  last  sei'vant  could  not  have  been  much  accustomed  to 
any  other  fire  than  St.  Anthony’s ;  but  a  little  brandy  and 
water  was  made  at  last,  and  the  guests,  having  been  previously 
regaled  with  cold  leg  of  mutton  and  bread  and  cheese,  soon 
afterwards  took  leave  ;  Kate  amusing  herself  all  the  way  home 
with  the  recollection  of  her  last  glimpse  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Knag 
deeply  abstracted  in  the  shop,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  by  debating 
within  herself  whether  the  dress-making  firm  would  ultimately 


260 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


become  “Mantalini,  Knag,  and  Nickleby,”  or  "Mantalini, 
Kickleby,  and  Knag.” 

At  this  high  point,  Miss  Knag’s  friendship  remained  for  three 
whole  days,  much  to  the  wonderment  of  Madame  Mantalini’s 
young  ladies,  who  had  never  beheld  such  constancy  in  that 
quarter  before,  but  on  the  fourth  it  received  a  check  no  less 
violent  than  sudden,  which  thus  occurred. 

It  happened  that  an  old  lord  of  great  family,  who  was  going 
to  marry  a  young  lady  of  no  family  in  particular,  came  with  the 
young  lady,  and  the  young  lady’s  sister,  to  witness  the  ceremony 
of  trying  on  two  nuptial  bonnets  which  had  been  ordered  the 
day  before ;  and  Madame  Mantalini  announcing  the  fact  in  a 
shrill  treble  through  the  speaking-pipe,  which  communicated 
with  the  work-room.  Miss  Knag  darted  hastily  up  stairs  with  a 
bonnet  in  each  hand,  and  presented  herself  in  the  show-room  in 
a  charming  state  of  palpitation,  intended  to  demonstrate  her 
enthusiasm  in  the  cause.  The  bonnets  were  no  sooner  fairly  on, 
than  Miss  Knag  and  Madame  Mantalini  fell  into  convulsions 
of  admiration. 

“A  most  elegant  appearance,”  said  Madame  Mantalini. 

“I  never  saw  any  thing  so  exquisite  in  all  my  life,”  said  Miss 
Knag. 

Now  the  old  lord,  who  was  a  very  old  lord,  said  nothing,  but 
mumbled  and  chuckled  in  a  state  of  great  delight,  no  less  with 
the  nuptial  bonnets  and  their  wearers,  than  with  his  own  address 
in  getting  such  a  fine  woman  for  his  wife ;  and  the  young  lady, 
w^ho  was  a  very  lively  young  lady,  seeing  the  old  lord  in  this 
rapturous  condition,  chased  the  old  lord  behind  a  cheval-glass, 
and  then  and  there  kissed  him,  w'hile  Madame  Mantalini  and  the 
other  young  lady  looked  discreetly  another  way. 

But  pending  the  salutation.  Miss  Knag,  who  was  tinged  with 
curiosity,  stepped  accidentally  behind  the  glass,  and  encountered 
the  lively  young  lady’s  eye  just  at  the  very  moment  when  she 
kissed  the  old  lord ;  upon  which  the  young  lady  in  a  pouting 
manner  murmured  something  about  “an  old  thing,”  and  “great 
impertinence,”  and  finished  by  darting  a  look  of  displeasure  at 
Miss  Knag  and  smiling  contemptuously. 

“Madame  Mantalini,”  said  the  young  lady. 

“Ma’am,”  said  Madame  Mantalini. 


“I  AM  AFRAID  YOU  UAYF,  BEEN  GIVING  HER  SOME  OF  YOUR  WICKED  LOOKS,  MY  LORD,"  SAID  THE  INTENDED. 


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NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


2Gi 


“  Pray  have  up  that  pretty  young  creature  we  saw  yes¬ 
terday.” 

“  Oh  yes,  do,”  said  the  sister. 

“  Of  all  things  in  the  world,  Madame  Mantalini,”  said  the 
lord’s  intended,  throwing  herself  languidly  on  a  sofa,  “  I  hate 
being  waited  upon  by  frights  or  elderly  persons.  Let  me  always 
see  that  young  creature.  I  beg,  whenever  I  come.” 

“By  all  means,”  said  the  old  lord;  “the  lovely  young  crea¬ 
ture,  by  all  means.” 

“Every  body  is  talking  about  her,”  said  the  young  lady,  in 
the  same  careless  manner  ;  “  and  my  lord,  being  a  great  admirer 
of  beauty,  must  positively  see  her.  ” 

“  She  is  universally  admired,”  replied  Madame  Mantalini. 
“Miss  Knag,  send  up  Miss  Nickleby.  You  needn’t  return.” 

“  I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame  Mantalini,  what  did  you  say 
last  ?”  asked  Miss  Knag,  trembling. 

“You  needn’t  return,”  repeated  the  superior  sharply.  Miss 
Knag  vanished  without  another  word,  and  in  all  reasonable  time 
was  replaced  by  Kate,  who  took  off  the  new  bonnets  and  put  on 
the  old  ones  :  blushing  very  much  to  find  that  the  old  lord  and 
the  two  young  ladies  were  staring  her  out  of  countenance  all 
the  time. 

“  Why,  how  you  color,  child  I”  said  the  lord’s  chosen  bride. 

“  She  is  not  quite  so  accustomed  to  her  business  as  she  will 
be  in  a  week  or  two,”  interposed  Madame  Mantalini,  with  a 
gracious  smile. 

“  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  giving  her  some  of  your  wicked 
looks,  my  lord,”  said  the  intended. 

“No,  no,  no,”  replied  the  old  lord,  “no,  no,  I’m  going  to  be 
married  and  lead  a  new  life.  Ha,  ha,  ha  1  a  new  life,  a  new 
life  !  ha,  ha,  ha  1” 

It  was  a  satisfactory  thing  to  hear  that  the  old  gentleman 
was  going  to  lead  a  new  life,  for  it  was  pretty  evident  that  his 
old  one  would  not  last  him  much  longer.  The  mere  exertion 
of  ])rotiacted  chuckling  reduced  him  to  a  fearful  ebb  of  cough¬ 
ing  and  gasping,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  he  could  find 
breath  to  remark  that  the  girl  was  too  pretty  for  a  milliner. 

“  I  hope  you  don’t  think  good  looks  a  disqualification  for  tbe 
business,  my  lord,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  simpering. 


262 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Not  by  any  means,”  replied  the  old  lord,  “or  you  would 
have  left  it  long  ago.” 

“You  naughty  creature  1”  said  the  lively  lady,  poking  the 
peer  with  her  parasol ;  “  I  won’t  have  you  talk  so.  How  dare 
you  ?” 

This  playful  inquiry  was  accompanied  with  another  poke  and 
another,  and  then  the  old  lord  caught  the  parasol,  and  wouldn  t 
give  it  up  again,  which  induced  the  other  lady  to  come  to  the 
rescue,  and  some  very  pretty  sportiveness  ensued. 

“  You  will  see  that  those  little  alterations  are  made,  Madame 
Maiitalini,”  said  the  lady.  “  Nay,  my  lord,  you  positively  shall 
go  first ;  I  wouldn’t  leave  you  behind  with  that  pretty  girl,  not 
for  half  a  second.  I  know  you  too  well.  Jane,  my  dear,  let 
him  go  first,  and  we  shall  be  quite  sure  of  him.” 

The  old  lord,  evidently  much  flattered  by  this  suspicion,  be¬ 
stowed  a  grotesque  leer  upon  Kate  as  he  passed,  and  receiving 
another  tap  with  the  parasol  for  his  wickedness,  tottered  down 
stairs  to  the  door,  where  his  sprightly  body  was  hoisted  into 
the  carriage,  by  two  stout  footmen. 

“Foil!”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  “how  he  ever  gets  into  a 
carriage  without  thinking  of  a  hearse,  I  can’t  think.  There, 
take  the  things  away,  my  dear,  take  them  away.” 

Kate,  who  had  remained  during  the  whole  scene  with  her 
eyes  modestly  fixed  upon  the  ground,  was  only  too  happy  to 
avail  herself  of  the  permission  to  retire,  and  hastened  joyfully 
down  stairs  to  Miss  Knag’s  dominion. 

The  circumstances  of  the  little  kingdom  had  greatly  changed, 
however,  during  the  short  period  of  her  absence.  In  place  of 
Miss  Knag  being  stationed  in  her  accustomed  seat,  preserving 
all  the  dignity  and  greatness  of  Madame  Mantalini’s  represent¬ 
ative,  that  worthy  soul  was  reposing  on  a  large  box,  bathed  in 
tears,  while  three  or  four  of  the  young  ladies  in  close  attendance 
upon  her,  together  with  the  presence  of  hartshorn,  vinegar,  and 
other  restoratives,  would  have  borne  ample  testimony,  even 
without  the  derangement  of  the  head-dress  and  front  row  of 
curls,  to  her  having  fainted  desperately. 

“Bless  me  I”  said  Kate,  stepping  hastily  forward.  “What  is 
the  matter  ?” 

This  inquiry  produced  in  Miss  Knag  violent  symptoms  of  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


263 


relapse  ;  and  several  young  ladies,  darting  angry  looks  at  Kate, 
applied  more  vinegar  and  hartshorn,  and  said  it  was  “  a 
shame.” 

“What  is  a  shame  ?”  demanded  Kate.  “What  is  the  matter? 
What  has  happened  ?  Tell  me.” 

“  Matter  1”  cried  Miss  Knag,  coming  all  at  once  bolt  upright, 
to  the  great  consternation  of  the  assembled  maidens  ;  “  Matter ! 
Fie  upon  you,  you  nasty  creature  1” 

“Gracious!”  cried  Kate,  almost  paralyzed  by  the  violence 
with  which  the  adjective  had  been  jerked  out  from  between  Miss 
Knag’s  closed  teeth  ;  “  have  I  offended  you  ?” 

“  You  offended  me  I”  retorted  Miss  Knag,  “you!  a  chit,  a 
child,  an  upstart  nobody  I  Oh,  indeed  1  Ida,  ha  I” 

Now,  it  was  evident  as  Miss  Knag  laughed,  that  something 
struck  her  as  being  exceedingly  funny,  and  as  the  young  ladies 
took  their  tone  from  Miss  Knag — she  being  the  chief — they  all 
got  up  a  laugh  without  a  moment’s  delay,  and  nodded  their 
heads  a  little,  and  smiled  sarcastically  to  each  other,  as  much  as 
to  say,  how  very  good  that  was, 

“Here  she  is,”  continued  Miss  Knag,  getting  off  the  box, 
and  introducing  Kate  with  much  ceremony  and  many  low  courte¬ 
sies  to  the  delighted  throng  ;  “here  she  is — every  body  is  talk¬ 
ing  about  her — the  belle,  ladies — the  beauty,  the — oh,  you  bold¬ 
faced  thing  !” 

At  this  crisis  Miss  Knag  was  unable  to  repress  a  virtuous 
shudder,  which  immediately  communicated  itself  to  all  the  young 
ladies,  after  which  Miss  Knag  laughed,  and  after  that,  cried. 

“  For  fifteen  years,”  exclaimed  Miss  Knag,  sobbing  in  a  most 
affecting  manner,  “  for  fifteen  years  I  have  been  the  credit  and 
ornament  of  this  room  and  the  one  up  stairs.  Thank  God,” 
said  Miss  Knag,  stamping  first  her  right  foot  and  then  her  left 
with  remarkable  energy,  “  I  have  never  in  all  that  time,  till  now, 
been  exposed  to  the  arts,  the  vile  arts  of  a  creature,  who  dis¬ 
graces  us  all  with  her  proceedings,  and  makes  proper  people 
blush  for  themselves.  But  I  feel  it,  I  do  feel  it,  although  I  am 
disgusted.” 

Miss  Knag  here  relapsed  into  softness,  and  the  young  ladies 
renewing  their  attentions,  murmured  that  she  ought  to  be 
superior  to  such  things,  and  that  for  their  part  they  despised 


264 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


them,  arid  considered  them  beneath  their  notice;  in  witness 
whereof  they  called  out  more  emphatically  than  before  that  it 
was  a  shame,  and  that  they  felt  so  angry,  they  did,  they  hardly 
knew  what  to  do  with  themselves. 

“  Have  I  lived  to  this  day  to  be  called  a  fright  1”  cried  Miss 
Knag,  suddenly  becoming  convulsive,  and  making  an  effort  to 
tear  her  front  off. 

“  Oh  no,  no,”  replied  the  chorus,  “  pray  don’t  say  so  ;  don’t, 
now.” 

“  Have  I  deserved  to  be  called  an  elderly  person  ?”  screamed 
Miss  Knag,  wrestling  with  the  supernumeraries. 

“  Don’t  think  of  such  things,  dear,”  answered  the  chorus. 

“I  hate  her,”  cried  Miss  Knag;  “I  detest  and  hate  her. 
Never  let  her  speak  to  me  again ;  never  let  any  body  who  is  a 
friend  of  mine  speak  to  her ;  a  slut,  a  hussy,  an  impudent,  artful 
hussy  1”  Having  denounced  the  object  of  her  wrath  in  these 
terms.  Miss  Knag  screamed  once,  hiccoughed  thrice,  and  gurgled 
in  her  throat  several  times  :  slumbered,  shivered,  woke,  came  to, 
composed  her  head-dress,  and  declared  herself  quite  well  again. 

Poor  Kate  had  regarded  these  proceedings  at  first  in  perfect 
bewilderment.  She  had  then  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns,  and 
once  or  twice  essayed  to  speak ;  but  as  the  true  motives  of  this 
altered  behavior  developed  themselves,  she  retired  a  few  paces, 
and  looked  calmly  on  without  deigning  a  reply.  But  although 
she  walked  proudly  to  her  seat,  and  turned  her  back  upon  the 
group  of  little  satellites  who  clustered  round  their  ruling  planet  iu 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  room,  she  gave  way  in  secret  to  some 
such  bitter  tears  as  would  have  gladdened  Miss  Knag’s  inmost 
soul  if  she  could  have  seen  them  fall. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


DESCRIPTIVE  OP  A  DINNER  AT  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY’S,  AND 

OF  THE  MANNER  IN  WHICH  THE  COMPANY  ENTERTAINED 

THEMSELVES  BEFORE  DINNER,  AT  DINNER,  AND  AFTER  DIN¬ 
NER. 

The  bile  and  rancor  of  the  worthy  Miss  Knag  nndergoing 
no  diminution  during  the  remainder  of  the  week,  but  rather  aug¬ 
menting  with  every  successive  hour ;  and  the  honest  ire  of  all 
the  young  ladies  rising,  or  seeming  to  rise,  in  exact  proportion 
to  the  good  spinster’s  indignation,  and  both  waxing  very  hot 
every  time  Miss  Xickleby  was  called  up  stairs,  it  will  be  readily 
imagined  that  that  young  lady’s  daily  life  was  none  of  the  most 
cheerful  or  enviable  kind.  She  hailed  the  arrival  of  Saturday 
night,  as  a  prisoner  would  a  few  delicious  hours’  respite  from 
slow  and  wearing  torture,  and  felt,  that  the  poor  pittance  for 
her  first  week’s  labor  would  have  been  dearly  and  hardly  earned 
had  its  amount  been  trebled. 

When  she  joined  her  mother  as  usual  at  the  street  corner,  she 
was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  her  in  conversation  with  Mr. 
Ralph  Nickleby ;  but  her  surprise  was  soon  redoubled,  no  less 
by  the  matter  of  their  conversation,  than  by  the  smooth  and 
retired  manner  of  Mr.  Nickleby  himself. 

“  Ah  !  my  dear !”  said  Ralph ;  “  we  were  at  that  moment 
talking  about  you.” 

“Indeed  !”  replied  Kate,  shrinking,  though  she  scarce  knew 
why,  from  her  uncle’s  cold  glistening  eye. 

“  That  instant,”  said  Ralph.  “  I  was  coming  to  call  for  you, 
making  sure  to  catch  you  before  you  left ;  but  your  mother  and 
I  have  been  talking  over  family  affairs,  and  the  time  has  sl'pped 
away  so  rapidly - ” 

“  Well,  now,  hasn’t  it  ?”  interposed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  quite  In¬ 
sensible  to  the  sarcastic  tone  of  Ralph’s  last  remark.  “Upon 

my  word.  I  couldn’t  have  believed  it  possible,  that  such  a - - 

(265) 


206 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Kate,  my  dear,  you’re  to  dine  with  your  uncle  at  half-past  six 
o’clock  to-morrow,” 

Triumphing  in  having  been  the  first  to  communicate  this  ex¬ 
traordinary  intelligence,  Mrs.  Niokleby  nodded  and  smiled  a 
great  many  times,  to  impress  its  full  magnificence  on  Kate’s 
wondering  mind,  and  then  flew  olf,  at  an  acute  angle,  to  a  com¬ 
mittee  of  ways  and  means. 

“Let  me  see,”  said  the  good  lady.  “Your  black  silk  frock 
will  be  quite  dress  enough,  my  dear,  with  that  pretty  little  scarf, 
and  a  plain  band  in  your  hair,  and  a  pair  of  black  silk  stock 

- Dear,  dear,”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  flying  off  at  another 

angle.  “  If  I  had  but  those  unfortunate  amethyst’s  of  mine — you 
recollect  them,  Kate,  my  love — hew  they  used  to  sparkle,  you 
know — but  your  papa,  your  poor  dear  papa — ah  1  there  never 
was  any  thing  so  cruelly  sacrificed  as  those  jewels  were,  never  I” 
Overpowered  by  this  agonizing  thought,  Mrs.  Nickleby  shook 
her  head  in  a  melancholy  manner,  and  applied  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes. 

“I  don’t  want  them,  mamma,  indeed,”  said  Kate.  “Forget 
that  you  ever  had  them.” 

“  Lord,  Kate,  my  dear,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby,  pettishly, 
“  how  like  a  child  you  talk  I  Four-and-twenty  silver  tea  spoons, 
brother-in-law,  two  gravies,  four  salts,  all  the  amethysts — neck¬ 
lace,  brooch,  and  ear-rings — all  made  away  with  at  the  same 
time,  and  I  saying  almost  on  my  bended  knees  to  that  poor 
good  soul,  ‘Why  don’t  you  do  something,  Nicholas?  Why 
don’t  you  make  some  arrangement  ?’  I  am  sure  that  any  body 
who  was  about  us  at  that  time  will  do  me  the  justice  to  own, 
that  if  I  said  that  once,  I  said  it  fifty  times  a  day.  Didn’t  I, 
Kate,  my  dear  ?  Did  I  ever  lose  an  opportunity  of  impressing 
it  on  your  poor  papa  ?” 

“No,  no,  mamma,  never,”  replied  Kate.  And  to  do  Mrs. 
Nickleby  justice,  she  never  had  lost — and  to  do  married  ladies 
as  a  body  justice,  they  seldom  do  lose — any  occasion  of  incul¬ 
cating  similar  golden  precepts,  whose  only  blemish  is,  the  slight 
degree  of  vagueness  and  uncertainty  in  which  they  are  usually 
developed. 

“Ah  1’’  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great  fervor,  “if  my  advice 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


267 


had  been  taken  at  the  beginning — Well,  I  have  always  done 
mu  duty,  and  that’s  some  comfort.” 

When  she  had  arrived  at  this  reflection,  Mrs.  Nickleby  sighed, 
rnbbed  her  hands,  cast  up  her  eyes,  and  finally  assumed  a  look 
of  meek  composure,  thus  importing  that  she  was  a  persecuted 
saint,  but  that  she  wouldn’t  trouble  her  hearers  by  mentioning 
a  circumstance  which  must  be  so  obvious  to  every  body. 

“Now,”  said  Ralph,  with  a  smile,  which,  in  common  with  all 
other  tokens  of  emotion,  seemed  to  skulk  under  his  face,  rather 
than  play  boldly  over  it — “  to  return  to  the  point  from  which 
we  have  strayed.  I  have  a  little  party  of — of — gentlemen  with 
whom  I  am  connected  in  business  just  now,  at  my  house  to¬ 
morrow  ;  and  your  mother  has  promised  that  you  shall  keep 
house  for  me.  I  am  not  much  used  to  parties ;  but  this  is  one 
of  business,  and  such  fooleries  are  an  important  part  of  it  some¬ 
times.  You  don’t  mind  obliging  me  ?” 

“  Mind  I”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  My  dear  Kate,  why - ’’ 

“  Pray,”  interrupted  Ralph,  motioning  her  to  be  silent.  “I 
spoke  to  my  niece.” 

“I  shall  be  very  glad,  of  course,  uncle,”  replied  Kate  ;  “but 
I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  very  awkwmrd  and  embarrassed.” 

“  Oh,  no,”  said  Ralph  ;  “  come  when  you  like,  in  a  hackney 
coach — I’ll  pay  for  it.  Good  night — a — a — God  bless  you.” 

The  blessing  seemed  to  stick  in  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby’s  throat, 
as  if  it  were  not  used  to  the  thoroughfare,  and  didn’t  know  the 
way  out.  But  it  got  out  somehow,  though  awkwardly  enough  ; 
and  having  disposed  of  it,  he  shook  hands  with  his  two  relatives, 
and  abruptly  left  them. 

“  What  a  very  strongly-marked  countenance  your  uncle  has  !” 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  quite  struck  with  his  parting  look.  “1 
don’t  see  the  slightest  resemblance  to  his  poor  brother.” 

“Mammal”  said  Kate,  reprovingly.  “To  think  of  such  a 
thing  I” 

“No,’-  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  musing.  “There  certainly  is 
none.  But  it’s  a  very  honest  face.” 

The  worthy  matron  made  this  remark  with  great  emphasis 
and  elocution,  as  if  it  comprised  no  small  quantity  of  ingenuity 
and  research ;  and  in  truth  it  was  not  unworthy  of  being  classed 


268 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


among  the  extraordinary  discoveries  of  the  age.  Kate  looked 
up  hastily,  and  as  hastily  looked  down  again. 

“  What  has  come  over  you,  my  dear,  in  the  name  of  good¬ 
ness  ?”  asked  Mrs.  Nickleby,  when  they  had  walked  on  for  some 
time  in  silence 

“I  was  only  thinking,  mamma,”  answered  Kate. 

“Thinking!”  repeated  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Aye,  and  indeed 
plenty  to  think  about,  too.  Your  uncle  has  taken  a  strong 
fancy  to  you,  that’s  quite  clear ;  and  if  some  extraordinary 
good  fortune  doesn’t  come  to  you  after  this,  I  shall  be  a  little 
surprised,  that’s  all.” 

With  this,  she  launched  out  into  sundry  anecdotes  of  young 
ladies,  who  had  had  thousand  pound  notes  given  them  in  reti¬ 
cules,  by  eccentric  uncles ;  and  of  young  ladies  who  had  acci¬ 
dentally  met  amiable  gentlemen  of  enormous  wealth  at  their 
uncles’  houses,  and  married  them,  after  short  but  ardent  court¬ 
ships  ;  and  Kate,  listening  first  in  apathy,  and  afterwards  in 
amusement,  felt,  as  they  walked  home,  something  of  her  mother’s 
sanguine  complexion  gradually  awakening  in  her  own  bosom, 
and  began  to  think  that  her  prospects  might  be  brightening, 
and  that  better  days  might  be  dawning  upon  them.  Such  is 
hope.  Heaven’s  own  gift  to  struggling  mortals  ;  pervading,  like 
some  subtile  essence  from  the  skies,  all  things,  both  good  and 
bad ;  as  universal  as  death,  and  more  infectious  than  disease. 

The  feeble  winter’s  sun — and  winter’s  suns  in  the  city  are 
very  feeble  indeed  —  might  have  brightened  up  as  he  shone 
through  the  dim  windows  of  the  large  old  house,  on  witnessing 
the  unusual  sight  which  one  half-furnished  room  displayed.  In 
a  gloomy  corner,  where  for  years  had  stood  a  silent  dusty  pile 
of  merchandise,  sheltering  its  colony  of  mice,  and  frowning  a 
dull  and  lifeless  mass  upon  the  paneled  room,  save  when,  re¬ 
sponding  to  the  roll  of  heavy  wagons  in  the  street  without,  it 
quaked  with  sturdy  tremblings,  and  caused  the  bright  eyes  jf  its 
tiny  citizens  to  grow  brighter  still  with  fear,  and  struck  them 
motionless,  with  attentive  ear  and  palpitating  heart,  until  the 
alarm  had  passed  away — in  this  dark  corner  was  arranged,  with 
scrupulous  care,  all  Kate’s  little  finery  for  the  day  ;  each  article 
of  dress  partaking  of  that  indescribable  air  of  jauntincss  and 
individuality  which  empty  garments — whether  by  association, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


269 


or  that  they  become  moulded  as  it  were  to  the  owner’s  form — 
will  take,  in  eyes  accustomed  to,  or  picturing  the  wearer’s 
smartness.  ^  In  place  of  a  bale  of  musty  goods,  there  lay  the 
black  silk  dress  ;  the  neatest  possible  figure  in  itself.  The  small 
shoes,  with  toes  turned  delicately  out,  stood  upon  the  very  pres¬ 
sure  of  some  old  iron  weight;  and  a  pile  of  harsh  discolored 
leather  had  unconsciously  given  place  to  the  very  same  little 
pair  of  black  silk  stockings,  which  had  been  the  objects  of  Mrs. 
Nickleby’s  peculiar  care.  Rats  and  mice,  and  such  small  gear, 
had  long  ago  been  starved,  or  emigrated  to  better  quarters ; 
and  in  their  stead  appeared  gloves,  bands,  scarfs,  hair-pins,  and 
many  other  little  devices,  almost  as  ingenious  in  their  way  as 
rats  and  mice  themselves,  for  the  tantalization  of  mankind. 
About  and  among  them  all,  moved  Kate  herself,  not  the  least 
beautiful  or  unwonted  relief  to  the  stern  old  gloomy  building. 

In  good  time,  or  in  bad  time,  as  the  reader  likes  to  take  it, 
for  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  impatience  went  a  great  deal  faster  than  the 
clocks  at  that  end  of  the  town,  and  Kate  was  dressed  to  the  very 
last  hair-pin  a  full  hour  and  a  half  before  it  was  at  all  necessary 
to  begin  to  think  about  it' — in  good  time,  or  in  bad  time,  the 
toilet  was  completed  ;  and  it  being  at  length  the  hour  agreed 
upon  for  starting,  the  milkman  fetched  a  coach  from  the  nearest 
stand,  and  Kate,  with  many  adieus  to  her  mother,  and  many 
kind  messages  to  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was  to  come  to  tea, 
seated  herself  in  it,  and  went  away  in  state  if  ever  any  body 
went  away  in  state  in  a  hackney  coach  yet.  And  the  coach,  and 
the  coachman,  and  the  horses,  rattled,  and  jangled,  and  whipped, 
and  cursed,  and  swore,  and  tumbled  on  together,  till  they  came 
to  Golden  Square. 

The  coachman  gave  a  tremendous  double  knock  at  the  door, 
which  was  opened  long  before  he  had  done,  as  quickly  as  if 
there  had  been  a  man  behind  it  with  his  hand  tied  to  the  latch. 
Kate,  who  had  expected  no  more  uncommon  appearance  than 
Newman  Noggs  in  a  clean  shirt,  was  not  a  little  astonished  to 
see  that  the  opener  wms  a  man  in  handsome  livery,  and  that 
there  were  two  or  three  others  in  the  hall.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  its  being  the  right  house,  however,  for  there  was  the  name 
upon  the  door,  so  she  accepted  the  laced  coat-sleeve  which  was 


270 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


tendered  her,  and  entering  the  house,  was  ushered  up  stairsi, 
into  a  back  drawing-room,  where  she  was  left  alone. 

If  she  had  been  surprised  at  the  apparition  of  the  footman, 
she  was  perfectly  absorbed  in  amazement  at  the  richness  and 
splendor  of  the  furniture.  The  softest  and  most  elegant  car- 
])ets,  the  most  exquisite  pictures,  the  costliest  mirrors ;  articles 
of  richest  ornament,  quite  dazzling  from  their  beauty,  and  per¬ 
plexing  from  the  prodigality  with  which  they  were  scattered 
around,  encountered  her  on  every  side.  The  very  staircase 
nearly  down  to  the  hall  door,  was  crammed  with  beautiful  and 
luxurious  things,  as  though  the  house  were  brim-full  of  riches, 
which  with  a  very  trifling  addition,  would  fairly  run  over  into 
the  street. 

Presently  she  heard  a  series  of  loud  double  knocks  at  the 
street  door,  and  after  every  knock  some  new  voice  in  the  next 
room;  the  tones  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  were  easily  distin¬ 
guishable  at  first,  but  by  degrees  they  merged  into  the  general 
buzz  of  conversation,  and  all  she  could  ascertain  was,  that  there 
were  several  gentlemen  with  no  very  musical  voices,  who  talked 
very  loud,  laughed  very  heartily,  and  swore  more  than  she 
would  have  thought  quite  necessary.  But  this  was  a  question 
of  taste. 

At  length  the  door  opened,  and  Ralph  himself,  divested  of 
his  boots,  and  ceremoniously  embellished  with  black  silks  and 
shoes,  presented  his  crafty  face. 

“I  couldn’t  see  you  before,  my  dear,”  he  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
and  pointing  as  he  spoke,  to  the  next  room.  “I  was  engaged 
in  receiving  them.  Now — shall  I  take  you  in?” 

“Pray,  uncle  ”  said  Kate,  a  little  flurried,  as  people  much 
more  conversant  with  society  often  are  when  they  are  about  to 
enter  a  room  full  of  strangers,  and  have  had  time  to  think  of  it 
previously,  “are  there  any  ladies  here?” 

“No,”  said  Ralph,  shortly ;  “I  don’t  know  any.” 

“Must  I  go  in  immediately?”  asked  Kate,  drawing  back  a 
liUle. 

“  As  you  please,”  said  Ralph,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  “  They 
are  all  come,  and  dinner  will  be  announced  directly  afterwards 
— that’s  all.” 

Kate  would  have  entreated  a  few  minutes’  respite,  but  reflect- 


KICIIOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


271 


ing  that  her  wncle  might  consider  the  payment  of  the  hackney- 
coach  fare  a  sort  of  bargain  for  her  punctuality,  she  suffered  him 
to  draw  her  arm  through  his  and  lead  her  away. 

Seven  or  eight  gentlemen  were  standing  round  the  fire  when 
they  went  in,  and  as  they  were  talking  very  loud  were  not  aware 
of  their  entrance  until  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  touching  one  on 
the  coat-sleeve,  said  in  a  harsh  emphatic  voice,  as  if  to  attract 
general  attention — 

“Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht,  my  niece.  Miss  Nickleby.” 

The  group  dispersed  as  if  in  great  surprise,  and  the  gentle¬ 
man  addressed,  turning  round,  exhibited  a  suit  of  clothes  of  the 
most  superlative  cut,  a  pair  of  whiskers  of  similar  quality,  a 
mustache,  a  head  of  hair,  and  a  young  face. 

“Eh!’’  said  the  gentleman.  “Yfliat — the — deyvle!” 

With  which  broken  ejaculations  he  fixed  his  glass  in  his  eye, 
and  stared  at  Miss  Nickleby  in  great  surprise. 

“My  niece,  my  lord,”  said  Ralph. 

“Well,  then,  my  ears  did  not  deceive  me,  and  it’s  not  wa-a-x 
work,”  said  his  lordship.  “How  de  do?  I’m  very  happy.” 
And  then  his  lordship  turned  to  another  superlative  gentleman, 
something  older,  something  stouter,  something  redder  in  the 
face,  and  something  longer  upon  town,  and  said  in  a  loud  whis¬ 
per,  that  the  girl  was  “deyvlish  pitty.” 

“Introduce  me,  Nickleby,”  said  this  second  gentleman,  who 
was  lounging  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  both  elbows  on  the 
chimney-piece. 

“Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,”  said  Ralph. 

“Otherwise  the  most  knowing  card  in  the  pa-ack.  Miss  Nick¬ 
leby,”  said  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht. 

“Don’t  leave  me  out,  Nickleby,”  cried  a  sharp-faced  gentle¬ 
man,  who  was  sitting  on  a  low  chair  with  a  high  back,  reading 
the  paper. 

“M:.  Pyke,”  said  Ralph. 

“Nor  me,  Nickleby,”  cried  a  gentleman  with  a  flushed  face 
anef  a  flash  air,  from  the  elbow  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

“j\Ir.  Pluck,”  said  Ralph.  Then  wheeling  about  again 
towards  a  gentleman  with  the  neck  of  a  stork  and  the  legs  of 
no  animal  in  particular,  Ralph  introduced  him  as  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Suobb ;  and  a  white-headed  person  at  the  table  as  Colonel 


272 


NICHOLAS  NICKL2BY. 


Chowser.  The  colonel  was  in  conversation  with  somebody, 
who  appeared  to  be  a  make-weight,  and  was  not  introduced  at 
all. 

There  were  two  circumstances  which,  in  this  early  stage  of 
the  party,  struck  home  to  Kate’s  bosom,  and  brought  the  blood 
tingling  to  her  face.  One  was  the  flippant  contempt  with  which 
the  guests  evidently  regarded  her  uncle,  and  the  other  the  easy 
insolence  of  their  manner  towards  herself.  That  the  first  symp¬ 
tom  was  very  likely  to  lead  to  the  aggravation  of  the  second  it 
needed  no  great  penetration  to  foresee.  And  here  Mr.  Ralph 
Nickleby  had  reckoned  without  his  host;  for  however  fresh 
from  the  country  a  young  lady  (by  nature)  may  be,  and  however 
unacquainted  with  conventional  behavior,  the  chances  are  that 
she  will  have  quite  as  strong  an  innate  sense  of  the  decencies 
and  proprieties  of  life  as  if  she  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  dozen 
London  seasons — possibly  a  stronger  one,  for  such  senses  have 
been  known  to  blunt  in  this  improving  process. 

When  Ralph  had  completed  the  cei'emonial  of  introduction, 
he  led  his  blushing  niece  to  a  seat,  and  as  he  did  so,  glanced 
warily  round,  as  though  to  assure  himself  of  the  impression 
which  her  unlooked-for  appearance  had  created. 

“An  unexpected  playsure,  Nickleby,”  said  Lord  Frederick 
Verisopht,  taking  his  glass  out  of  his  right  eye,  where  it  had 
until  now  done  duty  on  Kate,  and  fixing  it  in  his  left  to  bring 
it  to  bear  on  Ralph. 

“Designed  to  surprise  you.  Lord  Frederick,”  said  Mr.  Pluck. 

“Not  a  bad  idea,”  said  his  lordship,  “and  one  that  would 
almost  warrant  the  addition  of  an  extra  two  and  a  half  per 
cent.  ” 

“Nickleby,”  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  in  a  thick  coarse  voice, 
“take  the  hint,  and  tack  it  on  to  the  other  five-and-twenty,  oi 
whatever  it  is,  and  give  me  half  for  the  advice.” 

Sir  Mulberry  garnished  this  speech  with  a  hoarse  laugh,  and 
terminated  it  with  a  pleasant  oath  regarding  Mr.  Nickleby’a 
limbs,  whereat  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  “laughed  consumedly.’’ 

These  gentlemen  had  not  yet  quite  recovered  the  jest  when 
dinner  wms  announced,  and  then  they  were  thrown  into  fresh 
ecstasies  by  a  similar  cause  ;  for  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  in  an 
excess  of  humor,  shot  dexterously  past  Lord  Frederick  Veri- 


NICHOLAS  NTCKLEBY, 


273 


sopht,  who  was  alx)ut  to  lead  Kate  down  stairs,  and  drew  her 
arm  through  his  up  to  the  elbow. 

“  No,  damn  it,  Yerisopht,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “fair  play’s  a 
jewel,  and  Miss  Nickleby  and  I  settled  the  matter  with  our 
eyes,  len  minutes  ago.” 

“Ea,  ha,  ha!”  laughed  the  Honorable  Mr.  Snobb,  “very 
good;  very  good.” 

Rendered  additionally  witty  by  this  applause,  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk  leered  upon  his  friends  most  facetiously,  and  led  Kate 
down  stairs  with  an  air  of  familiarity,  which  roused  in  her  gen¬ 
tle  breast  such  disgust  and  burning  indignation,  as  she  felt  it 
almost  impossible  to  repress.  Nor  was  the  intensity  of  these 
feelings  at  all  diminished,  when  she  found  herself  placed  at  the 
top  of  the  table,  with  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  Lord  Yerisopht 
on  either  side. 

“  Oh,  you’ve  found  your  way  into  our  neighborhood,  have 
you  ?”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  as  his  lordship  sat  down. 

“  Of  course,”  replied  Lord  Frederick,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Miss 
Nickleby,  “  how  can  you  a-ask  me  ?” 

“Well,  you  attend  to  your  dinner,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “'and 
don’t  mind  Miss  Nickleby  and  me,  for  we  shall  prove  very 
indifferent  company,  I  dare  say.” 

“  I  wish  you’d  interfere  here,  Nickleby,”  said  Lord  Yerisopht. 

“  What  is  the  matter,  my  lord  ?”  demanded  Ralph  from  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  where  he  was  supported  by  Messrs.  Pyke 
and  Pluck. 

“  This  fellow.  Hawk,  is  monopolizing  your  niece,”  said  Lord 
Frederick. 

“  He  has  a  tolerable  share  of  every  thing  that  you  lay  claim 
to,  my  lord,”  said  Ralph  with  a  sneer. 

“  ’Gad,  so  he  has,”  replied  the  young  man ;  “  deyvle  take 
me  if  I  know  which  is  master  in  my  house,  he  or  I.” 

“  /  know,”  muttered  Ralph. 

“  1  think  I  shall  cut  him  off  with  a  shilling,”  said  the  young 
nobleman,  jocosely. 

“  No,  no,  curse  it,”  said  Sir  Mulberry.  “When  you  come  to 
the  shilliug — the  last  shilling — Pll  cut  you  fast  enough ;  but 
till  then.  I’ll  never  leave  you — you  may  take  your  oath  of  it,” 

This  sally  (which  was  strictly  founded  on  fact)  was  received 
18 


274 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


with  a  general  roar,  alDOve  which  was  plainly  distinguishable 
the  laughter  of  Mr.  Pyke  and  Mr.  Pluck,  wlio  were  evidently 
Sir  Mulberry’s  toads  in  ordinary.  Indeed,  it  was  not  difficult 
to  see,  that  the  majority  of  the  company  preyed  upon  the 
unfortunate  young  lord,  who,  weak  and  silly  as  he  v/as,  appeared 
by  far  the  least  vicious  of  the  party.  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  was 
remarkable  for  his  tact  in  ruining,  by  himself  and  his  creatures, 
young  gentlemen  of  fortune — a  genteel  and  elegant  profession, 
of  which  he  had  undoubtedly  gained  the  head.  With  all  the 
boldness  of  an  original  genius,  he  had  struck  out  an  entirely 
new  course  of  treatment  quite  opposed  to  the  usual  method,  his 
custom  being,  when  he  had  gained  the  ascendency  over  those 
he  took  in  hand,  rather  to  keep  them  down  than  to  give  them 
their  own  way ;  and  to  exercise  his  vivacity  upon  them  openly 
and  without  reserve.  Thus  he  made  them  butts  in  a  double 
sense,  and  while  he  emptied  them  with  great  address,  caused 
them  to  ring  with  sundry  well-administered  taps  for  the  diver¬ 
sion  of  society. 

The  dinner  was  as  remarkable  for  the  splendor  and  complete¬ 
ness  of  its  appointments  as  the  mansion  itself,  and  the  company 
were  remarkable  for  doing  it  ample  justice,  in  which  respect 
Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  particularly  signalized  themselves ; 
these  two  gentlemen  eating  of  every  dish,  and  drinking  of  every 
bottle,  with  a  capacity  and  perseverance  truly  astonishing. 
They  were  remarkably  fresh  too,  notwithstanding  their  great 
exertions  :  for,  on  the  appearance  of  the  dessert,  they  broke  out 
again,  as  if  nothing  serious  had  taken  place  since  breakfast. 

•*  Well,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  sipping  his  first  glass  of  port, 
“  if  this  is  a  discounting  dinner,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  dey  vie  take 
me,  if  it  wouldn’t  be  a  good  pla-an  to  get  discount  every  day.” 

“You’ll  have  plenty  of.it  in  your  time,”  returned  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  Hawk  ;  “  Nickleby  will  tell  you  that.” 

“What  do  you  say,  Nickleby?”  inquired  the  young  man^ 
“  am  1  to  be  a  good  customer  ?” 

“  It  depends  entirely  on  circumstances,  my  lord,”  replied 
Ealph. 

“  On  your  lordship’s  circumstances,”  interposed  Colonel 
Chowser  of  the  Militia — and  the  race-courses. 

The  gallant  colonel  glanced  at  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  as 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


275 


if  he  thought  they  ought  to  laugh  at  his  joke,  but  those  gentle¬ 
men,  being  only  engaged  to  laugh  for  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk, 
were,  to  his  signal  discomfiture,  as  grave  as  a  pair  of  under¬ 
takers.  To  add  to  his  defeat,  Sir  IMulberry,  considering  any 
such  efforts  an  invasion  of  his  peculiar  privilege,  eyed  the 
offender  steadily  through  his  glass  as  if  astounded  at  his  pre¬ 
sumption,  and  audibly  stated  his  impression  that  it  was  an 
“  infernal  liberty,”  which  being  a  hint  to  Lord  Frederick,  he 
put  up  his  glass,  and  surveyed  the  object  of  censure  as  if  he 
were  some  extraordinary  wdld  animal  then  exhibiting  for  the 
first  time.  As  a  matter  of  course,  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck 
stared  at  the  individual  whom  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  stared  at ; 
so  the  poor  colonel,  to  hide  his  confusion,  was  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  holding  his  port  before  his  right  eye  and  affecting 
to  scrutinize  its  color  with  the  most  lively  interest. 

All  this  while  Kate  had  sat  as  silently  as  she  could,  scarcely 
daring  to  raise  her  eyes,  lest  they  should  encounter  the  admiring 
gaze  of  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht,  or,  what  was  still  more 
embarrassing,  the  bold  looks  of  his  friend  Sir  Mulberry.  The 
latter  gentleman  was  obliging  enough  to  direct  general  attention 
towards  her. 

“Here  is  Miss  Nickleby,”  observed  Sir  Mulberry,  “wonder¬ 
ing  why  the  deuce  somebody  doesn’t  make  love  to  her.” 

“No,  indeed,”  said  Kate,  looking  hastily  up.  “I - ’’and 

then  she  stopped,  feeling  it  would  have  been  better  to  have 
said  nothing  at  all. 

“I’ll  hold  any  man  fifty  pounds,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “that 
Miss  Nickleby  can’t  look  in  my  face,  and  tell  me  she  wasn’t 
thinking  so.” 

“Done!”  cried  the  noble  gull.  “Within  ten  minutes.” 

“Done!”  responded  Sir  Mulberry.  The  money  was  pro¬ 
duced  on  both  sides,  and  the  Honorable  Mr.  Snobb  was  elected 
to  the  double  office  of  stake-holder  and  time-keeper. 

“Pray,”  said  Kate,  in  great  confusion,  while  these  prelimina¬ 
ries  were  in  course  of  completion.  “  Pray  do  not  make  me  the 
subject  of  any  bets.  Uncle,  I  cannot,  really - ” 

“Why  not,  my  dear  ?”  replied  Ralph,  in  whose  grating  voice, 
however,  there  was  an  unusual  huskiness,  as  though  he  spoke 
unwillingly,  and  would  rather  that  the  proposition  had  not 


270 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


been  broached.  “  It  is  done  in  a  moment ;  there  is  nothing  in 

it.  If  the  gentlemen  insist  on  it - ” 

don’t  insist  on  it,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a  loud 
laugh.  “  That  is,  I  by  no  means  insist  upon  Miss  Nickleby’s 
making  the  denial,  for  if  she  does,  I  lose  ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  her  bright  eyes,  especially  as  she  favors  the  mahogany  so 
much.” 

“  So  she  does,  and  it’s  too  ba-a-d  of  you.  Miss  Nickleby,” 
said  the  noble  youth. 

Quite  cruel,”  said  Mr,  Pyke. 

“Horrid  cruel,”  said  Mr.  Pluck. 

“I  don’t  care  if  I  do  lose,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “for  one 
tolerable  look  at  Miss  Nickleby’s  eyes  is  worth  double  the 
money.” 

“More,”  said  Mr.  Pyke. 

“Far  more,”  said  Mr.  Pluck. 

“  How  goes  the  enemy,  Snobb  ?”  asked  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

“Four  minutes  gone.” 

“  Bravo  1” 

“  Won’t  you  ma-ake  one  effort  for  me.  Miss  Nickleby  ?”  asked 
Lord  Frederick,  after  a  short  interval. 

“You  needn’t  trouble  yourself  to  inquire,  my  buck,”  said  Sir 
Mulberry;  “Miss  Nickleby  and  I  understand  each  other;  she 
declares  on  my  side,  and  shows  her  taste.  You  haven’t  a  chance, 
old  fellow.  Time  now,  Snobb  ?” 

“  Eight  minutes  gone.” 

“Get  the  money  ready,”  said  Sir  Mulberry;  “you’ll  soon 
hand  over.” 

“  Ha,  ha,  ha  1”  laughed  Mr.  Pyke. 

Mr.  Pluck,  who  always  came  second,  and  topped  his  com¬ 
panion  if  he  could,  screamed  outright. 

The  poor  girl,  who  was  so  overwhelmed  with  confusion  that 
she  scarcely  knew  what  she  did,  had  determined  to  remain  per¬ 
fectly  quiet;  but  fearing  that  by  so  doing  she  might  seem  to 
countenance  Sir  Mulberry’s  boast,  which  had  been  uttered  with 
great  coarseness  and  vulgarity  of  manner,  raised  her  eyes,  and 
looked  him  in  the  face.  There  was  something  so  odious,  so 
insolent,  so  repulsive  in  the  look  which  met  her,  that,  without 
the  power  to  stammer  forth  a  syllable,  she  rose  and  hurried  from 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


277 


the  room.  She  restrained  her  tears  by  a  great  effort  until  she 
was  alone  up  stairs,  and  then  gave  them  vent. 

“  Capital !”  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  putting  the  stakes  in 
his  pocket.  “  That’s  a  girl  of  spirit,  and  we’ll  drink  her  health.” 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Pyke  &  Co.  responded  with  great 
warmth  of  manner  to  this  proposal,  or  that  the  toast  was  drunk 
with  many  little  insinuations  from  the  firm,  relative  to  the  com¬ 
pleteness  of  Sir  Mulberry’s  conquest.  Halph,  who,  while  the 
attention  of  the  other  guests  was  attracted  to  the  principals  in 
the  preceding  scene,  had  eyed  them  like  a  wolf,  appeared  to 
breathe  more  freely  now  his  niece  was  gone;  and  the  decanters 
passing  quickly  round,  leant  back  in  his  chair,  and  turned  his 
eyes  from  speaker  to  speaker,  as  they  warmed  with  wine,  with 
looks  that  seemed  to  search  their  hearts  and  lay  bare  for  his 
distempered  sport  every  idle  thought  within  them. 

Meantime,  Kate,  left  wholly  to  herself,  had  in  some  degree 
recovered  her  composure.  She  had  learnt  from  a  female  attend¬ 
ant,  that  her  uncle  wished  to  see  her  before  she  left,  and  had  also 
gleaned  the  satisfactory  intelligence,  that  the  gentlemen  would 
take  coffee  at  table.  The  prospect  of  seeing  them  no  more 
contributed  greatly  to  calm  her  agitation,  and  taking  up  a  book, 
she  composed  herself  to  read. 

She  started  now  and  then  when  the  sudden  opening  of  the 
dining-room  door  let  loose  a  wild  shout  of  noisy  revelry,  and 
more  than  once  rose  in  great  alarm,  as  a  fancied  footstep  on  the 
staircase  impressed  her  with  the  fear  that  some  stray  member 
of  the  party  was  returning  alone.  Nothing  occurring,  however, 
to  realize  her  apprehensions,  she  endeavored  to  fix  her  atten¬ 
tion  more  closely  on  her  book,  in  which  by  degrees  she  became  so 
much  interested,  that  she  had  read  on  through  several  chap¬ 
ters  without  heed  of  time  or  place,  when  she  was  terrified  by  sud¬ 
denly  hearing  her  name  pronounced  by  a  man’s  voice  close  at 
her  ear. 

The  book  fell  from  her  hand.  Lounging  on  an  ottoman  close 
beside  her,  was  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  evidently  the  worse — if  a 
man  be  a  ruffian  at  heart,  he  is  never  the  better. — for  wine. 

“What  a  delightful  studiousness  I”  said  this  accomplished 
gentleman.  “Was  it  real,  now,  or  only  to  display  the  eye¬ 
lashes  ?” 


278 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Kate  bit  her  lip,  and  looking  anxiously  towards  the  door,  made 
no  reply. 

“I  have  looked  at  ’em  for  five  minutes,”  said  Sir  Mulbei’ry. 
“Upon  my  soul,  they’re  perfect.  Why  did  I  speak,  and  de¬ 
stroy  such  a  pretty  little  picture  !” 

“  Do  me  the  favor  to  be  silent  now.  Sir,”  replied  Kate. 

“No,  don’t,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  folding  his  crush  hat  to  lay 
his  elbow  on,  and  bringing  himself  still  closer  to  the  young  lady ; 
“  upon  my  life,  you  oughtn’t  to.  Such  a  devoted  slave  of  yours. 
Miss  Nickleby — it’s  an  infernal  thing  to  treat  him  so  harshly, 
upon  my  soul  it  is.  ” 

“I  wish  you  to  understand.  Sir,”  said  Kate,  trembling  in 
spite  of  herself,  but  speaking  with  great  indignation,  “that 
your  behavior  offends  and  disgusts  me.  If  you  have  one  spark 
of  gentlemanly  feeling  remaining,  you  will  leave  me  instantly.” 

“Now  why,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “why  will  you  keep  up  this 
appearance  of  excessive  rigor,  my  sweet  creature?  Now,  be 
more  natural — my  dear  Miss  Nickleby,  be  more  natural — do.” 

Kate  hastily  rose  ;  but  as  she  rose.  Sir  Mulberry  caught  her 
dress,  and  forcibly  detained  her. 

“Let  me  go.  Sir,”  she  cried,  her  heart  swelling  with  anger 
“Do  you  hear?  Instantly — this  moment.” 

“Sit  down,  sit  down,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “I  want  to  talk  to 
you.” 

“Unhand  me,  Sir,  this  instant!”  cried  Kate. 

“  Not  for  the  world,”  rejoined  Sir  Mulberry.  Thus  speaking, 
he  leant  over,  as  if  to  replace  her  in  her  chair ;  but  the  young 
lady  making  a  violent  effort  to  disengage  herself,  he  lost  his 
balance,  and  measured  his  length  upon  the  ground.  As  Kate 
sprung  forward  to  leave  the  room,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  .appeared 
ill  the  door-way,  and  confronted  her. 

“What  is  this?”  said  Ralph. 

“It  is  this.  Sir,”  replied  Kate,  violently  agitated:  “that 
beneath  the  roof  where  I,  a  helpless  girl,  your  dead  brother’s 
child,  should  most  have  found  protection,  I  have  been  exposed 
to  insult  which  should  make  you  shrink  to  look  upon  me.  Let 
me  pass  you.” 

Ralph  did  shrink,  as  the  indignant  girl  fixed  her  kindling  eye 
ujion  him ;  but  he  did  not  comply  with  her  injunction,  never- 


NICHOLAS  NIC  KLEE  Y. 


279 


fheless ;  for  lie  led  her  to  a  distant  seat,  and  returning  and 
approaching  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  who  had  by  this  lime  risen, 
motioned  towards  the  door. 

“Your  way  lies  there.  Sir,”  said  Ralph,  in  a  suppressed  voice, 
that  some  devil  might  have  owned  with  pride. 

“  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?”  demanded  his  friend,  fiercely. 

The  swoln  veins  stood  out  like  sinews  on  Ralph’s  wriidded 
forehead,  and  the  nerves  about  his  mouth  worked  as  though 
some  unendurable  torture  wrung  them ;  but  he  smiled  disdain¬ 
fully,  and  again  pointed  to  the  door. 

“  Do  you  know  me,  you  madman  ?”  asked  Sir  Mulberry. 

“Well,”  said  Ralph.  The  fashionable  vagabond  for  the 
moment  quite  quailed  under  the  steady  look  of  the  older  sinner, 
and  walked  towards  the  door,  muttering  as  he  went. 

“You  wanted  the  lord,  did  you?”  he  said,  stopping  short 
when  he  reached  the  door,  as  if  a  new  light  had  broken  in  upon 
him,  and  confronting  Ralph  again.  “  Damme,  I  was  in  the 
way,  was  I  ?” 

Ralph  smiled  again,  but  made  no  answer. 

“Who  brought  him  to  you  first?”  pursued  Sir  Mulberry; 
“and  how  without  me  could  you  ever  have  wound  him  in  your 
net  as  you  have  ?” 

“  The  net  is  a  large  one,  and  rather  full,”  said  Ralph.  “  Take 
care  that  it  chokes  nobody  in  the  meshes.” 

“You  would  sell  your  flesh  and  blood  for  money;  yourself, 
if  you  have  not  already  made  a  bargain  with  the  devil,”  retorted 
the  other.  “  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  your  pretty  niece  was 
not  brought  here  as  a  decoy  for  the  drunken  boy  down  stairs  ?” 

Although  this  hurried  dialogue  was  carried  on  in  a  suppressed 
tone  on  both  sides,  Ralph  looked  involuntarily  round  to  ascer¬ 
tain  that  Kate  had  not  moved  her  position  so  as  to  be  within 
hearing.  His  adversary  saw  the  advantage  he  had  gained,  and 
fifllowed  it  up. 

“Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,”  he  asked  again,  “that  it  is  not 
so  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  if  he  had  found  his  way  up  here 
instead  of  me,  you  wouldn’t  have  been  a  little  more  blind,  and 
a  little  more  deaf,  and  a  little  less  flourishing  than  you  have 
been  ?  Come,  Nickleby,  answer  rae  that.” 


280 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“I  tell  you  tills,” replied  Ralph,  “that  if  I  brought  her  here, 
as  a  matter  of  business - ” 

“  Aye,  that’s  the  word,”  interposed  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a 
laugh.  “You’re  comimg  to  yourself  again  now.” 

“  — As  a  matter  of  business,”  pursued  Ralph,  speaking 
slowly  and  firmly,  as  a  man  who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  say 
no  more,  “  because  I  thought  she  might  make  some  impression 
on  the  silly  youth  you  have  taken  in  hand  and  are  lending  good 
help  to  ruin,  I  knew — knowing  him — that  it  would  be  long 
before  he  outraged  her  girl’s  feelings,  and  that  unless  he  offended 
by  mere  puppyism  and  emptiness,  he  would,  with  a  little 
management,  respect  the  sex  and  conduct  even  of  his  usurer’s 
niece.  But  if  I  thought  to  draw  him  on  more  gently  by  this 
device,  I  did  not  think  of  subjecting  the  girl  to  the  licentious¬ 
ness  and  brutality  of  so  old  a  hand  as  you.  And  now  we 
understand  each  other.” 

“Especially  as  there  was  nothing  to  be  got  by  it — eh?” 
sneered  Sir  Mulberry. 

“  Exactly  so,”  said  Ralph.  He  had  turned  away,  and  looked 
over  his  shoulder  to  make  this  last  reply.  The  eyes  of  the  two 
worthies  met  with  an  expression  as  if  each  rascal  felt  that  there 
was  no  disguising  himself  from  the  other ;  and  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked  slowly  out. 

His  friend  closed  the  door,  and  looked  restlessly  towards  the 
spot  where  his  niece  still  remained  in  the  attitude  in  which  he 
had  left  her.  She  had  flung  herself  heavily  upon  the  couch, 
and  with  her  head  drooping  over  the  cushion  and  her  face  hidden 
in  her  hands,  seemed  to  be  still  weeping  in  an  agony  of  shame 
and  grief. 

Ralph  would  have  walked  into  any  poverty-stricken  debtor’s 
house,  and  pointed  him  out  to  a  bailiff,  though  in  attendance 
upon  a  young  child’s  death-bed,  without  the  smallest  concern, 
because  it  would  have  been  a  matter  quite  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  business,  and  the  man  would  have  been  an  offender  against  his 
only  code  of  morality.  But  here  was  a  young  girl,  who  had 
done  no  wrong  but  that  of  coming  into  the  world  alive  ;  who 
had  patiently  yielded  to  all  his  wishes  ;  who  had  tried  so  hard 
to  please  him — above  all,  who  didn’t  owe  him  money— and  he 
felt  awkward  and  nervous. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


281 


Ralph  took  a  chair  at  some  distance,  then  another  chair  a 
little  nearer,  then  moved  a  little  nearer  still,  then  nearer  again, 
and  finally  sat  himself  on  the  same  sofa,  and  laid  his  hand  ou 
Kate’s  arm. 

“Hush,  my  dear  1”  he  said,  as  she  drew  it  back,  and  her 
sobs  burst  out  afresh.  “  Hush,  hush !  Don’t  mind  it  now ; 
don’t  think  of  it.” 

“  Oh,  for  pity’s  sake,  let  me  go  home,”  cried  Kate.  “Let  me 
leave  this  house,  and  go  home.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  Ralph.  “You  shall.  But  you  must  dry 
your  eyes  first,  and  compose  yourself.  Let  me  raise  your  head. 
There — there.” 

“  Oh,  uncle  !”  exclaimed  Kate,  clasping  her  hands.  “  What 
have  I  done — what  have  I  done — that  you  should  subject  me  to 
this  ?  If  I  had  wronged  you  in  thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  it 
would  have  been  most  cruel  to  me,  and  the  memory  of  one  you 
must  have  loved  in  some  old  time;  but - ” 

“  Only  listen  to  me  for  a  moment,”  interrupted  Ralph, 
seriously  alarmed  by  the  violence  of  her  emotions.  “  I  didn’t 
know  it  would  be  so ;  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  foresee  it.  1 
did  all  I  could.- — Come,  let  us  walk  about.  You  are  faint  with 
the  closeness  of  the  room,  and  the  heat  of  these  lamps.  You 
will  be  better  now,  if  you  make  the  slightest  effort.” 

“I  will  do  any  thing,”  replied  Kate,  “if  you  will  only  send 
me  home.” 

“  Well,  well,  I  will,”  said  Ralph  ;  “  but  you  must  get  back 
your  own  looks,  for  those  you  have  will  frighten  them,  and  no¬ 
body  must  know  of  this  but  you  and  I.  Now  let  us  walk  the 
other  way.  There.  You  look  better  even  now.” 

With  such  encouragements  as  these,  Ralph  Nickleby  walked 
to  and  fro,  with  his  niece  leaning  on  his  arm ;  quelled  by  her 
eye,  and  actually  trembling  beneath  her  touch.  • 

Ill  the  same  maimer,  when  he  judged  it  prudent  to  allow  her 
to  depart,  he  supported  her  down  stairs,  after  adjusting  her 
shawl  and  perforniiiig  sueh  little  offices,  most  iirobably  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life.  Across  the  hall,  and  down  the  steps  Ralph 
led  her  too  ;  nor  did  he  withdraw  his  hand,  until  she  was  seated 
in  the  coaeh. 

As  the  door  of  the  vehicle  was  roughly  closed-  a  comb  fell 


282 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


from  Kate’s  hair,  close  at  her  uncle’s  feet ;  and  as  he  picked  it 
up  and  returned  it- into  her  hand,  the  light  from  a  neighboring 
lamp  shone  upon  her  face.  The  lock  of  hair  that  had  escaped 
and  curled  loosely  over  her  brow,  the  traces  of  tears  yet  scarcely 
dry,  the  flushed  cheek,  the  look  of  sorrow,  all  fired  some  dor¬ 
mant  train  of  recollection  in  the  old  man’s  breast ;  and  the  face 
of  his  dead  brother  seemed  present  before  him,  with  the  very 
look  it  wore  on  some  occasion  of  boyish  grief,  of  which  every 
minutest  circumstance  flashed  upon  his  mind,  with  the  distinct¬ 
ness  of  a  scene  of  yesterday. 

Ralph  Nickleby,  who  was  proof  against  all  appeals  of  blood 
and  kindred — who  was  steeled  against  every  tale  of  sorrow  and 
distress — staggered  while  he  looked,  and  reeled  back  into  his 
bouse,  as  a  man  who  had  seen  a  spirit  from  some  world  beyond 
the  gi’ave. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


WHEREIN  NICHOLAS  AT  LENGTH  ENCOUNTERS  HIS  UNCLE,  TO 

WHOM  HE  EXPRESSES  HIS  SENTIMENTS  WITH  MUCH  CANDOR. 

HIS  RESOLUTION. 

Little  Miss  La  Creevy  trotted  briskly  tbroiigli  divers  streets 
at  tbe  west  end  of  the  town  early  on  Monday  morning — the  day 
after  the  dinner — charged  with  the  important  commission  OT  ac¬ 
quainting  Madame  Montalini  that  Miss  Nickleby  was  too  unwell 
to  attend  that  day,  but  hoped  to  be  enabled  to  resume  her  duties 
on  the  morrow.  And  as  Miss  La  Creevy  walked  along,  re¬ 
volving  in  her  mind  various  genteel  forms  and  elegant  turns  of 
expression,  with  a  view  to  the  selection  of  the  very  best  in  which 
to  couch  her  communication,  she  cogitated  a  good  deal  upon 
the  probable  causes  of  her  young  friend’s  indisposition. 

“I  don’t  know  what  to  make  of  it,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy, 
“Her  eyes  were  decidedly  red  last  night.  She  said  she  had  a 
headache  ;  headaches  don’t  occasion  red  eyes.  She  must  have 
been  crying.” 

Arriving  at  this  conclusion,  which,  indeed,  she  had  estab¬ 
lished  to  her  perfect  satisfaction  on  the  previous  evening.  Miss 
La  Creevy  went  on  to  consider — as  she  liad  done  nearly  all 
night — what  new  cause  of  unhappiness  her  young  friend  could 
possil)ly’ have  had. 

"I  can’t  think  of  any  thing,”  said  the  little  portrait  painter. 
“Nothing  at  all,  unless  it  was  the  behavior  of  that  old  bear. 
Cross  to  her,  I  suppose  ?  Unpleasant  brute  !” 

Relieved  by  this  expression  of  opinion,  albeit  it  was  vented 
u]>on  empty  air.  Miss  La  Creevy  hurried  on  to  JMadame  Mau- 
talini’s;  and  being  informed  that  the  governing  power  was  not 
yet  out  of  bed,  requested  an  interview  with  the  second  in  com¬ 
mand,  w  hereupon  Miss  Knag  appeared. 

“  So  fur  as  /  am  concerned.”  said  Miss  Knag,  when  the  nns- 

(2811) 


284 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


sage  had  been  delivered,  with  many  ornaments  of  speech;  “1 
could  spare  Miss  Nickleby  for  evermore.” 

“  Oh,  indeed.  Ma’am !”  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy,  highly 
offended.  “  But  you  see  you  are  not  mistress  of  the  business, 
and  therefore  it’s  of  no  great  consequence.” 

“Very  good.  Ma’am,”  said  Miss  Knag.  “Have  you  any 
further  commands  for  me  ?” 

“No,  I  have  not.  Ma’am,”  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“Then  good  morning.  Ma’am,”  said  Miss  Knag. 

“  Good  morning  to  you.  Ma’am ;  and  many  obligations  for 
your  extreme  politeness  and  good-breeding,”  rejoined  Miss  La 
Creevy. 

Thus  terminating  the  interview,  during  which  both  ladies 
had  trembled  very  much,  and  been  marvelously  polite — certain 
indications  that  they  were  within  an  inch  of  a  very  desperate 
quarrel — Miss  La  Creevy  bounced  out  of  the  room,  and  into  the 
street. 

“I  wonder  who  that  is,”  said  the  queer  little  soul.  “A 
nice  person  to  know,  I  should  think  1  I  wish  I  had  the  painting 
of  her:  I’d  do  her  justice.”  So,  feeling  quite  satisfied  that  she 
had  said  a  very  cutting  thing  at  Miss  Knag’s  expense,  Miss  La 
Creevy  had  a  hearty  laugh,  and  went  home  to  breakfast,  in 
great  good  humor. 

Here  was  one  of  the  advantages  of  having  lived  alone  so  long. 
The  little  bustling,  active,  cheerful  creature,  existed  entirely 
within  herself,  talked  to  herself,  made  a  confident  of  herself, 
was  as  sarcastic  as  she  could  be,  on  people  who  offended  her, 
by  herself;  pleased  herself,  and  did  no  harm.  If  she  indulged 
in  scandal,  nobody’s  reputation  suffered ;  and  if  she  enjoyed  a 
little  bit  of  revenge,  no  living  soul  was  one  atom  the  worse. 
One  of  the  many  to  whom,  from  straitened  circumstances,  a  con¬ 
sequent  inability  to  form  the  associations  they  would  wish,  and  a 
disinclination  to  mix  with  the  society  they  could  obtain,  London 
is  as  complete  a  solitude  as  the  plains  of  Syria,  the  humble 
artist  had  pursued  her  lonely,  but  contented  way  for  many  years; 
and,  until  the  peculiar  misfortunes  of  the  Nickleby  family 
attracted  her  attention,  had  made  no  friends,  though  brimful 
of  the  friendliest  feelings  to  all  mankind.  There  are  many 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


285 


warm  hearts  in  the  same  solitary  guise  as  poor  Miss  La 
Creevy’s. 

However,  that’s  neither  here  nor  there,  just  now.  She  weni 
home  to  breakfast,  and  had  scarcely  caught  the  full  flavor  of  her 
first  sip  of  tea,  when  the  servant  announced  a  gentleman  whereat 
Miss  La  Creevy,  at  once  imagining  a  new  sitter,  transfixed  by 
admiration  at  the  street-door  case,  was  in  unspeakable  con¬ 
sternation  at  the  presence  of  the  tea-things. 

“Here,  take  ’em  away;  run  with  ’em  into  the  bed-room;  any¬ 
where,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “Dear,  dear;  to  think  that  I 
should  be  late  on  this  particular  morning,  of  all  others,  after 
being  ready  for  three  weeks  by  half-past  eight  o’clock,  and  not 
a  soul  coming  near  the  place !” 

“Don’t  let  me  put  you  out  of  the  way,”  said  a  voice  Miss  La 
Creevy  knew.  “  I  told  the  servant  not  to  mention  my  name, 
because  I  wished  to  surprise  you.” 

“Mr.  Nicholas!”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy,  starting  in  great 
astonishment. 

“You  have  not  forgotten  me,  I  see,”  replied  Nicholas,  extend¬ 
ing  his  hand. 

“Why  I  think  I  should  even  have  known  you  if  I  had  met 
you  in  the  street,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  with  a  smile.  “  Han¬ 
nah,  another  cup  and  saucer.  Now  I’ll  tell  you  what,  young 
man ;  I’ll  trouble  you  not  to  repeat  the  impertinence  you  were 
guilty  of  on  the  morning  you  went  away.” 

“You  would  not  be  very  angry,  would  you?” asked  Nicholas. 

“Wouldn’t  1 1”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “You  had  better  try; 
that’s  all.” 

Nicholas,  with  becoming  gallantry,  immediately  took  Miss 
liU  Creevy  at  her  word,  who  uttered  a  faint  scream  and  slapped 
his  face;  but  it  wms  not  a  very  hard  slap,  and  that’s  the  truth. 

“I  never  saw  such  a  rude  creature!”  exclaimed  Miss  La 
Creevy. 

“You  told  me  to  try,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Well;  but  I  was  speaking  ironically,”  rejoined  Miss  La 
Creevy. 

“Oh!  that’s  another  thing,” said  Nicholas;  “you  should  havo 
told  me  that,  too.” 

“  I  dare  say  you  didn’t  know  indeed !’’  retorted  Miss  liU 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


23fi 

Creevy.  “But  now  I  look  at  you  again,  you  seem  thinner 
than  when  I  saw  you  last,  and  your  face  is  haggard  and  pale. 
And  how  come  you  to  have  left  Yorkshire?” 

She  stopped  here ;  for  there  was  so  much  heart  in  her  altered 
tone  and  manner,  that  Nicholas  was  quite  moved. 

“  I  need  look  somewhat,  changed,”  he  said,  after  a  short 
silence ;  “  for  I  have  undergone  some  suffering,  both  of  mind 
and  body,  since  I  left  London.  I  have  been  very  poor,  too, 
and  have  even  suffered  from  want.” 

“Good  Heaven,  Mr.  Nicholas  1”  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy, 
“what  are  you  telling  me  !” 

“Nothing  which  need  distress  you  quite  so  much,”  answered 
Nicholas,  with  a  more  sprightly  air;  “neither  did  I  come  here 
to  bewail  my  lot,  but  on  matter  more  to  the  purpose.  I  wish 
to  meet  my  uncle  face  to  face.  I  should  tell  you  that  first.” 

“Then  all  I  have  to  say  about  that  is,”  interposed  Miss  La 
Creevy,  “that  I  don’t  envy  you  your  taste;  and  that  sitting  in 
the  same  room  with  his  very  boots,  would  put  me  out  of  humor 
for  a  fortnight.” 

“In  the  main,”  said  Nicholas,  “there  may  be  no  great  dif¬ 
ference  of  opinion  between  you  and  me,  so  far;  but  you  will 
understand,  that  I  desire  to  confront  him ;  to  justify  myself,  and 
to  cast  his  duplicity  and  malice  in  his  throat.” 

“That’s  quite  another  matter,”  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 
“God  forgive  me;  but  I  shouldn’t  cry  my  eyes  quite  out  of  my 
head,  if  they  choked  him.  Well.” 

“To  this  end  I  called  upon  him  this  morning,”  said  Nicholas. 
“He  only  returned  to  town  on  Saturday,  and  I  knew  nothing 
of  his  arrival  until  late  last  night.” 

“And  did  you  see  him?”  asked  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“No,”  replied  Nicholas.  “He  had  gone  out.” 

“Hahl”  said  Miss  La  Creevy;  “on  some  kind,  charitable 
business,  I  dare  say.” 

“I  have  reason  to  believe,”  pursued  Nicholas,  “from  what 
has  been  told  me  by  a  friend  of  mine,  who  is  acquainted  with 
his  movements,  that  he  intends  seeing  my  mother  and  sister  to¬ 
day,  and  giving  them  his  version  of  the  occurrences  that  have 
befallen  me.  I  will  meet  him  there.” 

“That’s  right,”  said  Miss  lia  Creevy,  rubbing  her  hands. 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  DY. 


2B-< 


yet,  I  don’t  know^ — ”  she  added,  “there  is  much  to  bo 
thought  of — others  to  be  considered.” 

“  I  Iiave  considered  others,”  rejoined  Nicholas ;  “btit  as  houesty 
and  honor  are  both  at  issue,  nothing  shall  deter  me.’ 

“You  shovdd  know  best,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“In  this  case  I  hope  so,”  answered  Nicholas.  “And  all  I 
want  you  to  do  for  me,  is,  to  prepare  them  for  my  coming, 
They  think  me  a  long  way  off,  and  if  I  went  wholly  unexpected, 
I  should  frighten  them.  If  you  can  spare  time  to  tell  them  you 
have  seen  me,  and  that  I  shall  be  with  them  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterwards,  you  will  do  me  a  great  service.” 

“  I  wish  I  could  do  you,  or  any  of  you,  a  greater,”  said  Miss 
La  Creevy;  “but  the  power  to  serve  is  as  seldom  joined  with 
the  will,  as  the  will  with  the  power.” 

Talking  on  very  fast  and  very  much.  Miss  La  Creevy  finished 
her  breakfast  with  great  expedition  ;  put  away  the  tea-caddy 
and  hid  the  key  under  the  fender,  resumed  her  bonnet,  and, 
taking  Nicholas’s  arm,  sallied  forth  at  once  to  the  city.  Nicho¬ 
las  left  her  near  the  door  of  his  mother’s  house,  and  promised 
to  return  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  furthest. 

It  so  chanced  that  Ralph  Nickleby,  at  length  seeing  fit,  for 
his  own  purposes,  to  communicate  the  atrocities  of  which  Nicho¬ 
las  had  been  guilty,  had  (instead  of  first  proceeding  to  another 
quarter  of  the  town  on  business,  as  Newman  Noggs  supposed 
he  would)  gone  straight  to  his  sister-in-law.  Hence  when 
M  iss  La  Creevy,  admitted  by  a  girl  who  was  cleaning  the  house 
marie  her  way  to  the  sitting-room,  she  found  Mrs.  Nickleby  and 
Kate  in  tears,  and  Ralph  just  concluding  his  statement  of  his 
nephew’s  misdemeanors.  Kate  beekoned  her  not  to  retire,  and 
M  iss  La  Creevy  took  a  seat  in  silence. 

“You  are  here  already,  are  you,  my  gentleman?”  thought 
the  little  woman.  “  Then  he  shall  announce  himself,  and  see 
what  effect  that  has  on  you.” 

“  This  is  pretty,”  said  Ralph,  folding  up  Miss  Squeers’s  note  ; 
“very  pretty.  I  recommended  him  against  all  my  previous  con¬ 
viction,  for  I  know  he  would  never  do  any  good- — ^to  a  man  with 
whom,  behaving  himself  properly,  he  might  have  remained  iu 
comfort  for  years.  Mdiat  is  the  result?  Conduct  for  which  lie 
might  hold  up  his  hand  at  the  Old  Bailey.” 


288 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“I  never  will  believe  it,”  said  Kate,  indignantly;  “never. 
It  is  some  base  conspiracy,  which  carries  its  own  falsehood 
with  it.” 

“  My  dear,”  said  Ralph,  “  you  wrong  the  worthy  man.  These 
are  not  inventions.  The  man  is  assaulted,  your  brother  is  not 
to  be  found ;  this  boy,  of  whom  they  speak,  goes  with  him — re¬ 
member,  remember.” 

“  It  is  impossible,”  said  Kate.  “  Nicholas  ! — and  a  thief, 
too  !  Mamma,  how  can  you  sit  and  hear  such  statements  ?” 

Poor  Mrs,  Nickleby,  who  had  at  no  time  been  remarkable 
for  the  possession  of  a  very  clear  understanding,  and  who  had 
been  reduced  by  the  late  changes  in  her  affairs  to  a  most  com¬ 
plicated  state  of  perplexity,  made  no  other  reply  to  this  earnest 
remonstrance  than  exclaiming  from  behind  a  mass  of  pocket- 
handkerchief,  that  she  never  could  have  believed  it — thereby 
most  ingeniously  leaving  her  hearers  to  suppose  that  she  did 
believe  it. 

“It  would  be  my  duty,  if  he  came  in  my  way,  to  deliver  him 
up  to  justice,”  said  Ralph,  “my  bounden  duty;  I  should  have 
no  other  course,  as  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  man  of  business, 
to  pursue.  And  yet,”  said  Ralph,  speaking  in  a  very  marked 
manner,  and  looking  furtively,  but  fixedly,  at  Kate,  “  and  yet  I 
would  not,  I  would  spare  the  feelings  of  his — of  his  sister. 
And  his  mother,  of  course,”  added  Ralph,  as  though  by  an 
after-thought,  and  with  far  less  emphasis. 

Kate  very  well  understood  that  this  was  held  out  as  an  ad¬ 
ditional  inducement  to  her,  to  preserve  the  strictest  silence 
regarding  the  events  of  the  preceding  night.  She  looked  invol¬ 
untarily  towards  Ralph  as  he  ceased  to  speak,  but  he  had  turned 
his  eyes  another  way,  and  seemed  for  the  moment  quite  uncon¬ 
scious  of  her  presence. 

“Every  thing,”  said  Ralph,  after  a  long  silence,  broken  only 
by  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  sobs,  “  every  thing  combines  to  prove  the 
truth  of  this  letter,  if  indeed  there  were  any  possibility  of  dis¬ 
puting  it.  Do  innocent  men  steal  away  from  the  sight  of  honest 
folks,  and  skulk  in  hiding-places  like  outlaws  ?  Do  innocent 
men  inveigle  nameless  vagabonds,  and  prowl  with  them  about 
the  country  as  idle  robbers  do  ?  Assault,  riot,  theft,  what  do 
you  call  these  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


289 


“  A  lie  !”  cried  a  furious  voice,  as  the  door  was  dashed  open, 
and  Nicholas  burst  into  the  centre  of  the  room. 

Ill  the  first  moment  of  surprise,  and  possibly  of  alarm,  E,alph 
rose  from  his  seat,  and  fell  back  a  few  paces,  quite  taken  off  his 
guard  by  this  unexpected  apparition.  In  another  moment,  he 
stood  fixed  and  immovable  with  folded  arms,  regarding  his 
nephew  with  a  scowl  of  deadly  hatred,  while  Kate  and  Miss  La 
Creevy  threw  themselves  between  the  two  to  prevent  the  personal 
violence  which  the  fierce  excitement  of  Nicholas  appeared  to 
threaten. 

“Dear  Nicholas,”  cried  his  sister,  clinging  to  him.  “Be 
calm,  consider — ” 

“  Consider,  Kate  !”  cried  Nicholas,  clasping  her  hand  so  tight 
in  the  tumult  of  his  anger,  that  she  could  scarcely  bear  the  pain. 
“  When  I  consider  all,  and  think  of  what  has  passed,  I  need  be 
made  of  iron  to  stand  before  him.” 

“Or  bronze,”  said  Ralph,  quietly;  “there  is  not  hardihood 
enough  in  flesh  and  blood  to  face  it  out.” 

“Oh  dear,  dear  I”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “that  things  should 
have  come  to  such  a  pass  as  this  !” 

“  Who  speaks  in  a  tone  as  if  I  had  done  wrong,  and  brought 
disgrace  on  them  ?”  said  Nicholas,  looking  round. 

“Your  mother.  Sir,”  replied  Ralph,  motioning  towards  her. 

“  Whose  ears  have  been  poisoned  by  you,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “by 
you — you,  who  under  pretence  of  deserving  the  thanks  she 
poured  upon  you,  heaped  every  insult,  wrong,  and  indignity, 
upon  my  head.  You,  who  sent  me  to  a  den  where  sordid 
cruelty,  worthy  of  yourself,  runs  wanton,  and  youthful  misery 
stalks  precocious  ;  where  the  lightness  of  childhood  shrinks  into 
the  heaviness  of  age,  and  its  every  promise  blights,  and  withers 
as  it  grows.  I  call  Heaven  to  witness,”  said  Nicholas,  looking 
eagerly  round,  “that  I  have  seen  all  this,  and  that  that  man 
knows  it.” 

“Refute  these  calumnies,”  said  Kate,  “and  be  more  patient, 
BO  that  you  may  give  them  no  advantage.  Tell  us  what  you 
really  did,  and  show  that  they  are  untrue.” 

“  Of  what  do  they — or  of  what  does  he  accuse  me  ?”  said 
Nicholas. 

“First,  of  attacking  your  master,  and  being  withiu  an  ace  of 

in' 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


m 

qualifying  yourself  to  be  tried  for  murder,”  interposed  Ralph. 
“1  speak  plainly,  young  man,  bluster  as  you  will.” 

“  I  interfered,”  said  Nicholas,  “  to  save  a  miserable,  wretched 
creature  from  the  vilest  and  most  degrading  cruelty.  In  so 
doing  T  inflicted  such  punishment  upon  a  wretch  as  he  will  not 
readily  forget,  though  far  less  than  he  deserved  from  me.  If 
the  same  scene  were  renewed  before  me  now,  I  would  take  the 
same  part ;  but  I  would  strike  harder  and  heavier,  and  brand 
him  with  such  marks  as  he  should  carry  to  his  grave,  go  to  it 
when  he  would.” 

“  You  hear  ?”  said  Ralph,  turning  to  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  Peni¬ 
tence,  this  1” 

“  Oh,  dear  me  1”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “  I  don’t  know  what  to 
think,  I  really  don’t.” 

”  Do  not  speak  just  now,  mamma,  I  entreat  you,”  said  Kate. 
“Dear  Nicholas,  I  only  tell  you,  that  you  may  know  what  wick¬ 
edness  can  prompt,  but  they  accuse  you  of — a  ring  is  missing, 
fcnd  they  dare  to  say  that - ” 

“The  woman,”  said  Nicholas,  haughtily,  “the  wife  of  the 
fellow  from  whom  these  charges  come,  dropped — as  I  suppose — 
a  worthless  ring  among  some  clothes  of  mine,  early  in  the  morn¬ 
ing  on  which  I  left  the  house.  At  least,  I  know  that  she  was 
in  the  bed-room  where  they  lay,  struggling  with  an  unhappy 
child,  and  that  I  found  it  when  I  opened  ray  bundle  on  the  road. 
I  returned  it  at  once,  by  coach,  and  they  have  it  now.” 

“I  knew,  I  knew,”  said  Kate,  looking  towards  her  uncle. 
“  About  this  boy,  love,  in  whose  company  they  say  you  left  ?” 

“  That  boy,  a  silly,  helpless  creature,  from  brutality  and  bard 
usage,  is  with  me  now,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“You  hear?”  said  Ralph,  appealing  to  the  mother  again, 
“  every  thing  proved,  even  upon  his  own  confession.  Do  you 
choose  to  restore  that  boy.  Sir  ?” 

“No,  I  do  not,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“You  do  not?”  sneered  Ralph. 

“No,”  repeated  Nicholas,  “not  to  the  man  with  whom  I 
found  him.  I  would  that  I  knew  on  whom  he  has  the  claim  of 
birth  :  I  might  wring  something  from  his  sense  of  shame,  if  he 
were  dead  to  every  tie  of  nature  ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


29J 


"Indeed  !”  said  Ralph..  "Now,  Sir,  will  you  hear  a  word  or 
two  from  me  ?” 

“  You  can  speak  when  and  what  you  please.”  replied  Nicho¬ 
las,  embracing  his  sister.  "  I  take  little  need  of  what  you  say 
or  threaten.” 

"Mighty  well.  Sir,”  retorted  Ralph;  "but,  perhaps,  it  may 
concern  others,  who  may  think  it  worth  their  while  to  listen, 
and  consider  what  I  tell  them.  I  will  address  your  mother. 
Sir,  who  knows  the  world.” 

"  Ah  1  and  I  only  too  dearly  wish  I  didn’t,”  sobbed  Mrs. 
Nickleby. 

There  really  was  no  necessity  for  the  good  lady  to  be  much 
distressed  upon  this  particular  head,  the  extent  of  her  worldly 
knowledge  being,  to  say  the  least,  very  questionable ;  and  so 
Ralph  seemed  to  think,  for  he  smiled  as  she  spoke,  lie  then 
glanced  steadily  at  her  and  Nicholas  by  turns,  as  he  delivered 
himself  in  these  words  : — 

“  Of  what  I  have  done,  or  what  I  meant  to  do,  for  you, 
Ma’am,  and  my  niece,  I  say  not  one  syllable.  I  held  out  no 
promise,  and  leave  you  to  judge  for  yourself.  I  hold  out  no 
threat  now,  but  I  say  that  this  boy,  headstrong,  willful,  and  dis¬ 
orderly  as  he  is,  should  not  have  one  penny  of  my  money,  or 
one  crust  of  my  bread,  or  one  grasp  of  my  hand,  to  save  him 
from  the  loftiest  gallows  in  all  Europe.  1  will  not  meet  him, 
come  where  he  comes,  or  hear  his  name.  I  will  not  help  him, 
or  those  who  help  him.  With  a  full  knowledge  of  what  ho 
brought  upon  you  by  so  doing,  he  has  come  back  in  his  selfish 
sloth,  to  be  an  aggravation  of  your  wants,  and  a  burden  upor 
his  sister’s  scanty  v/ages.  I  regret  to  leave  you,  and  more 
leave  her,  now,  but  T  will  not  encourage  this  compound  of  me:,s 
ness  and  cruelty,  and,  as  I  will  not  ask  you  to  renounce  a 
see  you  no  more.’' 

If  Ral[)h  had  not  known  and  felt  his  power  in  wounding 
those  he  hated,  his  glances  at  Nicholas  would  have  shown  it  him 
in  all  its  force,  as  he  proceeded  in  the  above  address.  Innocent 
as  the  young  man  was  of  all  wrong,  every  artful  insinuation 
stung,  every  well-considered  sarca.o".  cut  him  to  the  quick,  and 
when  I’alph  noted  his  pale  face  and  quivering  lip,  he  hugged 


292 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


himself  to  mark  how  well  he  had  chosen  the  taunts  best  cabu- 
lated  to  strike  deep  into  a  young  and  ardent  spirit. 

“I  can’t  help  it,”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “I  know  you  have 
been  very  good  to  us,  and  meant  to  do  a  good  deal  for  my  dear 
daughter.  I  am  quite  sure  of  that ;  I  know  you  did,  and  it 
was  very  kind  of  you,  having  her  at  your  house  and  all — and  of 
course  it  would  have  been  a  great  thing  for  her,  and  for  me  too. 
But  I  can’t,  you  know,  brother-in-law,  I  can’t  renounce  ray  own 
son,  even  if  he  has  done  all  you  say  he  has — it’s  not  possible,  I 
couldn’t  do  it ;  so  we  must  go  to  rack  and  ruin,  Kate,  ray  dear. 
I  can  bear  it,  I  dare  say.”  Pouring  forth  these,  and  a  peifectly 
wonderful  train  of  other  disjointed  expressions  of  regret,  which 
no  mortal  power  but  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  could  ever  have  strung 
together,  that  lady  wrung  her  hands,  and  her  tears  fell  faster. 

"Why  do  you  say  ^  if  Nicholas  has  done  what  they  say  he 
has,’ mamma?”  asked  Kate,  with  honest  anger.  “You  know 
he  has  not.” 

“I  don’t  know  what  to  think,  one  way  or  other,  my  dear,” 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “Nicholas  is  so  violent,  and  your  uncle 
has  so  much  honest  composure,  that  I  can  only  hear  what  he 
says,  and  not  what  Nicholas  does.  Never  mind,  don’t  let  us 
talk  any  more  about  it.  We  can  go  to  the  Workhonse,  or  the 
Refuge  for  the  Destitute,  or  the  Magdalen  Hospital,  I  dare  say ; 
and  the  sooner  we  go  the  better.”  With  this  extraordinary 
jumble  of  charitable  insitutious,  Mrs.  Nickleby  again  gave  way 
to  her  tears. 

“Stay,”  said  Nicholas,  as  Ralph  turned  to  go.  “You  need 
not  leave  this  place.  Sir,  for  it  will  be  relieved  of  my  presence 
in  one  minute,  and  it  will  be  long,  very  long,  before  I  darken 
these  doors  again.” 

“Nicholas,”  cried  Kate,  throwing  herself  on  her  brother’s 
shoulder,  and  clasping  him  in  her  arms,  “  do  not  say  so.  My 
dear  brother,  you  will  break  my  heart.  Mamma,  speak  to  him. 
Do  not  mind  her,  Nicholas;  she  does  not  mean  it,  you  should 
know  her  better.  Uncle,  somebody,  for  God’s  sake,  speak  to 
him.” 

“  I  never  meant,  Kate,”  said  Nicholas,  tenderly,  “  I  never 
meant  to  stay  among  you  ;  think  better  of  me  than  to  suppose 

possible.  I  may  turn  my  back  on  this  town  a  few  houra 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


293 


sooner  tlian  I  intended,  but  what  of  that?,  We  sliall  not  for¬ 
get  each  other  apart,  and  better  days  will  come  when  we  shall 
part  no  more.  Be  a  woman,  Kate,”  he  whispered,  proudly, 
“  and  do  not  make  me  one  while  he  looks  on.” 

“  No,  no,  I  will  not,”  said  Kate,  eagerly,  '•  but  you  will  not 
leave  us.  Oh  !  think  of  all  the  happy  days  we  have  had 
together,  before  these  terrible  misfortunes  came  upon  us  ;  of  all 
the  comfort  and  happiness  of  home,  and  the  trials  we  have  to 
bear  now  ;  of  our  having  no  protector  under  all  the  slights  and 
wrongs  that  poverty  so  much  favors,  and  you  cannot  leave  us 
to  bear  them  alone,  without  one  hand  to  help  us.” 

”  You  will  be  helped  when  I  am  away,”  replied  Nicholas, 
hurriedly.  “  I  am  no  help  to  you,  no  protector ;  I  should 
bring  you  nothing  but  sorrow,  and  want,  and  suffering.  My 
own  mother  sees  it,  and  her  fondness  and  fears  for  you  point  to 
the  course  tbat  I  should  take.  And  so  all  good  angels  bless 
you,  Kate,  till  I  can  carry  you  to  some  home  of  mine,  where  we 
may  revive  the  happiness  denied  to  us  new,  and  talk  of  these 
trials  as  of  things  gone  by.  Do  not  keep  me  here,  but  let  me 
go  at  once.  There.  Dear  girl — dear  girl.” 

The  grasp  which  had  detained  him,  relaxed,  and  Kate  fainted 
in  his  arms.  Nicholas  stooped  over  her  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
placing  her  gently  in  a  chair,  confided  her  to  their  honest 
friend. 

“  I  need  not  entreat  your  sympathy,”  he  said,  wringing  her 
hand,  “  for  I  know  your  nature.  You  will  never  forget  them.” 

lie  stepped  up  to  Ralph,  who  remained  in  the  same  attitude 
which  he  had  preserved  throughout  the  interview,  and  moved 
not  a  finger. 

“  Whatever  step  you  take.  Sir,”  he  said,  in  a  voice  inaudible 
beyond  themselves,  “  I  will  keep  a  strict  account  of.  I  leave 
them  to  you,  at  your  desire.  There  will  be  a  day  of  reckon¬ 
ing  sooner  or  later,  and  it  will  be  a  heavy  one  for  you  if  they 
are  wronged.” 

Ralph  did  not  allow  a  muscle  of  his  face  to  indicate  that  he 
heard  one  word  of  this  parting  address.  lie  hardly  knew  that 
it  was  concluded,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  scarcely  made  up  her 
mind  to  detain  her  son  by  force  if  necessary,  when  Nicholas 
was  gone. 


294 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


As  he  liurried  through  the  streets  to  his  obscure  lodging, 
seeking  to  keep  pace,  as  it  Vi^ere,  with  the  rapidity  of  the 
thoughts  which  crowded  upon  him,  many  doubts  and  hesitations 
arose  in  his  mind  and  almost  tempted  him  to  return.  But  what 
would  they  gain  by  this  ?  Supposing  he  were  to  put  B  alph 
Nickleby  at  defiance,  and  were  even  fortunate  enough  to  obtain 
some  small  employment,  his  being  with  them  could  only  render 
their  present  condition  worse,  and  might  greatly  impair  their 
future  prospects,  for  his  mother  had  spoken  of  some  new  kind¬ 
nesses  towards  Kate  which  she  had  not  denied.  “No,”  thought 
Nicholas,  “  I  have  acted  for  the  best.” 

But  before  he  had  gone  five  hundred  yards,  some  other  and 
different  feeling  would  come  upon  him,  and  then  he  would  lag 
again,  and  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  give  way  to  the  melan¬ 
choly  reflections  which  pressed  thickly  upon  him.  To  have 
committed  no  fault,  and  yet  to  be  so  entirely  alone  in  the 
world ;  to  be  separated  from  the  only  persons  he  loved,  and  to 
be  proscribed  like  a  criminal,  when  six  months  ago  he  had  been 
surrounded  by  every  comfort,  and  looked  up  to  as  the  chief 
hope  of  his  family — this  was  hard  to  bear.  He  had  not 
deserved  it  either.  Well,  there  Avas  comfort  in  that;  and  poor 
Nicholas  would  brighten  up  again,  to  be  again  depressed,  as 
his  quickly-shifting  thoughts  presented  every  variety  of  light 
and  shade  before  him. 

Undergoing  these  alternations  of  hope  and  misgiving,  which 
no  one,  placed  in  a  situation  of  even  ordinary  trial,  can  fail  to 
have  experienced,  Nicholas  at  length  reached  his  poor  room, 
where,  no  longer  borne  up  by  the  excitement  which  had  hitherto 
sustained  him,  but  depressed  by  the  revulsion  of  feeling  it  left 
•>ehind,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and  turning  his  face  to 
the  wall,  gave  free  vent  to  the  emotions  he  had  so  long  stifled. 

He  had  not  heard  any  body  enter,  and  was  unconscious  3f 
the  presence  of  Smike,  until,  happening  to  raise  his  head,  he 
saw  him  standing  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  looking  wist¬ 
fully  towards  him.  He  withdrew  his  eyes  when  he  saw  that  he 
was  observed,  and  affected  to  be  busied  with  some  scanty  pre¬ 
parations  for  dinner. 

“Well,  Smike,”  said  Nicholas,  as  chom-iully  as  he  could 
speak,  “  let  me  hear  what  new  acquaintances  you  have  made 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV. 


295 


this  morning,  or  what  new  wonder  you  have  found  out  in  the 
compass  of  this  street  and  the  next  one.” 

“No,”  said  Smike,  shaking  his  head  mournfully;  “1  must 
talk  of  something  else  to-day.” 

“  Of  what  you  like,”  replied  Nicholas,  good-humoredly. 

“Of  this,”  said  Smike.  “I  know  you  are  unliappy,  and 
have  got  into  great  trouble  by  bringing  me  away.  I  ought  to 
have  known  that,  and  stopped  behind — I  would,  indeed,  if  I  had 
thought  it  then.  You — you — are  not  rich:  you  have  not 
enough  for  yourself,  and  I  should  not  be  here.  You  grow,” 
said  the  lad,  laying  his  hand  timidly  on  that  of  Nicholas,  “you 
grow  thinner  every  day  ;  your  cheek  is  paler,  and  your  eye  more 
sunk.  Indeed  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  so,  and  think  how  I  am 
burdening  you.  I  tried  to  go  away  to-day,  but  the  thought  of 
your  kind  face  drew  me  back.  I  could  not  leave  you  without 
a  word.”  The  poor  fellow  could  get  no  further,  for  his  eyes 
tilled  with  tears,  and  his  voice  was  gone. 

“  The  word  which  separates  us,”  said  Nicholas,  grasping 
him  heartily  by  the  shoulder,  “  shall  never  be  said  by  me,  for 
you  are  my  oidy  comfort  and  stay.  I  would  not  lose  you  now, 
for  all  the  world  could  give.  The  thought  of  you  has  upheld 
me  through  all  I  have  endured  to-day,  and  shall,  through  fifty 
times  such  trouble.  Give  me  your  hand.  My  heart  is  linked 
to  jours.  AVe  will  journey  from  this  place  together,  before  the 
week  is  out.  What,  if  I  am  steeped  in  poverty  ?  Y ou  lighten 
it,  and  we  will  be  poor  together.” 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


MADAME  MANTALINI  FINDS  HERSELF  IN  A  SITUATION  OP  SOME 

DIFFICULTY,  AND  MISS  NICKLEBY  FINDS  HERSELF  IN  NO 

SITUATION  AT  ALL. 

The  agitation  she  had  undergone  rendei'ed  Kate  Xickleby 
unable  to  resume  her  duties  at  the  dress-maker’s  for  three  days, 
at  the  expiration  of  which  interval  she  betook  herself  at  the 
accustomed  hour,  and  with  languid  steps,  to  the  temple  of 
fashion  where  Madame  Mantalini  reigned  paramount  and 
supreme. 

The  ill-will  of  Miss  Knag  had  lost  nothing  of  its  virulence 
in  the  interval,  for  the  young  ladies  still  scrupulously  shrank 
from  all  companionship  with  their  denounced  associate ;  and 
when  that  exemplary  female  arrived  a  few  minutes  afterwards, 
she  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  the  displeasure  with  which  she 
regarded  Kate’s  return. 

“Upon  my  word  I”  said  Miss  Knag,  as  the  satellites  (locked 
round  to  relieve  her  of  her  bonnet  and  shawl ;  “  I  should  have 
thought  some  people  would  have  had  spirit  enough  to  stop  away 
altogether,  when  they  know  what  an  encumbrance  their  presence 
is  to  right-minded  persons.  But  it’s  a  queer  world  ;  oh  !  it’ 
queer  world  I” 

Miss  Knag  having  passed  this  comment  on  the  world,  in  the 
lone  in  which  most  people  do  pass  comments  on  the  world,  when 
they  are  out  of  temper,  that  is  to  say,  as  if  they  by  no  means 
belonged  to  it,  concluded  by  heaving  a  sigh,  wherewith  she 
seemed  meekly  to  compassionate  the  wickedness  of  mankind. 

The  attendants  were  not  slow  to  echo  the  sigh,  and  Miss 
Knag  was  apparently  on  the  eve  of  favoring  them  with  some 
further  moral  reflections,  when  the  voice  of  Madame  Mantalini, 
conveyed  through  the  speaking-tube,  ordered  Miss  Xickleby  up 
stairs  to  assist  in  the  arrangement  of  the  show-room  ;  a  dis¬ 
tinction  which  caused  Miss  Knag  to  toss  her  head  so  much,  and 
(296) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


297 


bite  her  lips  so  hard,  that,  her  powers  of  conversation  were  for 
the  time  annihilated. 

“Well,  Miss  Nickleby,  child,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  when 
Kate  presented  herself ;  “  are  you  quite  well  again  ?” 

“A  great  deal  better,  thank  you,”  replied  Kate. 

“  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same,”  remarked  Madame  Mantalini, 
Beating  herself  with  an  air  of  weariness. 

“  Are  you  ill  ?”  asked  Kate.  “  I  am  very  sorry  for  that.” 

“Not  exactly  ill,  but  worried,  child — worried,”  rejoined 
Madame.  - 

“  I  am  still  more  sorry  to  hear  that,”  said  Kate,  gently. 
“Bodily  illness  is  more  easy  to  bear  than  mental.” 

“  Ah  1  and  it’s  much  easier  to  talk  than  to  bear  either,”  said 
Madame,  rubbing  her  nose  with  much  irritability  of  manner. 
“  There,  get  to  your  work,  child,  and  put  the  things  in  order, 
do.” 

While  Kate  was  wondering  within  herself  what  these  symp¬ 
toms  of  unusual  vexation  portended,  Mr.  Mantalini  put  the  tips 
of  his  whiskers,  and  by  degrees  his  head,  through  the  half- 
opened  door,  and  cried  in  a  soft  voice — 

“  Is  my  life  and  soul  there  ?” 

“No,”  replied  his  wife. 

“  How  can  it  say  so,  when  it  is  blooming  in  the  front  room 
like  a  little  rose  in  a  demnition  flower-pot  ?”  urged  Mantalini. 
“  May  its  poppet  come  in  and  talk  ?” 

“  Certainly  not,”  replied  Madame  ;  “you  know  1  never  allow 
you  here.  Go  along.” 

The  poppet,  however,  encouraged  perhaps  by  the  relenting 
tone  of  this  reply,  ventured  to  rebel,  and,  stealing  into  the  room, 
made  towards  Madame  Mantalini  on  tip-toe,  blowing  her  a  kiss 
as  he  came  along. 

“Why  will  it  vex  itself,  and  twist  its  little  face  into  bewitching 
nut-crackers  ?”  said  Mantalini,  putting  his  left  arm  round  the 
waist  of  his  life  and  soul,  and  drawing  her  towards  him  with 
liis  right. 

“  Oh  !  1  can’t  bear  you,”  replied  his  wife. 

“  Not — eh,  not  bear  me  .”’  exclaimed  Mantalini.  “Fibs,  fibs. 
It  couldn’t  be.  There’s  not  a  w  )man  alive  that  could  tell  me 
such  a  thing  to  nqv  face-— to  mj  own  face.”  Mr.  Mantalini 


298 


NICHOLAS  NiCKLEBY. 


stroked  liis  chin  as  he  said  this,  and  glanced  complaisantly  at  aa 
opposite  mirror, 

“Such  destructive  extravagance,”  reasoned  his  wife  in  a  low 
tone. 

“  All  in  its  joy  at  having  gained  such  a  lovely  creature,  such 
a  little  Venus,  such  a  demd  enchanting,  bewitching,  engrossing, 
captivating  little  Venus,”  said  Mantalini. 

“  See  what  a  situation  you  have  placed  me  in !”  urged 
Madame. 

“  No  harm  will  come,  no  harm  shall  come  to  its  own  darling,” 
rejoined  Mr.  Mantalini.  “  It  is  all  over,  there  will  be  nothing 
the  matter ;  money  shall  be  got  in,  and  if  it  don’t  come  in  fast 
enough,  old  Nickleby  shall  stump  up  again,  or  have  his  jugular 
separated  if  he  dares  to  vex  and  hurt  the  little - ” 

“  Hush  !”  interposed  Madame.  “  Don’t  you  see  ?” 

Mr.  Mantalini,  who,  in  his  eagerness  to  make  up  matters 
with  his  wife,  had  overlooked,  or  feigned  to  overlook  Miss 
Nickleby  hitherto,  took  the  hint,  and  laying  his  finger  on  his 
lip,  sunk  his  voice  still  lower.  There  was  then  a  great  deal  of 
whispering,  during  which  Madame  Mantalini  appeared  to  make 
reference  more  than  once  to  certain  debts  incurred  by  Mr.  Man¬ 
talini  previous  to  her  coverture ;  and  also  to  an  unexpected 
outlay  of  money  in  payment  of  the  aforesaid  debts;  and  further¬ 
more,  to  certain  agreeable  weaknesses  on  that  gentleman’s  part 
such  as  gaming,  wasting,  idling,  and  a  tendency  to  horse-flesh, 
each  of  which  matters  of  accusation  Mr,  Mantalini  disposed  ol 
by  one  kiss  or  more,  as  its  relative  importance  demanded,  and 
the  upshot  of  it  all  was,  that  Madame  Mantalini  was  in  raptures 
with  him,  and  they  went  up  stairs  to  breakfast. 

Kate  busied  herself  in  what  she  had  to  do,  and  was  silently 
arranging  the  various  articles  of  decoration  in  the  best  taste 
she  could  display,  when  she  started  to  hear  a  strange  man’s 
voice  in  the  room  ;  and  started  again  to  observe,  on  looking 
round,  that  a  white  hat,  and  a  red  neckerchief,  and  a  bi’oad 
1  ound  face,  and  a  large  head,  and  part  of  a  green  coat,  were  in 
the  room  too. 

“Don’t  alarm  youirelf,  Miss,”  said  the  proprietor  of  these 
tT(>pearances.  “Isay;  this  here’s  the  mantie-making  con-sara, 
a'li’t  it  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


299 


“  Yes,”  rejoined  Kate,  greatly  astonished.  “Wliatdid  you 
want  ?” 

The  stranger  answered  not ;  but  first  looking  back,  as  though 
to  beckon  to  some  unseen  person  outside,  came  very  deliberately 
into  the  room  and  was  closely  followed  by  a  little  man  in  brown, 
very  much  the  worse  for  wear,  who  brought  with  him  a  mingled 
fumigation  of  stale  tobacco  and  fresh  onions.  The  clothes  of 
this  gentleman  were  much  bespeckled  with  flue ;  and  his  shoes 
stockings,  and  nether  garments,  from  his  heels  to  the  waist  but 
tons  of  his  coat  inclusive,  were  profusely  embroidered  with 
splashes  of  mud,  caught  a  fortnight  previous. — before  the  setting 
in  of  the  fine  weather. 

Kate’s  very  natural  impression  was,  that  these  engaging  in¬ 
dividuals  had  called  with  the  view  of  possessing  themselves 
unlawfully  of  any  portable  articles  that  chanced  to  strike  their 
fancy.  She  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  her  apprehensions,  and 
made  a  move  towards  the  door. 

“Wait  a  minnit,”  said  the  man  in  the  green  coat,  closing  it 
softly,  and  standing  with  his  back  against  it.  “  This  is  a  un¬ 
pleasant  bisuess.  Vere’s  your  govvernor?” 

“  jVty  what — did  you  say?”  asked  Kate,  trembling;  for  she 
thought  “governor”  might  be  slang  for  watch  or  money. 

“  Mister  Muntlehiney,”  said  the  man.  “  Wot’s  come  of  him  ? 
Is  he  at  home  ?” 

“  He  is  above  stairs,  I  believe,”  replied  Kate,  a  little  reas¬ 
sured  by  this  inquiry.  “Do  you  want  him  ?” 

“  No,”  replied  the  visitor.  “  I  don’t  ezactly  want  him,  if  it’s 
made  a  favor  on.  You  can  jist  give  him  that  ’ere  card,  and 
tell  him  if  he  wants  to  speak  to  me,  and  save  trouble,  here  I  am, 
that’s  all.” 

With  these  words  the  stranger  put  a  thick  square  card  into 
Kate’s  hand,  and  turning  to  his  frieud  remarked,  with  an  easy 
air,  “that  tlie  rooms  was  a  good  high  pitch;”  to  which  the 
friend  assented,  adding,  by  way  of  illustration,  “that  there  was 
lots  of  room  for  a  little  boy  to  grow  up  a  man  in  either  on  ’em 
vithout  much  fear  of  his  ever  bringing  his  head  into  contract 
vith  the  ceiling.” 

After  ringing  the  bell  which  would  summon  Madame  Man- 
talini  Kate  glanced  at  the  card,  and  saw  that  it  displayed  the 


80C 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


naHiB  of  “  Scaley,”  together  with  some  other  information  to 
which  she  had  not  had  time  to  refer,  when  her  attention  was 
attracted  by  Mr.  Scaley  himself,  who,  walking  up  to  one  of  the 
cheval-glasses,  gave  it  a  hard  poke  in  the  centre  with  his  stick, 
ns  coolly  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  cast  iron. 

“  Good  plate  this  here,  Tix,”  said  Mr.  Scaley  to  his  friend. 

“  Ah  !”  rejoined  Mr.  Tix,  placing  the  marks  of  his  four 
fingers,  -and  a  duplicate  impression  of  his  thumb  on  a  piece 
of  sky-blue  silk;  “and  this  here  article  warn’t  made  for  nothing, 
mind  you.” 

From  the  silk  Mr.  Tix  transferred  his  admiration  to  some 
elegant  articles  of  wearing  apparel,  while  Mr.  Scaley  adjusted 
-his  neckcloth  at  leisure  before  the  glass,  and  afterwards,  aided 
by  its  reflection,  proceeded  to  the  minute  consideration  of  a 
pimple  on  his  chin  :  in  which  absorbing  occupation  he  was  yet 
engaged  when  Madame  Mautalini  entering  the  room,  ut  ered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  which  roused  him. 

“  Oh  1  Is  this  the  missis  ?”  inquired  Scaley. 

“It  is  Madame  Mantalini,”  said  Kate. 

“  Then,”  said  Mr.  Scaley,  producing  a  small  document  from 
his  pocket  and  unfolding  it  very  slowly,  “  this  is  a  writ  of  exe¬ 
cution,  and  if  it’s  not  conwenient  to  settle  we’ll  go  over  the 
house  at  wunst,  please,  and  take  the  inwentory.” 

Poor  Madame  Mantalini  wrung  her  hands  for  grief,  and  rung 
the  bell  for  her  husband ;  which  done,  she  fell  into  a  chair  and 
a  fainting  fit  simultaneously.  The  professional  gentlemen,  how¬ 
ever,  were  not  at  all  discomposed  by  this  event,  for  Mr.  Scaley, 
leaning  upon  a  stand  on  which  a  handsome  dress  was  displayed 
(so  that  his  shoulders  appeared  above  it  in  nearly  the  same 
manner  as  the  shoulders  of  the  lady  for  whom  it  was  designed 
would  have  done  if  she  had  had  it  on),  pushed  his  hat  on  one 
side  and  scratched  his  head  with  perfect  unconcern,  while  his 
friend  Mr.  Tix,  taking  that  opportunity  for  a  general  survey 
of  the  apartment  preparatory  to  entering  upon  business,  stood 
with  his  inventory-book  under  his  arm  and  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
mentally  occupied  in  putting  a  price  upon  every  object  within 
his  range  of  vision. 

Such  was  the  posture  of  affairs  when  Mr.  Mantalini  hurried 
in,  and  as  that  distinguished  specimen  had  had  a  pretty  exten- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


301 


sive  intercourse  with  Mr.  Scaley’s  fraternity  in  his  bachelor 
days,  and  was,  besides,  very  far  from  being  taken  by  sir[)rise  on 
the  present  agitating  occasion,  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
thrust  his  ha,nds  down  to  the  bottom  of  his  pockets,  elevated  his 
eyebrows,  whistled  a  bar  or  two,  swore  an  oath  or  two,  and, 
sitting  astride  upon  a  chair,  put  the  best  face  upon  the  matter 
with  great  composure  and  decency. 

“What’s  the  demd  total  ?”  was  the  first  question  he  asked. 

“  Fifteen  hundred  and  twenty-seven  pound,  four  and  nine- 
pence  ha’penny,”  replied  Mr.  Scaley,  without  moving  a  limb. 

“The  halfpenny  be  demd,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  impatiently. 

“By  all  means  if  you  vish  it,”  retorted  Mr.  Scaley;  “and 
the  ninepence  too.” 

“It  don’t  matter  to  us  if  the  fifteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  pound  went  along  with  it,  that  I  know  on,”  observed  Mr. 

Tix. 

“Not  a  button,”  said  Scaley. 

“Well,”  said  the  same  gentleman,  after  a  pause,  “  Wot’s  to  be 
done — any  think  ?  Is  it  only  a  small  crack,  or  a  out-and-out 
smash  ?  A  break-up  of  the  constitootion  is  it — werry  good. 
Then,  Mr.  Tom  Tix,  esk-vire,  you  must  inform  your  angel  wife 
and  lovely  family  as  you  won’t  sleep  at  home  for  three  nights 
to  come,  along  of  being  in  possession  here.  Wot’s  the  good 
of  the  lady  a  fretting  herself?”  continued  Mr.  Scaley,  as 
Madame  Mantalini  sobbed.  “  A  good  half  of  wot’s  here  isn’t 
paid  for  I  des-say,  and  wot  a  consolation  oughtn’t  that  to  be  to 
her  feelings  1” 

With  these  remarks,  combining  great  pleasantry  with  sound 
moral  encouragement  under  difficulties,  Mr.  Scaley  proceeded  to 
take  the  inventory,  in  which  delicate  task  he  was  materially 
assisted  by  the  uncommon  tact  and  experience  of  Mr.  Tix,  the 
broker. 

“  My  cup  of  happiness’s  sweetener,”  said  Mantalini,  approach¬ 
ing  his  wife  with  a  penitent  air;  “will  you  listen  to  me  for  two 
minutes  ?” 

“  Oh  !  don’t  speak  to  me,”  replied  his  wife,  sobbing.  “You 
nave  ruined  me,  and  that’s  enough.” 

Mr.  Mantalini,  who  had  doubtless  well  considered  his  part., 
no  sooner  heard  these  words  pronounced  in  a  tone  of  grief  and 


802 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


severity,  than  he  recoiled  several  paces,  assumed  an  expression 
of  consuming  mental  agony,  rushed  headlong  from  the  room, 
and  was  soon  afterwards  heard  to  slam  the  door  of  an  up-stairs 
dressing-room  with  great  violence. 

“  Miss  Niekleby,”  cried  Madame  Mantalini;  when  this  sound 
met  her  ear,  “  make  haste,  for  Heaven’s  sake ;  he  will  destroy 
himself !  I  spoke  unkindly  to  him,  and  he  cannot  bear  it  from 
me,  Alfred,  my  darling  Alfred  1” 

With  such  exclamations  she  hurried  up  stairs,  followed  by 
Kate  ;  who,  although  she  did  not  quite  participate  in  the  fond 
wife’s  apprehensions,  was  a  little  flurried  nevertheless.  The 
dressing-room  door  being  hastily  flung  open,  Mr.  Mantalini  waa 
disclosed  to  view  with  his  shirt-collar  symmetrically  thrown 
back,  putting  a  fine  edge  to  a  breakfast  knife  by  means  of  his 
razor-strop. 

“  Ah  I”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  “  interrupted  1”  and  whisk 
went  the  breakfast  knife  into  Mr.  Mantalini’s  dressing-gown 
pocket,  while  Mr.  Mantalini’s  eyes  rolled  wildly,  and  his  hair 
floating  in  wild  disorder,  mingled  with  his  whiskers. 

“Alfred,”  ci’ied  his  wife,  flinging  her  arms  about  him,  “I 
aidu’t  mean  to  say  it,  I  didn’t  mean  to  say  it.” 

“  Ruined  I”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini.  “  Have  I  brought  ruin 
upon  the  best  and  purest  creature  that  ever  blessed  a  demnition 
vagabond  I  Demmit,  let  me  go.”  At  this  crisis  of  his  ravings 
Mr.  Mantalini  made  a  pluck  at  the  breakfast  knife,  and  being 
restrained  by  his  wife’s  grasp,  attempted  to  dash  his  head 
against  the  wall — taking  very  good  care  to  be  at  least  six  feet 
from  it,  however. 

“  Compose  yourself,  my  own  angel,”  said  Madame.  “  It  was 
nobody’s  fault ;  it  was  mine  as  much  as  yours  ;  we  shall  do  very 
well  yet.  Come,  Alfred,  come. 

Mr.  Mantalini  did  not  think  proper  to  come  to  all  at  once ; 
but  after  calling  several  times  for  ])oison,  and  requesting  some 
lady  or  gentleman  to  blow  his  brains  out,  gentler  feelings  came 
upon  him,  a.ad  he  wept  pathetically.  In  this  softened  frame  of 
mind  he  did  not  oppose  the  capture  of  the  knife — which,  to  tell 
the  truth,  he  was  rather  glad  to  be  rid  of,  as  an  inconvenient 
and  dangerous  article  for  a  skirt  pocket — and  finally  he  sufifered 
iiimseif  to  be  led  away  by  his  affectionate  partner. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


30o 


After  a  delay  of  two  or  three  hours,  the  young  ladies  were 
informed  that  their  services  would  be  dispensed  with  until 
further  notice,  and  at  the  expiration  of  two  days  the  name  of 
Mantalini  appeared  in  the  list  of  bankrupts :  Miss  .INickleby 
receiving  an  intimation  per  post  on  the  same  morning,  that  the 
business  would  be  in  future  carried  on  under  the  name  of  Miss 
Knag,  and  that  her  assistance  would  no  longer  be  required — a 
piece  of  intelligence  with  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  no  sooner 
made  acquainted,  than  that  good  lady  declared  she  had  expected 
it  all  along,  and  cited  divers  unknown  occasions  on  which  she 
had  prophesied  to  that  precise  effect. 

“  And  I  say  again,”  remarked  Mrs.  Kickleby  (who,  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  observe,  had  never  said  so  before),  ‘‘I 
say  again,  that  a  milliner’s  and  dress-maker’s  is  the  very  last 
description  of  business,  Kate,  that  you  should  have  thought  of 
attaching  yourself  to.  I  don’t  make  it  a  reproach  to  you,  ray 
love ;  but  still  I  will  say,  that  if  you  had  consulted  your  own 
mother - ” 

“Well,  well,  mamma,”  said  Kate,  mildly;  “what  would  you 
recommend  now  ?” 

“  Recommend  I”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “  isn’t  it  obvious,  my 
dear,  that  of  all  occupations  in  this  world  for  a  young  lady 
situated  as  you  are,  that  of  companion  to  some  amiable  lady  is 
the  very  thing  for  which  your  education  and  manners,  and  per¬ 
sonal  appearance,  and  every  thing  else,  exactly  qualify  you  ? 
Did  you  never  hear  your  poor,  dear  papa  speak  of  the  young 
lady  who  was  the  daughter  of  the  old  lady  who  boarded  in  the 
same  house  that  he  boarded  in  once,  when  he  was  a  bachelor — 
what  was  her  name  again  ?  I  know  it  began  with  a  B,  and 
ended  with  a  g,  but  whether  it  was  Waters  or — no,  it  couldn’t 
nave  been  that  either;  but  whatever  her  name  was,  don’t  you 
know  that  that  young  lady  went  as  companion  to  a  married 
lady  who  died  soon  afterwards,  and  that  she  married  the  hus- 
ba)id,  and  had  one  of  the  finest  little  boys  that  the  medical  man 
had  ever  seen — all  within  eighteen  months  ?’ 

Kate  knew  perfectly  well  that  this  torrent  of  favorable  recollec¬ 
tion  was  occasioned  by  some  opening,  real  or  imaginary,  which 
her  mother  had  discovered  in  the  companionship  walk  of  life. 
She  therefore  waited  very  patiently  until  all  reminiscences  and 


304 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


anecdotes,  bearing  or  not  bearing  upon  the  subject,  had  bceu 
exhausted,  and  at  last  ventured  to  inquire  what  discovery  had 
been  made.  The  truth  then  came  out.  Mrs.  Nickleby  had 
that  morning  had  a  yesterday-newspaper  of  the  very  first  re¬ 
spectability  from  the  public  house  where  the  porter  came  from, 
and  in  this  yesterday’s  newspaper  was  an  advertisement,  couched 
in  the  purest  and  most  grammatical  English,  announcing  that  a 
married  lady  was  in  want  of  a  genteel  young  person  as  com¬ 
panion,  and  that  the  married  lady’s  name  and  address  were  to 
be  known  on  application  at  a  certain  library  at  the  west  end  of 
the  town,  therein  mentioned. 

“And  I  say,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  laying  the  paper 
down  in  ti’iumph,  “that  if  your  uncle  don’t  object,  it’s  well  worth 
the  trial.” 

Kate  was  too  sick  at  heart,  after  the  rough  jostling  she  had 
already  had  with  the  world,  and  really  cared  too  little  at  the 
moment  what  fate  was  reserved  for  her,  to  make  any  objection. 
Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  offered  none,  but  on  the  contrary  highly 
approved  of  the  suggestion ;  neither  did  he  express  any  great 
surprise  at  Madame  Mantalini’s  sudden  failure,  indeed  it  would 
have  been  strange  if  he  had,  inasmuch  as  it  had  been  procured 
and  brought  about  chiefly  by  himself.  So  the  name  and  ad¬ 
dress  were  obtained  without  loss  of  time,  and  Miss  Nickleby 
and  her  mamma  went  off  in  quest  of  Mrs.  Wititterly,  of  Cado- 
gan  Place,  Sloane  Street,  that  same  forenoon. 

Cadogan  Place  is  the  one  slight  bond  that  joins  two  great 
extremes  ;  it  is  the  connecting  link  between  the  aristocratic 
pavements  of  Belgrave  Square  and  the  barbarism  of  Chelsea. 
It  is  in  Sloane  Street,  but  not  of  it.  The  people  in  Cado-gau 
Place  look  down  upon  Sloane  Street,  and  think  Brompton  low. 
They  affect  fashion  too,  and  wonder  where  the  New  Road  is. 
Not  that  they  claim  to  be  on  precisely  the  same  footing  as  the 
high  folks  of  Belgrave  Square  and  Grosvenor  Place,  but  that 
they  stand  with  reference  to  them  rather  in  the  light  of  those 
illegitimate  children  of  the  great  who  are  content  to  boast  of 
Iheir  connections,  although  their  connections  disavow  them. 
Wearing  as  much  as  they  can  of  the  airs  and  semblances  of 
loftiest  rank,  the  people  of  Cadogan  Place  have  the  realities  of 
middle  station.  It  is  the  con.ductor  which  communicates  to  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


80o 


inhabitants  of  regions  beyond  its  limit,  the  shock  of  pride  of 
birth  and  rank,  which  it  has  not  within  itself,  but  derives  from 
a  fountain-head  beyond  ;  or,  like  the  ligament  which  unites  the 
Siamese  twins,  it  (Contains  something  of  the  life  and  essence  of 
two  distinct  bodies,  and  yet  belongs  to  neither. 

Upon  this  doubtful  ground  lived  Mrs.  Wititterly,  and  at  Mrs. 
Wititteiiy’s  door  Kate  Nickleby  knocked  with  trembling  hand. 
The  door  was  opened  by  a  big  footman  with  his  head  floured, 
or  chalked,  or  painted  in  some  way  (it  didn’t  look  genuine 
powder),  and  the  big  footman,  receiving  the  card  of  introduction, 
gave  it  to  a  little  page  ;  so  little  indeed  that  his  body  would 
not  hold,  in  ordinary  array,  the  number  of  small  buttons  which 
are  indispensable  to  a  page’s  costume,  and  they  were  conse¬ 
quently  obliged  to  be  stuck  on  four  abreast.  This  young  gen¬ 
tleman  took  the  card  up  stairs  on  a  salver,  and  pending  his  re¬ 
turn,  Kate  and  her  mother  were  shown  into  a  dining-room  of 
rather  dirty  and  shabby  aspect,  and  so  comfortably  arranged  as 
to  be  adapted  to  almost  any  purpose,  except  eating  and 
drinking. 

Now,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  and  according  to  all 
authentic  descriptions  of  high  life,  as  set  forth  in  books,  Mrs. 
Wititterly  ought  to  have  been  in  her  boudoir,  but  whether  it 
was  that  Mr.  Wititterly  was  at  that  moment  shaving  him¬ 
self  in  the  boudoir  or  what  not,  certain  it  is  that  Mrs.  Witit¬ 
terly  gave  audience  in  the  drawing-room,  where  was  every  thing 
proper  and  necessaiy,  including  curtains  and  furniture  coverings 
of  a  roseate  hue,  to  shed  a  delicate  bloom  on  Mrs.  Wititterly’s 
complexion,  and  a  little  dog  to  snap  at  strangers’  legs  for  Mrs. 
Wititterly’s  amusement,  and  the  afore-mentioned  page,  to  hand 
chocolate  for  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  refreshment. 

The  lady  had  an  air  of  sweet  insipidity,  and  a  face  of  engaging 
|>aleness ;  there  was  a  faded  look  about  her,  and  about  -  the  fur¬ 
niture,  and  about  the  house  altogether.  She  was  reclining  on  a 
sofa  in  such  a  very  unstudied  attitude,  that  she  might  have  been 
taken  for  an  actress  all  ready  for  the  first  scene  in  a  ballet,  and 
only  waiting  for  the  drop  curtain  to  go  up. 

“  Place  chairs.” 

The  page  placed  them. 

“Leave  the  room,  Alphonse  ” 

20 


806 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


The  page  left  it;  but  if  ever  there  were  an  Alphoi,se  who 
carried  plain  Bill  in  his  face  and  figure,  that  page  was  the 
boy. 

“I  have  ventured  to  call,  Ma’am,”  said  Kate,  after  a  few 
seconds  of  awkward  silence,  “from  having  seen  your  advertise¬ 
ment.” 

“Yes,”  replied  Mrs.  Wititterly,  “one  of  my  people  put  it  in 
the  paper. — Yes.” 

“I  thought,  perhaps,”  said  Kate,  modestly,  “that  if  you  had 
not  already  made  a  final  choice,  you  would  forgive  my  troubling 
you  with  an  application.” 

“Yes,”  drawled  Mrs.  Wititterly  again. 

“If  you  have  already  made  a  selection - ” 

“Oh  dear  no,”  interrupted  the  lady,  “I  am  not  so  easily 
suited.  I  really  don’t  know  what  to  say.  You  have  never 
been  a  companion  before,  have  you  ?” 

Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  had  been  eagerly  watching  her  oppor¬ 
tunity,  came  dexterously  in  before  Kate  could  reply.  “Not  to 
any  stranger.  Ma’am,”  said  the  good  lady ;  “but  she  has  been  a 
companion  to  me  for  some  years.  I  am  her  mother.  Ma’am.” 

“Oh!”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  “I  apprehend  you.” 

“I  assure  you.  Ma’am,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “that  I  very 
little  thought  at  one  time  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  my 
daughter  to  go  out  into  the  world  at  all,  for  her  poor  dear  papa 
was  an  independent  gentleman,  and  would  have  been  at  this 
moment  if  he  had  but  listened  in  time  to  my  constant  entreaties 
and - ” 

“  Dear  mamma,”  said  Kate,  in  a  low  voice. 

“  My  dear  Kate,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  speak,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  “I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  explaining  to  this 
lady - ” 

“I  think  it  is  almost  unnecessary,  mamma.” 

And  notwithstanding  all  the  frowns  and  winks  with  which 
M  rs,  Nickleby  intimated  that  she  was  going  to  say  something 
which  would  clinch  the  business  at  once,  Kate  maintained  her 
point  by  an  expressive  look,  and  for  once  Mrs.  Nickleby  was 
stopped  upon  the  very  brink  of  an  oration. 

“What  are  your  accomplishments  ?”  asked  Mrs.  Wititterly, 
with  her  eyes  shut. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


307 


Kate  blushed,  as  she  mentioned  her  principal  acquirements, 
and  Mrs.  Nickleby  checked  them  all  off,  one  by  one,  on  her 
fingers,  having  calculated  the  number  before  she  came  out. 
Luckily  the  two  calculations  agreed,  so  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  no 
excuse  far  talking. 

“You  are  a  good  temper?”  asked  Mrs.  Wititterly,  opening 
her  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  shutting  them  again. 

“  I  hope  so,”  rejoined  Kate, 

“  And  have  a  highly  respectable  reference  for  every  thing, 
have  you  ?” 

Kate  replied  that  she  had,  and  laid  her  uncle’s  card  upon  the 
table. 

“  Have  the  goodness  to  draw  your  chair  a  little  nearer,  and 
let  me  look  at  you,”  said  Mrs,  Wititterly ;  “I  am  so  very  near¬ 
sighted  that  I  can’t  quite  discern  your  features.” 

Kate  comi)lied,  though  not  without  some  embarrassment, 
with  this  request,  and  Mrs,  Wititterly  took  a  languid  survey  of 
her  countenance,  which  lasted  some  two  or  three  minutes. 

“I  like  your  appearance,”  said  that  lady,  ringing  a  little  bell. 
“Alphonse,  request  your  master  to  come  here.” 

The  page  disappeared  on  this  errand,  and  after  a  short 
interval,  during  which  not  a  w^ord  was  spoken  on  either  side, 
opened  the  dooi  for  an  important  gentleman  of  about  eight- 
and-thirty,  of  rather  plebeian  countenance  and  with  a  very 
light  head  of  hair,  who  leant  over  Mrs.  Wititterly  for  a  little 
time,  and  conrersed  with  her  in  whispers. 

“Oh!”  he  said,  turning  round,  “yes.  This  is  a  most  impor¬ 
tant  matter.  Mrs.  Wititterly  is  of  a  very  excitable  nature,  very 
delicate,  very  fragile;  a  hot-house  plant,  an  exotic.” 

“Oh!  Henry,  my  dear,”  interposed  Mrs.  Wititterly. 

“You  are,  my  love,  you  know  you  are;  one  breath — ’’said 
Mr.  W.,  blowing  an  imaginary  feather  away.  “Pho!  you’re 
gone.” 

The  lady  sighed. 

“Your  soul  is  too  large  for  your  body,”  said  Mr.  Wititterly. 
“Your  intellect  wears  you  out;  all  the  medical  men  say  so;  you 
know  that  there  is  not  a  iihysician  who  is  not  proud  of  being 
called  in  to  you.  What  is  their  unanimous  declaration?  ‘My 
deal  doctor,’  said  I  to  Sir  Tumley  Snuffin,  in  this  very  room,  tne 


80b 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


very  last  lime  he  came.  ‘My  dear  doctor,  what  is  my  wife’s  com' 
plaint?  Tell  me  all.  I  can  bear  it.  Is  it  nerves?’  ‘My  dear 
fellow,’  he  said,  ‘be  proud  of  that  woman;  make  much  of  her; 
she  is  an  ornament  to  the  fashionable  world,  and  to  you.  Her 
complaint  is  soul.  It  swells,  expands,  dilates — the  blood  fires, 
the  pulse  quickens,  the  excitement  increases — Whew!’”  Here 
Mr.  Wititterly,  who,  in  the  ardor  of  his  description,  had  flourished 
his  right  hand  to  within  something  less  than  an  inch  of  Mrs. 
Nickleby’s  bonnet,  drew  it  hastily  back  again,  and  blew  his 
nose  as  fiercely  as  if  it  had  been  done  by  some  violent  machinery. 

“You  make  me  out  worse  than  I  am,  Henry,”  said  Mrs. 
Wititterly,  with  a  faint  smile. 

“I  do  not,  Julia,  I  do  not,”  said  Mr.  W.  “The  society  in 
which  you  move — necessarily  move,  from  your  station,  con¬ 
nection,  and  endowments- — is  one  vortex  and  whirlpool  of  the 
most  frightful  excitement.  Bless  my  heart  and  body,  can  I  ever 
forget  the  night  you  danced  with  the  baronet’s  nephew,  at  the 
election  ball,  at  Exeter!  It  was  tremendous.” 

“I  always  suffer  for  these  triumphs  afterwards,”  said  Mrs. 
Wititterly. 

“And  for  that  very  reason,” rejoined  her  husband,  “you  must 
have  a  companion,  in  whom  there  is  great  gentleness,  great 
sweetness,  excessive  sympathy,  and  perfect  repose.” 

Here  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wititterly,  who  had  talked  rather 
at  the  Nicklebys  than  to  each  other,  left  off  speaking,  and  looked 
at  their  two  hearers,  with  an  expression  of  countenance  which 
seemed  to  say,  “What  do  you  think  of  all  that!” 

“Mrs.  Wititterly,”  said  her  husband,  addressing  himself  to 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  “is  sought  after  and  courted  by  glittering  crowds, 
and  brilliant  circles.  She  is  excited  by  the  opera,  the  drama, 
the  fine  arts,  the — the — the - ” 

“The  nobility,  my  love,”  interposed  Mrs.  Wititterly. 

“The  not)ility,  of  course,”  said  Mr.  Wititterly.  “And  the 
military.  She  forms  and  expresses  an  immense  variety  of 
ojiinions,  on  an  immense  variety  of  subjects.  If  some  people 
in  public  life  were  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  real  opinion 
of  them,  they  would  not  hold  their  heads  perhaps  quite  as  high 
as  they  do.” 

“Hush.  Henry,”  said  the  lady;  “this  is  scarcely  fair.” 


r/ICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


309 


“I  mention  no  names,  Julia,”  replied  Mr.  Wititterly;  “and 
nobody  is  injured.  I  merely  mention  the  circumstance  to  show 
that  you  are  no  ordinary  person ;  that  there  is  a  constant  fric¬ 
tion  perpetually  going  on  between  your  mind  and  your  body ; 
and  that  you  must  be  soothed  and  tended.  Now  let  me  hear 
dispassionately  and  calmly,  what  are  this  young  lady’s  quali¬ 
fications  for  the  office.” 

In  obedience  to  this  request,  the  qualifications  were  all  gone 
through  again,  with  the  addition  of  many  interruptions  and 
cross-questionings  from  Mr.  Wititterly.  It  was  finally  arranged 
that  inquiries  should  be  made,  and  a  decisive  answer  addressed 
to  Miss  Nickleby,  under  cover  to  her  uncle,  within  two  days. 
These  conditions  agreed  upon,  the  page  showed  them  down  as 
far  as  the  staircase  window,  and  the  big  footman  relieving  guard 
at  that  point,  piloted  them  in  perfect  safety  to  the  street  door. 

“They  are  very  distinguished  people,  evidently,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  as  she  took  her  daughter’s  arm.  “What  a  superior 
person  Mrs.  Wititterly  is  I” 

“Do  you  think  so,  mamma?”  was  all  Kate’s  reply. 

“Why,  who  can  help  thinking  so,  Kate,  my  love?”  rejoined 
her  mother.  “She  is  pale,  though,  and  looks  much  exhausted. 
I  hope  she  may  not  be  wearing  herself  out,  bat  I  am  very  much 
afraid.” 

These  considerations  led  the  deep-sighted  lady  into  a  calcula¬ 
tion  of  the  probable  duration  of  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  life,  and  the 
chances  of  the  disconsolate  widower  bestowing  his  hand  on  her 
daughter.  Before  reaching  home,  she  had  freed  Mrs.  Wititterly’s 
soul  from  all  bodily  restraint,  married  Kate  with  great  splendor 
at  Saint  George’s,  Hanover  Square;  and  only  left  undecided  the 
minor  question  whether  a  splendid  French-polished  mahogany 
bedstead  should  be  erected  for  herself  in  the  two-pair  back  of 
the  house  in  Cadogan  Place,  or  in  the  three-pair  front,  between 
which  apartments  she  could  not  quite  balance  the  advantages, 
and  therefore  adjusted  the  question  at  last,  by  determining  to 
leave  it  to  the  decision  of  her  son-in-law. 

The  inquiries  were  made.  The  answer — not  to  Kate’s  very 
great  joy — was  favorable;  and  at  the  expiration  of  a  week  she 
betook  herself,  with  all  her  movables  and  valuables,  to  Mrs 
Wititterly’s  mansion,  where  for  the  present  we  will  leave  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


NICHOLAS,  ACCOMPANIED  BY  SMIKE,  SALLIES  FORTH  SO  SEEK 

HIS  FORTUNE.  HE  ENCOUNTERS  MR.  VINCENT  CRUMMLE8 ; 

AND  WHO  HE  WAS  IS  HEREIN  MADE  MANIFEST, 

The  whole  capital  which  Xicholas  found  himself  entitled  to, 
either  in  possession,  reversion,  remainder,  or  expectancy,  after 
paying  his  rent  and  settling  with  the  broker  from  whom  he  had 
hired  his  poor  furniture,  did  not  exceed  by  more  than  a  few  half¬ 
pence  the  sum  of  twenty  shillings.  And  yet  he  hailed  the 
morning  on  which  he  had  resolved  to  quit  London  with  a  light 
heart,  and  sprang  from  his  bed  with  an  elasticity  of  spirit  which 
is  happily  the  lot  of  young  persons,  or  the  world  would  never 
be  stocked  with  old  ones. 

It  was  a  cold,  dry,  foggy  morning  in  early  s[)ring;  a  few 
meagre  shadows  flitted  to  and  fro  in  the  misty  streets,  and  occa¬ 
sionally  there  loomed  through  the  dull  vapor  the  heavy  outline 
of  some  hackney-coach  Avending  homewards,  which  drawing 
slowly  nearer,  rolled  jangling  by,  scattering  the  thin  crust  of 
frost  from  its  whitened  roof,  and  soon  was  lost  again  in  the 
cloud.  At  intervals  were  heard  the  tread  of  slip-shod  feet,  and 
the  chilly  cry  of  the  poor  sweep,  as  he  crept  shivering  to  his 
early  toil;  the  heavy  footfall  of  the  official  watcher  of  the 
night  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  and  cursing  the  tardy  hours 
that  still  intervened  between  him  and  sleep  :  the  rumbling  of 
ponderous  carts  and  Avagons,  the  roll  of  the  lighter  vehicles 
which  carried  buyers  and  sellers  to  the  different  markets;  the 
sound  of  ineffectual  knocking  at  the  doors  of  heaA^y  sleepers — 
all  these  noises  fell  upon  the  ear  from  time  to  time,  but  all 
seemed  muffled  by  the  fog,  and  to  be  rendered  almost  as  indis¬ 
tinct  to  the  ear  as  Avas  every  object  to  the  sight.  The  sluggish 
darkness  thickened  as  the  day  came  on;  and  those  Avho  had  the 
conrage  to  rise  and  peep  at  the  gloomy  street  fj’om  their  cur- 
(310) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


311 


tained  windows,  crept  back  to  bed  again,  and  coiled  themselves 
up  to  sleep. 

Before  even  these  indications  of  approaching  morning  were 
rife  ill  busy  London,  Nicholas  had  made  his  way  alone  to  the 
city,  and  stood  beneath  the  windows  of  his  mother’s  house.  It 
was  dull  and  bare  to  see,  but  it  had  light  and  life  for  him ;  for 
there  was  at  least  one  heart  within  its  old  walls  to  which  insult 
or  dishonor  would  bring  the  same  blood  rushing  that  flowed  in 
his  own  veins. 

He  crossed  the  road,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  the  window  of 
the  room  where  he  knew  his  sister  slept.  It  was  closed  and 
dark.  “  Poor  girl,”  thought  Nicholas,  “  she  little  thinks  who 
lingers  here  I” 

He  looked  again,  and  felt  for  the  moment  almost  vexed  that 
Kate  w'as  not  there  to  exchange  one  word  at  parting.  “  Good 
God  1”  he  thought,  suddenly  correcting  himself,  “what  a  boy 
I  am  1” 

“  It  is  better  as  it  is,”  said  Nicholas,  after  he  had  lounged  on 
a  few  paces  aud  returned  to  the  same  spot.  “  When  I  left 
them  before,  and  could  have  said  good-by  a  thousand  times  if 
I  had  chosen,  I  spared  them  the  pain  of  leave-taking,  and  why 
not  now  ?”  As  he  spoke,  some  faticied  motion  of  the  curtain 
almost  persuaded  him,  for  the  instant,  that  Kate  was  at  the 
window,  and  by  one  of  those  strange  contradictions  of  feeling 
which  are  common  to  us  all,  he  shrunk  involuntarily  into  a 
door-way,  that  she  might  not  see  him.  He  smiled  at  his  own 
weakness ;  said,  “  God  bless  them  !”  and  walked  away  with  a 
lighter  step. 

Smike  was  anxiously  expecting  him  when  he  reached  his  old 
lodgings,  and  so  was  Newman,  who  had  expended  a  day’s 
income  in  a  can  of  rum  and  milk  to  prepare  them  for  the  jour¬ 
ney.  They  had  tied  up  the  luggage,  Smike  shouldered  it, 
and  away  they  went,  with  Newman  Noggs  in  company  for  he 
had  insisted  on  walking  as  far  as  he  could  with  them,  over¬ 
night. 

“Which  way  ?”  asked  Newman,  wistfully. 

“  To  Kingston,  first,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“And  where  afterwards?”  asked  Newman.  “Why  won’t 
you  tell  me  ?” 


812 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Because  I  scarcely  know  myself,  good  friend,”  rejoined 
Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder;  “and  if  I  did, 
I  have  neither  plan  nor  prospect  yet,  and  might  shift  my  quar¬ 
ters  a  hundred  times  before  you  could  possibly  communicate 
with  me.” 

“  I  am  afraid  you  have  some  deep  scheme  in  your  head,”  said 
Newman,  doubtfully. 

“So  deep,”  replied  his  young  friend,  “that  even  I  can  t 
fathom  it.  Whatever  I  resolve  upon,  depend  upon  it  I  will 
write  you  soon.” 

“You  won^t  forget?”  said  Newman. 

“  I  am  not  very  likely  to,”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “  I  have  not 
so  many  friends  that  I  shall  grow  confused  among  the  number, 
and  forget  my  best  one.” 

Occupied  in  such  discourse  as  this  they  walked  on  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  as  they  might  have  done  for  a  couple  of  days 
if  Nicholas  had  not  sat  himself  down  on  a  stone  by  the  way- 
side,  and  resolutely  declared  his  intention  of  not  moving  an¬ 
other  step  until  Newman  Noggs  turned  back.  Having  pleaded 
ineffectually  first  for  another  half  mile,  and  afterwards  for  an¬ 
other  quarter,  Newman  was  fain  to  comply,  and  to  shape  his 
course  towards  Golden  Square,  after  interchanging  many  hearty 
and  affectionate  farewells,  and  many  times  turning  back  tc  wave 
his  hat  to  the  two  wayfarers  when  they  had  become  mere  specks 
ill  the  distance. 

“Now  listen  to  me,  Smike,”  said  Nicholas,  as  they  trudged 
with  stout  hearts  onwards.  “We  are  bound  for  Portsmouth.” 

Smike  nodded  his  head  and  smiled,  but  expressed  no  other 
emotion ;  for  whether  they  had  been  bound  for  Portsmouth  or 
Port  Royal  would  have  been  alike  to  him,  so  they  had  been 
bound  together. 

“]  don’t  know  much  of  these  matters,”  resumed  Nicholas; 
“  but  Portsmouth  is  a  sea-port  town,  and  if  no  other  employ¬ 
ment  is  to  be  obtained,  I  should  think  we  might  get  on  board 
of  some  ship.  I  am  young  and  actirc,  and  could  be  useful  in 
many  ways.  So  could  you.” 

“  I  hope  so,”  replied  Smike.  “  When  I  was  at  that — you 
know  where  I  mean  ?” 


•‘Yes,  I  know,”  said  Nicholas.  “You  needn’t  name  the 
place.” 

“Well,  when  I  was  there,”  resumed  Smike  ;  his  eyes  spark- 
liog  at  the  prospect  of  displaying  his  abilities  ;  “I  could  milk  a 
cow,  and  groom  a  horse  with  any  body.” 

“  Ila  1”  said  Nieholas,  gravely.  “  I  am  afraid  they  don’t 
usually  keep  many  animals  of  either  kind  on  board  ship,  and 
even  when  they  have  horses,  that  they  are  not  very  particular 
about  rubbing  them  down  ;  still  you  can  learn  to  do  something 
else,  you  know.  Where  there’s  a  will,  there’s  a  way.” 

“  And  I  am  very  willing,”  said  Smike,  brightening  up  again. 

“God  knows  you  are,”  rejoined  Nicholas  ;  “and  if  you  fail, 
it  shall  go  hard,  but  I’ll  do  enough  for  us  both.” 

“  Do  we  go  all  the  way  to-day  ?”  asked  Smike,  after  a  short 
silence. 

“  That  would  be  too  severe  a  trial,  even  for  your  willing 
legs,”  said  Nicholas,  with  a  good-humored  smile.  “No.  Go¬ 
daiming  is  some  thirty  and  odd  miles  from  London — as  I  found 
from  a  map  I  borrowed — and  I  purpose  to  rest  there.  We 
must  push  on  again  to-morrow,  for  we  are  not  rich  enough  to 
loiter.  Let  me  relieve  you  of  that  bundle,  come.” 

“  No,  no,”  rejoined  Smike,  falling  back  a  few  steps.  “  Don’t 
ask  me  to  give  it  up  to  you.” 

“  Why  not  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Let  me  do  something  for  you,  at  least,”  said  Smike.  “You 
will  never  let  me  serve  you  as  I  ought.  You  will  never  know 
how  I  think,  day  and  night,  of  ways  to  please  you.” 

“  You  are  a  foolish  fellow  to  say  it,  for  I  know  it  well,  and 
see  it,  or  I  should  be  a  blind  and  senseless  beast,”  rejoined 
Nicholas.  “  Let  me  ask  you  a  question  while  I  think  of  it,  and 
there  is  no  one  by,”  he  added,  looking  him  steadily  in  the  face. 
“  Have  you  a  good  memory  ?” 

“  1  don’t  know,”  said  Smike,  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully. 
“1  thmk  I  had  once;  but  it’s  all  gone  now — all  gone.” 

“  Why  do  you  think  you  had  once  ?”  asked  Nicholas,  turning 
quickly  upon  him  as  though  the  answer  in  some  way  helped  out 
the  purport  of  his  question. 

“Because  I  could  remember  when  I  was  a  child,”  said  Smike, 
“  but  that  is  very  very  long  ago,  or  at  least  it  seems  so.  I  was 


314 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


always  confused  and  giddy  at  that  place  you  took  me  from  ; 
and  could  never  remember,  and  sometimes  couldn’t  even  under¬ 
stand  what  they  said  to  me.  I — let  me  see — let  me  see.” 

“You  are  wandering  now,’’  said  Nicholas,  touching  him  on 
the  arm. 

“No,”  replied  his  companion,  with  a  vacant  look.  “I  was 

only  thinking  how - .”  He  shivered  involuntarily  as  he 

spoke. 

“  Think  no  more  of  that  place,  for  it  is  all  over,”  retorted 
Nicholas,  fixing  his  eye  full  upon  that  of  his  companion,  which 
was  fast  settling  into  an  unmeaning,  stupefied  gaze,  once  habitual 
to  him,  and  common  even  then.  “  What  of  the  first  day  you 
went  to  Yorkshire  ?” 

“  Eh  1”  cried  the  lad. 

“  That  was  before  you  began  to  lose  your  recollection,  you 
know,”  said  Nicholas,  quietly.  “  Was  the  weather  hot  or  cold  ?” 

“Wet,”  replied  the  boy.  “Very  wet.  I  have  always  said 
when  it  rained  hard,  that  it  was  like  the  night  I  came  ;  and 
they  used  to  crowd  round  and  laugh  to  see  me  cry  when  the 
rain  fell  heavily.  It  was  like  a  child,  they  said,  and  that  made 
me  think  of  it  more.  I  turned  cold  all  over  sometimes,  for  I 
could  see  myself  as  I  was  then,  coming  in  at  the  very  same 
door.” 

“As  you  were  then,”  repeated  Nicholas,  with  assumed  care¬ 
lessness  ;  “  how  was  that  ?” 

“  Such  a  little  creature,”  said  Smike,  “that  they  might  have 
had  pity  and  mercy  upon  me,  only  to  remember  it.” 

“  You  d’dn’t  find  your  way  there  alone  ?”  remarked  Nicholas. 

“No,”  rejoined  Smike,  “oh.  no.’ 

“  Who  was  with  you  ?” 

“  A  man — a  dark,  withered  man  ;  I  have  heard  them  say  so 
at  the  school,  and  I  remembered  that  before.  I  was  glad  to 
leave  him,  I  was  afraid  of  him  ;  but  they  made  me  more  afraid 
of  them,  and  used  me  harder  too.” 

“Look  at  me,”  said  Nicholas,  wishing  to  attract  his  full 
attention.  “  There  ;  don’t  turn  away.  Do  you  remember  no 
woman,  no  kind,  gentle  woman,  who  hung  over  you  once,  and 
kissed  your  lips,  and  called  you  her  child  ?” 

No,”  said  the  poor  creature,  shaking  his  head,  “no,  never.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


315 


“Nor  any  house,  but  that  house  in  Yorkshire?” 

“  No,”  rejoined  tlie  youtli,  with  a  melancholy  look  :  “a  room 
■ — I  remember  I  slejit  in  a  room,  a  large,  lonesome  room,  at  the 
top  of  a  house,  whei-e  there  was  a  trap-door  in  the  celling.  I 
have  covered  my  head  with  the  clothes  often,  not  to  see  it,  for 
it  frightened  me,  a  young  child,  with  no  one  near  at  night,  and  I 
used  to  wonder  what  was  on  the  other  side.  There  was  a  clock 
too,  an  old  clock,  in  one  corner.  I  remember  that.  I  have 
never  forgotten  that  room,  for  when  I  have  terrible  dreams,  it 
comes  back  just  as  it  was.  I  see  things  and  people  in  it,  that  I 
had  never  seen  then,  but  there  is  the  room  just  as  it  used  to  be; 
that  never  changes.” 

“  Will  you  let  me  take  the  bundle  now  ?”  asked  Nicholas, 
abruptly  changing  the  theme. 

“No,”  said  Smike,  “no.  Come,  let  us  walk  on.” 

He  quickened  his  pace,  as  he  said  this,  apparently  under  the 
impression  that  they  had  been  standing  still  during  the  whole 
of  the  previous  dialogue.  Nicholas  marked  him  closely,  and 
every  word  of  this  conversation  remained  indelibly  fastened  in 
his  memory. 

It  was  by  this  time  within  an  hour  of  noon,  and  although  a 
dense  vapor  still  enveloped  the  city  they  had  left,  as  if  the  very 
breath  of  its  busy  people  hung  over  their  schemes  of  gain  and 
profit,  and  found  greater  attraction  there  than  in  the  quiet 
region  above,  in  the  open  country  it  was  clear  and  fair.  Occa¬ 
sionally  in  some  low  spots  they  came  upon  patches  of  mist, 
which  the  sun  had  not  yet  driven  from  their  strongholds ;  but 
these  were  soon  passed,  and  as  they  labored  up  the  hills  beyond, 
it  was  pleasant  to  look  down  and  see  how  the  sluggish  mass 
rolled  heavily  off  before  the  cheering  influence'of  day.  A  broad, 
line,  honest  sun  lighted  up  the  green  pastures  and  dimpled  watei 
with  the  semblance  of  summer,  while  it  left  the  travelers  all  the 
invigorating  freshness  of  that  early  time  of  year.  The  ground 
seemed  clastic  under  their  feet ;  the  sheep-bells  were  music  to 
their  ears  ;  and  exhilarated  by  exercise,  and  stimulated  by  hope, 
they  ]mshed  onwards  with  the  strength  of  lions. 

Tile  day  wore  on,  and  all  these  bright  colors  subsided,  and 
assumed  a  quieter  tint,  like  young  hopes  softened  down  by  time, 
or  youthful  features  by  degrees  resolving  into  the  calm  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


3ie 

serenity  of  age.  But  they  were  scarcely  less  beautiful  in  their 
slow  decline  than  they  had  been  in  their  prime  ;  for  nature  gives 
to  every  time  and  season  some  beauties  of  its  own,  and  from 
morning  to  night,  as  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  is  but  a  succes¬ 
sion  of  changes  so  gentle  and  easy,  that  we  can  scarcely  mark 
their  progress. 

To  Godaiming  they  came  at  last,  and  here  they  bargained 
for  two  humble  beds,  and  slept  soundly.  In  the  morning  they 
were  astir,  though  not  quite  so  early  as  the  sun,  and  again 
afoot ;  if  not  with  all  the  freshness  of  yesterday,  still  with 
enough  of  hope  and  spirit  to  bear  them  cheerily  on. 

It  was  a  harder  day’s  journey  than  that  they  had  already 
performed,  for  there  were  long  and  weary  hills  to  climb  :  and  in 
journeys,  as  in  life,  it  is  a  great  deal  easier  to  go  down  hill  than 
up.  However,  they  kept  on  with  unabated  perseverance,  and 
the  hill  has  not  yet  lifted  its  face  to  heaven  that  perseverance 
will  not  gain  the  summit  of  at  last. 

They  walked  upon  the  rim  of  the  Devil’s  Punch  Bowl,  and 
Smike  listened  with  greedy  interest  as  Nicholas  read  the  in¬ 
scription  upon  the  stone  which,  reared  upon  that  wild  spot,  tells 
of  a  foul  and  treacherous  murder  committed  there  by  night.  The 
grass  on  which  they  stood  had  once  been  dyed  with  gore,  and 
the  blood  of  the  murdered  man  had  run  down,  drop  by  drop, 
into  the  hollow  which  gives  the  place  its  name.  “  The  Devil’s 
Bowl,”  thought  Nicholas,  as  he  looked  into  the  void,  “never 
held  fitter  liquor  than  that.” 

Onward  they  kept  with  steady  purpose,  and  entered  at  length 
upon  a  wide  and  spacious  tract  of  downs,  with  every  variety  of 
little  hill  and  plain  to  change  their  vei’dant  surface.  Here,  there 
shot  up  almost  perpendicularly  into  the  sky  a  height  so  steep, 
as  to  be  hardly  accessible  to  any  but  the  sheep  and  goats  that 
fed  upon  its  sides,  and  there  stood  a  huge  mound  of  green, 
sloping  and  tapering  off  so  delicately,  and  merging  so  gently 
into  the  level  ground,  that  you  could  scarce  define  its  limits. 
Hills  swelling  above  each  other,  and  undulations  shapely  and 
uncouth,  smooth  and  rugged,  graceful  and  grotesque,  thrown 
negligently  side  by  side,  bounded  the  view  in  each  direction  ; 
while  frequently,  with  unexpected  noise,  there  uprose  from  the 
ground  a  flight  of  crows,  who,  cawing  and  wheeling  round  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


317 


nearest  hills,  as  if  uncertain  of  their  course,  suddenly  poised 
themselves  upon  the  wing  and  skimmed  down  the  long  vista 
of  some  opening  valley  with  the  speed  of  very  light  itself 

By  degrees  the  prospect  receded  more  and  more  on  either 
hand,  and  as  they  had  been  shut  out  from  rich  and  extensive 
scenery,  so  they  emerged  once  again  upon  the  open  country. 
The  knowledge  that  they  were  drawing  near  their  place  of  des¬ 
tination,  gave  them  fresh  courage  to  proceed  ;  but  the  way  had 
leen  difficult,  and  they  had  loitei’ed  on  the  road,  aud  Smike  was 
tired.  Thus  twilight  had  already  closed  in,  when  they  turned 
off  the  path  to  the  door  of  a  road-side  inn,  yet  twelve  miles 
short  of  Portsmouth. 

“  Twelve  miles,”  said  Nicholas,  leaning  with  both  hands  on 
his  stick,  and  looking  doubtfully  at  Smike. 

“  Twelve  long  miles,”  repeated  the  landlord. 

“  Is  it  a  good  road  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“Very  bad,”  said  the  landlord.  As  of  course,  being  a  land¬ 
lord,  he  would  say. 

“  I  want  to  get  on,”  observed  Nicholas,  hesitating.  “  I 
scarcely  know  what  to  do.” 

“  Don’t  let  me  influence  you,”  rejoined  the  landlord.  “  I 
wouldn’t  go  on  if  it  was  me.” 

“Wouldn’t  you?”  asked  Nicholas,  with  the  same  uncer¬ 
tainty. 

“  Not  if  I  knew  when  I  was  well  off,”  said  the  landlord.  And 
having  said  it  he  pulled  up  his  apron,  put  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  and  taking  a  step  or  two  outside  the  door,  looked  down 
the  dark  road  with  an  assumption  of  great  indifference. 

A  glance  at  the  toil-worn  face  of  Smike  determined  Nicholas, 
so  without  any  further  consideration  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
stay  where  he  was. 

The  landlord  led  them  into  the  kitchen,  and  as  there  was  a 
good  fire  he  remarked  that  it  was  very  cold.  If  there  had  hap¬ 
pened  to  be  a  bad  one  he  would  have  observed  that  it  was  very 
warm. 

“  What  can  you  give  us  for  supper  ?”  was  Nicholas’s  natural 
question. 

“  Why — what  wmuld  you  like  ?”  w'as  t  ie  landlord’s  no  less 
natural  answer. 


318 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Nicliolas  suggested  cold  meat,  but  tliere  was  no  cold  meal— 
poached  eggs,  but  there  were  no  eggs — mutton  chops,  but 
there  wasn’t  a  mutton  chop  within  three  miles,  though  there 
had  been  more  last  week  than  they  knew  what  to  do  with,  and 
would  be  an  extraordinary  supply  the  day  after  to-morrow. 

“Then,”  said  Nicholas,  “I  must  leave  it  entirely  to  you,  as  I 
would  have  done  at  first  if  you  had  allowed  me.” 

“Why,  then  I’ll  tell  you  what,”  rejoined  the  landlord. 
“  There’s  a  gentleman  in  the  parlor  that’s  ordered  a  hot  beef¬ 
steak  pudding  and  potatoes  at  nine.  There’s  more  of  it  than 
be  can  manage,  and  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  if  I  ask  leave, 
you  can  sup  with  him.  I’ll  do  that  in  a  minute.” 

“No,  no,”  said  Nicholas,  detaining  him.  “I  would  rather 
not.  I — at  least — pshaw  1  why  cannot  I  speak  out  ?  Here ; 
you  see  that  I  am  traveling  in  a  very  humble  manner,  and  have 
made  my  way  hither  on  foot.  It  is  more  than  probable,  I 
think,  that  the  geiuleman  may  not  relish  my  company  ;  and 
although  I  am  the  dusty  figure  you  see,  I  am  too  proud  to 
thrust  myself  into  his.” 

“  Lord  love  you,”  said  the  landlord,  “  it’s  only  Mr.  Crummies  ; 
he  isn’t  particular.” 

“  Is  he  not  ?”  asked  Nicholas,  on  whose  mind,  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  prospect  of  the  savory  pudding  M^as  making  some  im¬ 
pression. 

“Not  he,”  replied  the  landlord.  “He’ll  like  your  way  of 
talking,  I  know.  But  we’ll  soon  see  all  about  that.  Just  wait 
a  minute.” 

The  landlord  hurried  into  the  parlor  without  staying  for 
further  permission,  nor  did  Nicholas  strive  to  prevent  him  : 
wisely  considering  that  supper  under  the  circumstances  was  too 
serious  a  matter  to  trifle  with.  It  was  not  long  before  the  host 
returned  in  a  condition  of  much  excitement. 

“All  right,”  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  “I  knew  he  wculd. 
You’ll  see  something  rather  worth  seeing  in  there.  Ecod,  how 
they  are  a  going  of  it  1” 

Tiiere  was  no  time  to  inquire  to  what  this  exclamation, 
which  was  delivered  in  a  very  rapturous  tone,  referred,  for  ho 
had  already  thrown  open  the  door  of  the  room  ;  into  which 
Nicholas,  followed  by  Smike  with  the  bundle  on  his  shoulder 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


819 


(he  carried  it  about  with  him  as  vigilantly  as  if  it  had  been  a 
purse  of  gold),  straightway  repaired. 

Nicholas  was  pre[)ared  for  something  odd,  but  not  for  some* 
thi/ig  cpiite  so  odd  as  the  sight  he  encountered.  At  the  upper 
end  of  the  room  were  a  couple  of  boys,  one  of  them  very  tall  and 
the  other  very  short,  both  dressed  as  sailors — or  at  least  as  theat¬ 
rical  sailors,  with  belts,  buckles,  pigtails,  and  pistols  complete  — 
lighting  what  is  called  in  play-bills  a  terrific  combat  with  two 
of  those  short  broad-sv/ords  with  basket  hilts  which  are  com¬ 
monly  used  at  our  minor  theatres.  The  short  boy  had  gained 
a  great  advantage  over  the  tall  boy,  who  was  reduced  to  mortal 
strait,  and  both  were  overlooked  by  a  large  heavy  man, 
perched  against  the  corner  of  a  table,  who  emphatically  adjured 
them  to  strike  a  little  more  fire  out  of  the  swords,  and  they 
couldn’t  fail  to  bring  the  house  down  on  the  very  first  night. 

“  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,”  said  the  landlord  with  an  air  of 
great  deference,  “this  is  the  young  gentleman.” 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  received  Nicholas  with  an  inclination 
of  the  head,  something  between  the  courtesy  of  a  Eomaii  em¬ 
peror  and  the  nod  of  a  pot  companion  ;  and  bade  the  landlord 
shut  the  door  and  begone. 

“  There’s  a  picture,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  motioning  Nicholas 
not  to  advance  and  spoil  it.  “  The  little  ’un  has  him  ;  if  the 
big  ’un  doesn’t  knock  under  in  three  seconds  he’s  a  dead  man. 
Do  that  again,  boys.” 

The  two  combatants  went  to  work  afresh,  and  chopped  away 
until  the  swords  emitted  a  shower  of  sparks,  to  the  great  satis¬ 
faction  of  Mr.  Crummies,  who  appeared  to  consider  this  a  very 
great  point  indeed.  The  engagement  commenced  with  about 
two  hundred  choi)S  administered  by  the  short  sailor  and  the  tall 
sailor  alternately,  without  producing  any  particular  result  until 
the  short  sailor  was  chopped  down  on  one  knee,  but  this  was 
nothing  to  him,  for  he  worked  himself  about  on  the  one  knee 
with  the  assistance  of  his  left  hand,  and  fought  most  desperately 
until  the  tall  sailor  chopped  his  sword  out  of  his  grasp.  Now 
the  inference  was,  that  the  short  sailor,  reduced  to  this  extremity, 
would  give  in  at  once  and  cry  quarter,  but  instead  of  that  he 
all  of  a  sudden  drew  a  large  i)istol  from  his  belt  and  presented 
it  at  the  face  of  the  tab  sailor,  who  was  so  overcome  at  this 


820 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


(not  expecting  it)  that  he  let  the  short  sailor  pick  up  his  sword 
and  begin  again.  Then  the  chopping  recommenced,  and  a 
variety  of  fancy  chops  were  administered  on  both  sides,  sueh  as 
ehops  dealt  with  the  left  hand  and  under  the  leg  and  over  the 
right  shoulder  and  over  the  left,  and  when  the  short  sailor  made 
a  vigorous  cut  at  the  tall  sailor’s  legs,  which  would  have  shaved 
them  clean  olf  if  it  had  taken  elfect,  the  tall  sailor  jumped  over 
the  short  sailor’s  sword,  wherefore  to  balance  the  matter  and 
make  it  all  fair,  the  tall  sailor  administered  the  same  cut  and 
the  short  sailor  jumped  over  his  sword.  After  this  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  dodging  about  and  hitching  up  of  the  inexpres¬ 
sibles  in  the  absence  of  braces,  and  then  the  short  sailor  (who 
was  the  moral  character  evidently,  for  he  always  had  the  best  of 
it)  made  a  violent  demonstration  and  closed  with  the  tall  sailor, 
who,  after  a  few  unavailing  struggles,  went  down  and  expired 
in  great  torture  as  the  short  sailor  put  his  foot  upon  his  breast 
and  bored  a  hole  in  him  through  and  through. 

“  That’ll  be  a  double  encore  if  you  take  care,  boys,”  said  Mr. 
Crummies.  “You  had  better  get  your  wind  now,  and  change 
your  clothes.” 

Having  addressed  these  words  to  the  combatants,  he  salmed 
Nicholas,  who  then  observed  that  the  face  of  Mr.  Crummies  was 
quite  proportionate  in  size  to  his  body ;  that  he  had  a  very  full 
under-lip,  a  hoarse  voice,  as  though  he  were  in  the  habit  of 
shouting  very  much,  and  very  short  black  hair,  shaved  olf  nearly 
to  the  crown  of  his  head — to  admit  (as  he  afterwards  learnt)  of 
his  more  easily  wearing  character  wigs  of  any  shape  or  pattern. 

“  What  did  you  think  of  that,  Sir  ?”  inquired  Mr.  Crummies. 

“Very  good,  indeed — capital,”  answered  Nicholas. 

“You  won’t  see  such  boys  as  those  very  often,  I  think,”  said 
Mr.  Crummies. 

Nicholas  assented — observing,  that  if  they  were  a  little  better 
match - 

“  Match  I”  cried  Mr.  Crummies. 

“  I  mean  if  they  were  a  little  more  of  a  size,”  said  Nicholas, 
explaining  himself. 

“  Size  I”  repeated  Mr.  Crummies  ;  “  why  it’s  the  very  essence 
of  the  combat  that  there  should  be  a  foot  or  two  between  them. 
How  are  you  to  get  up  the  sympathies  of  the  audience  in  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


821 


legitimate  manner,  if  there  isn’t  a  little  man  contending  against 
a  great  one — unless  there’s  at  least  five  to  one,  and  we  haven’t 
hands  enough  for  that  business  in  our  company.” 

'‘I  see,”  replied  Nicholas.  “I  beg  your  pardon.  That 
didn’t  occur  to  me,  I  confess.” 

“  It’s  the  main  point,”  said  Mr.  Crummies.  "I  open  at  Ports¬ 
mouth  the  day  after  to-morrow.  If  you’re  going  there,  look 
into  the  theatre,  and  see  how  that’ll  tell.” 

Nicholas  promised  to  do  so  if  he  could,  and  drawing  a  chair 
near  the  fire,  fell  into  conversation  with  the  manager  at  once. 
He  was  very  talkative  and  communicative,  stimulated  perhaps 
not  only  by  his  natural  disposition,  but  by  the  spirits  and  water 
he  sipped  very  plentifully,  or  the  snuff  which  he  took  in  large 
quantities  from  a  piece  of  whitey-brown  paper  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  lie  laid  open  his  affairs  without  the  smallest  reserve, 
and  descanted  at  some  length  upon  the  merits  of  his  company, 
and  the  acquirements  of  his  family,  of  both  of  which  the  two 
broad-sword  boys  formed  an  honorable  portion.  There  was  to 
be  a  gathering  it  seemed  of  the  different  ladies  and  gentlemen 
at  Portsmouth  on  the  morrow,  whither  the  father  and  sons  were 
proceeding  (not  for  the  regular  season,  but  in  the  course  of  a 
wandering  speculation),  after  fulfilling  an  engagement  at  Guild¬ 
ford  with  the  greatest  applause. 

“  You  are  going  that  way  ?”  asked  the  manager. 

“Ye-yes,”  said  Nicholas.  “Yes,  I  am.” 

“Do  you  know  the  town  at  all  ?”  inquired  the  manager,  who 
seemed  to  consider  himself  entitled  to  the  same  confidence  as  he 
had  himself  exhibited. 

“  No,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Never  there  ?” 

“  Never.” 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  gave  a  short  dry  cough,  as  much  as 
to  say,  “If  you  won’t  be  communicative,  you  won’t;”  and 
took  so  many  pinches  of  snuff  from  the  piece  of  paper,  one  after 
another,  that  Nicholas  quite  wondered  where  it  all  went  to. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Mr.  Crummies  looked  from  time 
to  time  with  great  interest  at  Smike,  with  whom  he  had 
appeared  considerably  struck  from  the  first.  He  had  now 
fallen  asleep,  and  was  nodding  in  his  chair. 

21 


822 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEI3Y. 


“  Excuse  my  saying  so,”  said  the  manager,  leaning  over  to 
Nicholas,  and  sinking  his  voice,  “but — what  a  capital  counti- 
nance  your  friend  has  got  I” 

“  Poor  fellow!”  said  Nicholas,  with  a  half  smile,  “  I  wish  it 
were  a  little  more  plump  and  less  haggard.” 

••  Plump  1”  exclaimed  the  manager,  quite  horrified,  “you’d 
spoil  it  forever.” 

“  Do  yon  think  so  ?” 

“  Think  so.  Sir  !  Why,  as  he  is  now,”  said  the  manager, 
striking  his  knee  emphatically ;  “  without  a  pad  upon  his  body, 
and  hardly  a  touch  of  paint  upon  his  face,  he’d  make  such  an 
actor  for  the  starved  business  as  was  never  seen  in  this  country. 
Only  let  him  be  tolerably  well  up  in  the  Apothecary  in  Romeo 
and  0  uliet,  with  the  slightest  possible  dab  of  red  on  the  tip  of 
his  nose,  and  he’d  be  certain  of  three  rounds  the  moment  he  put 
his  head  out  of  the  practicable  door  in  the  front  grooves  O.  P,” 

“  You  view  him  with  a  professional  eye,”  said  Nicholas, 
laughing. 

“  And  well  I  may,”  rejoined  the  manager.  “  I  never  saw  a 
young  fellow  so  regularly  cut  out  for  that  line  since  Pve  been 
in  the  profession,  and  I  played  the  heavy  children  when  I  was 
eighteen  months  old.” 

The  appearance  of  the  beef-steak  pudding,  which  came  in 
simultaneously  with  the  junior  Vincent  Crummleses,  turned  the 
conversation  to  other  matters,  and  indeed  for  a  time  stopped  it 
altogether.  These  two  young  gentlemen  wielded  their  knives 
and  forks  with  scarcely  less  address  than  their  broad-swords, 
and  as  the  whole  party  were  quite  as  sharp  set  as  either  class 
of  weapons,  there  was  no  time  for  talking  until  the  supper  had 
been  disposed  of. 

The  Master  Crummleses  had  no  sooner  swallowed  the  last 
procurable  morsel  of  food  than  they  evinced,  by  various  half- 
euppressed  yawns  and  stretchings  of  their  limb.s,  an  obvious 
iuedination  to  retire  for  the  night,  which  Smike  had  betrayed 
still  more  strongly  :  he  having,  in  the  course  of  the  meal,  fallen 
asleep  several  times  while  in  the  very  act  of  eating."  Nicholas 
therefore  proposed  that  they  should  break  up  at  or.ee,  but  the 
manager  would  by  no  means  hear  of  it,  vowing  that  he  had  pro¬ 
mised  himself  the  pleasure  of  inviting  his  new  acquaintance  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


823 


share  a  bow]  of  punch,  and  that  if  he  declined,  he  should  deem 
it  very  unhandsome  behavior. 

“  Let  them  go,”  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  “  and  we’ll 
have  it  snugly  and  cosily  together  by  the  fire.” 

Nicholas  was  not  much  disposed  to  sleep,  being  in  truth  too 
anxious,  so  after  a  little  demur  he  accepted  the  offer,  and  having 
exchanged  a  shake  of  the  hand  with  the  young  Cruramleses,  and 
the  manager  having  on  his  part  bestowed  a  most  affectionate 
benediction  on  Smike,  he  sat  himself  down  opposite  to  that 
gentleman  by  the  fireside  to  assist  in  emptying  the  bowl,  which 
soon  afterwards  appeared,  steaming  in  a  manner  which  was 
quite  exhilarating  to  behold,  and  sending  forth  a  most  grateful 
and  inviting  fragrance.  ■ 

But,  despite  the  punch  and  the  manager,  who  told  a  variety 
of  stories,  and  smoked  tobacco  from  a  pipe,  and  inhaled  it  in 
the  shape  of  snuff,  with  a  most  astonishing  power,  Nicholas 
was  absent  and  dispirited.  His  thoughts  were  in  his  old  home, 
and  when  they  reverted  to  his  present  condition,  the  uncertainty 
of  the  morrow  cast  a  gloom  upon  him,  wdiich  his  utmost  efforts 
were  unable  to  dispel.  Ills  attention  wandered ;  although  he 
heard  the  manager’s  voice,  he  was  deaf  to  what  he  said,  and 
when  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  concluded  the  history  of  some 
long  adventure  with  a  loud  laugh,  and  an  inquiry  what  Nicholas 
would  have  done  under  the  same  circumstances,  he  was  obliired 
to  make  the  best  apology  in  his  power,  and  to  confess  his  entire 
ignorance  of  all  he  had  been  talking  about. 

“  Why  so  I  saw,”  observed  Mr.  Crummies.  “You’re  uneasy 
in  your  mind.  What’s  the  matter  ?” 

Nicholas  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  at  the  abruptness  of 
the  question,  but  thinking  it  scarcely  worth  while  to  parry  it, 
owned  that  he  was  under  some  apprehensions  lest  he  might  not 
succeed  in  the  object  which  had  brought  him  to  that  part  of  the 
country. 

“  And  what’s  that  ?”  asked  the  manager. 

“  Getting  something  to  do  which  will  keep  me  and  my  poor 
fellow-traveler  in  the  common  necessaries  of  life,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las.  “  That’s  the  truth  ;  you  guessed  it  long  ago,  I  dare  say, 
so  I  may  as  well  have  the  credit  of  telling  it  you  with  a  good 
grace.’ 


824 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“What’s  to  be  got  to  do  at  Portsmouth  more  than  anyvrhere 
else  ?”  asked  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  melting  the  sealing-wax 
on  the  stem  of  his  pipe  in  the  candle,  and  rolling  it  out  afresh 
with  his  little  finger. 

“  There  are  many  vessels  leaving  the  port,  I  suppose,”  replied 
Nicholas.  “  I  shall  try  for  a  berth  in  some  ship  or  other. 
There  is  meat  and  drink  there  at  all  events.” 

“  Salt  meat  and  new  rum  ;  pease-pudding  and  chaff-biscuits,” 
said  the  manager,  taking  a  whiff  at  his  pipe  to  keep  it  alight, 
and  returning  to  his  work  of  embellishment. 

“One  may  do  worse  than  that,”  said  Nicholas.  “I  can 
rough  it,  I  believe,  as  well  as  most  men  of  my  age  and  previous 
habits.” 

“You  need  be  able  to,”  said  the  manager,  “if  you  go  on 
board  ship;  but  you  won’t.” 

“  Why  not?” 

“Because  there’s  not  a  skipper  or  mate  that  would  think  you 
worth  your  salt,  when  he  could  get  a  practiced  hand,”  replied 
the  manager ;  “  and  they  are  as  plentiful  there  as  the  oysters  in 
the  streets.” 

“  What  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  Nicholas,  alarmed  by  this 
prediction,  and  the  confident  tone  in  which  it  had  been  uttered. 
“  Men  are  not  born  able  seamen.  They  must  be  reared,  I 
suppose  ?” 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  nodded  his  head.  “  They  must ;  but 
not  at  your  age,  or  from  young  gentlemen  like  you.” 

There  was  a  pause.  The  countenance  of  Nicholas  fell,  and 
he  gazed  ruefully  at  the  fire. 

“  Does  no  other  profession  occur  to  you,  which  a  young  man 
of  your  figure  and  address  could  take  up  easily,  and  sec  the 
world  to  advantage  in  ?”  asked  the  manager. 

“No,”  said  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head. 

“  Why,  then.  I’ll  tell  you  one,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  throwing 
Ills  pipe  into  the  fire,  and  raising  his  voice.  “The  stage.” 

“  The  stage !”  cried  Nicholas,  in  a  voice  almost  as  loud. 

“The  theatrical  profession,”  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies. 
“  I  am  in  the  theatrical  profession  myself,  my  wife  is  in  the 
tiieatrical  profession,  my  children  are  in  the  theatrical  profession. 
1  had  a  dog  that  lived  and  died  in  it  from  a  puppy  ;  and  my 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


325 


chaise-pony  goes  on  in  Timour  the  Tartar,  I’ll  bring  j'-ou  out, 
and  your  friend  too.  Say  the  word.  I  want  a  novelty.” 

“  I  don’t  know  any  thing  about  it,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  whose 
breath  had  been  almost  taken  away  by  this  sudden  proposal. 

“  I  never  acted  a  part  in  my  life,  except  at  school.” 

“  There’s  genteel  comedy  in  your  walk  and  manner,  juvenile 
tragedy  in  your  eye,  and  touch-and-go  farce  in  your  laugh,” 
said  Mr.  Yincent  Crummies.  “  You’ll  do  as  well  as  if  you  had 
thought  of  nothing  else  but  the  lamps,  from  your  birth  down¬ 
wards.” 

Nicholas  thought  of  the  small  amount  of  small  change  there 
would  remain  in  his  pocket  after  paying  the  tavern  bill :  and  he 
hesitated. 

“You  can  be  useful  to  us  in  a  hundred  ways,”  said  Mr. 
Crummies.  “  Think  what  capital  bills  a  man  of  your  education 
could  write  for  the  shop-windows.” 

“AVell,  I  think  I  could  manage  that  department,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“To  be  sure  you  could,”  replied  Mr,  Crummies.  “‘For 
further  particulars  see  small  hand-bills’ — we  might  have  half  a 
volume  in  every  one  of  them.  Pieces  too ;  why,  you  eould  ^ 
write  us  a  pieee  to  bring  out  the  whole  strength  of  the  company, 
whenever  we  wanted  one.” 

“  I  am  not  quite  so  confident  about  that,”  replied  Nicholas. 
“But  I  dare  say  I  could  scribble  something  now  and  then  that 
would  suit  you.” 

“  We’ll  have  a  new  show-piece  out  directly,”  said  the  manager. 

“  Let  me  see — peculiar  resources  of  this  establishment — new 
and  splendid  scenery — you  must  manage  to  introduce  a  real 
pump  and  two  washing  tubs.” 

“  Into  the  piece  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Yes,”  replied  the  manager.  “I  bought  ’em  cheap,  at  a 
sale  the  otlier  day ;  and  they’ll  come  in  admirably.  That’s  the 
London  plan.  They  look  up  some  dresses,  and  properties,  and 
have  a  pieee  written  to  fit  them.  Most  of  the  theatres  keep  an 
author  on  purpose.” 

“  Indeed  I”  cried  Nicholas. 

“On  yes,”  said  the  manager;  “a  common  thing.  It’ll  look 
very  well  in  the  bills  in  separate  lines — Real  pump  1 — Splendid 


326 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


tubs  1 — Great  attraction!  You  don’t  happen  to  be  any  thing  ot 
an  artist,  do  you  ?” 

“  That  is  not  one  of  my  accomplishments,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“  Ah  !  Then  it  can’t  be  helped,”  said  the  manager.  “  If  you 
had  been,  we  might  have  had  a  large  woodcut  of  the  last  scene 
for  the  posters,  showing  the  whole  depth  of  the  stage,  with  tlie 
pump  and  tubs  in  the  middle;  but,  however,  if  you’re  not,  it 
can’t  be  helped.” 

“What  should  I  get  for  all  this?”  inquired  Nicholas,  after  a 
few  moments’  reflection.  “Could  I  live  by  it?” 

“Live  by  it  1”  said  the  manager.  “Like  a  prince.  With 
your  own  salary,  and  your  friend’s,  and  your  writings,  you’d 
make — ah  !  you’d  make  a  pound  a  week  !” 

“  You  don’t  say  so.” 

“  I  do  indeed,  and  if  we  had  a  run  of  good  houses,  nearly 
double  the  money.” 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  sheer  destitution  was 
before  him ;  and  if  he  could  summon  fortitude  to  undergo  the 
extremes  of  want  and  hardship,  for  what  had  he  rescued  his 
helpless  charge  if  it  were  only  to  bear  as  hard  a  fate  as  that  from 
which  he  had  wrested  him?  It  was  easy  to  think  of  seventy 
miles  as  nothing,  when  he  was  in  the  same  town  with  the  man 
who  had  treated  him  so  ill  and  roused  his  bitterest  thoughts ; 
but  now  it  seemed  far  enough.  What  if  he  went  abroad,  and 
his  mother  or  Kate  were  to  die  the  while  ? 

Without  more  deliberation  he  hastily  declared  that  it  was  a 
bargain,  and  gave  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  his  hand  upon  it. 


CHAPTEIl  XXIII. 


TREATS  OF  THE  COMPANY  OF  MR.  VINCENT  CRUMMIES,  ANI>  OP 
HIS  AFFAIRS,  DOMESTIC  AND  THEATRICAL. 

As  Mr.  Crummies  had  a  strange  four-legged  animal  in  the 
inn  stables,  which  he  called  a  pony,  and  a  vehicle  of  unknown 
design,  on  which  he  bestowed  the  appellation  of  a  four-wheeled 
phaeton,  Nicholas  proceeded  on  his  journey  next  morning  with 
greater  ease  than  he  had  expected;  the  manager  and  himself 
occupying  the  front  seat,  and  the  Master  Crummleses  and 
Smike  being  packed  together  behind,  in  company  with  a  wicker 
basket  defended  from  wet  by  a  stout  oilskin,  in  which  were  the 
broad-swords,  pistols,  pigtails,  nautical  costumes,  and  other 
professional  necessaries  of  the  aforesaid  young  gentlemen. 

The  pony  took  his  time  upon  the  road,  and — possibly  in  con 
sequence  of  his  theatrical  education — evinced  every  now  and 
then  a  strong  inclination  to  lie  down.  However,  Mr.  Vincent 
Crummies  kept  him  up  pretty  well,  by  jerking  the  rein,  and  ply¬ 
ing  the  whip;  and  when  these  means  failed,  and  the  animal 
came  to  a  stand,  the  elder  Master  Crummies  got  out  and  kicked 
him.  By  dint  of  these  encouragements,  he  was  persuaded  to 
move  from  time  to  time,  and  they  jogged  on  (as  Mr.  Crummies 
truly  observed)  very  comfortably  for  all  parties. 

“lie’s  a  good  pony  at  bottom,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  turning 
to  Nicholas. 

He  might  have  been  at  bottom,  but  he  certainly  was  not  at 
top,  seeing  that  his  coat  was  of  the  roughest-  and  most  ill- 
favored  kind.  So,  Nicholas  merely  observed,  that  he  shouldn’t 
wonder  if  he  was. 

“Many  and  many  is  the  circuit  this  pony  has  gone,”  said 
Mr.  Crummies,  flicking  him  skillfully  on  the  eyelid  for  old 
acquaintance’  sake.  “He  is  quite  one  of  us.  His  mother  was 
on  the  stage.” 

“  Was  she,  indeed?”  rejoined  Nicholas, 


(327) 


828 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“She  ate  apple-pie  at  a  circus  for  upwards  of  fourteen  years,” 
said  the  manager;  “fired  pistols,  and  went  to  bed  in  a  nightcap; 
and,  in  short,  took  the  low  comedy  entirely.  His  father  was  a 
dancer.’” 

“Was  he  at  all  distinguished.^” 

“Not  very,”  said  the  manager.  “  He  was  rather  a  low  sort  of 
pony.  The  fact  is,  that  he  had  been  originally  jobbed  out  ny 
1  he  day,  and  he  never  quite  got  over  his  old  habits.  He  was 
clever  in  melodrama  too,  but  too  broad — too  broad.  When  the 
mother  died,  he  took  the  port-wine  business.” 

“  The  port-wine  business  1”  cried  Nicholas. 

“Drinking  port-wine  with  the  clown,”  said  the  manager; 
“but  he  was  greedy,  and  one  night  bit  off  the  bowl  of  the  glass, 
and  choked  himself,  so  that  his  vulgarity  was  the  death  of  him 
at  last.” 

The  descendant  of  this  ill-starred  animal  requiring  increased 
attention  from  Mr.  Crummies  as  he  progressed  in  his  day’s 
w^ork,  that  gentleman  had  very  little  time  for  conversation,  and 
Nicholas  was  thus  left  at  leisure  to  entertain  himself  with  his 
owm  thoughts  until  they  arrived  at  the  drawbridge  at  Ports¬ 
mouth,  when  Mr.  Crummies  pulled  up. 

“We’ll  set  down  here,”  said  the  manager,  “and  the  boys 
will  take  him  round  to  the  stable,  and  call  at  my  lodgings 
with  the  luggage.  You  had  better  let  yours  be  taken  there 
for  the  present.” 

Thanking  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  for  his  obliging  offer, 
Nicholas  jumped  out,  and,  giving  Smike  his  arm,  accompanied 
the  manager  up  High  Street  on  their  way  to  the  theatre,  feeling 
nervous  and  uncomfortable  enough  at  the  prospect  of  an  im¬ 
mediate  introduction  to  a  scene  so  new  to  him. 

They  passed  a  great  many  bills  pasted  against  the  walls  and 
displayed  in  window^s,  wherein  the  names  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crum¬ 
mies,  Mrs.  Vincent  Crummies,  Master  Crummies,  Master  P. 
Crummies,  and  Miss  Crummies,  w^ere  printed  in  very  large  letters, 
and  every  thing  else  in  very  small  ones;  and  turning  at  length 
into  an  entry,  in  which  was  a  strong  smell  of  orange-peel 
and  lamp-oil,  with  an  under-current  of  saw-dust,  groped  their 
way  through  a  dark  passage,  and  descending  a  step  or  two. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


329 


threaded  a  little  maze  of  canvas  screens  and  paint  pots,  and 
emerged  upon  the  stage  at  the  Portsmouth  Theatre. 

"Here  we  are,”  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

It  was  not  very  light,  but  Nicholas  found  himself  do  e  to  the 
first  entrance  on  the  prompter’s  side,  among  bare  walls,  dusty 
scenes,  mildewed  clouds,  heavily  daubed  draperies,  and  dirty 
floors.  He  looked  about  him;  ceiling,  pit,  boxes,  gallery, 
orchestra,  fittings,  and  decorations  of  every  kind, — all  looked 
coarse,  cold,  gloomy,  and  wretched. 

“Is  this  a  theatre?”  whispered  Smike  in  amazement;  “I 
thought  it  was  a  blaze  of  light  and  finery.” 

“Why,  so  it  is,”  replied  Nicholas,  hardly  less  surprised;  “but 
not  by  day,  Smike — not  by  day.” 

The  manager’s  voice  recalled  him  from  a  more  careful  in¬ 
spection  of  the  building,  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  proscenium, 
where,  at  a  small  mahogany  table  with  rickety  legs  and  of  an 
oblong  shape,  sat  a  stout,  portly  female,  apparently  between 
forty  and  fifty,  in  a  tarnished  silk  cloak,  with  her  bonnet  dang¬ 
ling  by  the  strings  in  her  hand,  and  her  hair  (of  which  she  had 
a  great  quantity)  braided  in  a  large  festoon  over  each  temple. 

“Mr.  Johnson,”  said  the  manager  (for  Nicholas  had  given 
the  name  which  Newman  Noggs  had  bestowed  upon  him  in  his 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Kenwigs),  “let  me  introduce  Mrs.  Vin¬ 
cent  Crummies.” 

“I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Sir,”  said  Mrs.  Vincent  Crummies, 
in  a  sepulchral  voice.  “  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  and  still 
more  happy  to  hail  you  as  a  promising  member  of  our  corps.” 

The  lady  shook  Nicholas  by  the  hand  as  she  addressed  him 
in  these  terms ;  he  saw  it  was  a  lartre  one,  but  had  not  expected 
quite  such  an  iron  grip  as  that  witli  which  she  honored  him. 

“And  this,”  said  the  lady,  crossing  to  Smike,  as  tragic 
actresses  cross  when  they  obey  a  stage  direction,  “and  this  is 
the  other.  You  too,  are  welcome.  Sir.” 

“He’ll  do,  I  think,  my  dear?”  said  the  manager,  taking  a 
pinch  of  snuff. 

“He  is  adihiiable,”  replied  the  lady  “An  acquisition,  in¬ 
deed.” 

As  Mrs.  Vincent  Crummies  recrossed  back  to  the  table, 
there  bounded  on  to  the  stage,  from  some  mysterious  inlet  a  little 


830 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


girl  in  a  dirty  white  frock,  with  tucks  up  to  the  knees,  short 
trowsers,  sandaled  shoes,  white  spencer,  pink  gauze  bonnet,  green 
vail  and  curl-papers,  who  turned  a  pirouette,  cut  twice  in  the 
air,  turned  another  pirouette,  then  looking  off  at  the  opposite 
wing,  shrieked,  bounded  forward  to  within  six  inches  of  the 
footlights,  and  fell  into  a  beautiful  attitude  of  terror,  as  a  shabby 
gentleman,  in  an  old  pair  of  buff  slippers,  came  in  at  one 
powerful  slide,  and  chattering  his  teeth,  fiercely  brandished  a 
walking-stick. 

They  are  going  through  the  Indian  Savage  and  the 
Maiden,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies. 

“Oh  I”  said  the  manager,  “the  little  ballet  interlude.  Yery 
good,  go  on.  A  little  this  way,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Johnson, 
That’ll  do.  Now.” 

The  manager  clapped  his  hands  as  a  signal  to  proceed,  and 
the  Savage,  becoming  ferocious,  made  a  slide  towards  the 
Maiden,  but  the  Maiden  avoided  him  in  six  twirls,  and  came 
down  at  the  end  of  the  last  one  upon  the  very  points  of  her  toes. 
This  seemed  to  make  some  impression  upon  the  Savage,  for, 
after  a  little  more  ferocity  and  chasing  of  the  Maiden  into  corners, 
oe  began  to  relent,  and  stroked  his  face  several  times  with  his 
right  thumb  and  four  fingers,  thereby  intimating  that  he  was 
struck  with  admiration  of  the  Maiden’s  beauty.  Acting  upon 
the  impulse  of  this  passion,  he  (the  Savage)  began  to  hit  him  • 
self  severe  thumps  in  the  chest,  and  to  exhibit  other  indications 
of  being  desperately  in  love,  wdiich  being  rather  a  prosy  pro¬ 
ceeding,  was  very  likely  the  cause  of  the  Maiden’s  falling  asleep; 
whether  it  was  or  not,  asleep  she  did  fall,  sound  as  a  church, 
on  a  sloping  bank,  and  the  Savage  perceiving  it,  leant  his  left 
ear  on  his  left  hand,  and  nodded  sideways,  to  intimate  to  ah 
whom  it  might  concern  that  she  loas  asleep,  and  no  shamming. 
Being  left  to  himself,  the  Savage  had  a  dance,  all  alone,  and 
just  as  he  left  off,  the  Maiden  woke  up,  rubbed  her  eyes,  got 
off  the  bank,  and  had  a  dance  all  alone  too — such  a  dance  that 
the  Savage  looked  on  in  ecstasy  all  the  while,  and  when  it  was 
done,  plucked  from  a  neighboring  tree  some  botanical  curiosity, 
resembling  a  small  pickled  cabbage,  and  offered  it  to  the 
Maiden,  who  at  first  wouldn’t  have  it,  but  on  the  Savage 
shedding  tears,  relented.  Then  the  Savage  jumped  for  joy  ; 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


831 


Uieii  the  Maiden  jumped  for  rapture  at  the  sweet  smell  of  the 
pickled  cabbage.  Then  the  Savage  and  the  Maiden  danced 
violently  together,  and,  finally,  the  Savage  dropped  dovsm  on  one 
knee,  and  the  Maiden  stood  on  one  leg  ujmn  his  other  knee ; 
thus  concluding  the  ballet,  and  leaving  the  spectators  in  a  state 
of  pleasing  uncertainty,  whether  she  would  ultimately  marry  the 
Savage,  or  return  to  her  friends. 

“  Very  well,  indeed,”  said  Mr.  Crummies ;  “bravo  !” 

'•  Bravo  I”  cried  Nicholas,  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  every 
thing.  “Beautiful!” 

“This,  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Yincent  Crummies,  bringing  the 
Maiden  forward,  “this  is  the  infant  phenomenon — Miss  Ninetta 
Crummies.” 

“Your  daughter?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  My  daughter — my  daughter,”  replied  INIr.  Yincent  Crumm 
les ;  “the  idol  of  every  place  we  go  into.  Sir.  We  have  had 
complimentary  letters  about  this  girl.  Sir,  from  the  nobility  and 
gentry  of  almost  every  town  in  England.” 

“I  am  not  surprised  at  that,”  said  Nicholas;  “she  must  be 
quite  a  natural  genius.” 

“  Quite  a - - !”  Mr.  Crummies  stopped  ;  language  was 

not  powerful  enough  to  describe  the  infant  phenomenon.  “  I’ll 
tell  you  what.  Sir,”  he  said  :  “  the  talent  of  this  child  is  not  to 
be  imagined.  She  must  be  seen.  Sir — seen — to  be  ever  so 
faintly  appreciated.  There  ;  go  to  your  mother,  my  dear.” 

“  May  I  ask  how  old  she  is  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  You  may.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  looking  steadily  in 
his  questioner’s  face,  as  some  men  do  when  they  have  doubts 
about  being  implicitly  believed  in  what  they  are  going  to  say. 
“She  is  ten  years  of  age.  Sir.” 

“  Not  more  1” 

“  Not  a  day.” 

“Bear  me  I”  said  Nicholas,  “  it’s  extraordinary.” 

It  was  ;  for  the  infant  phonomenon,  though  of  short  stature, 
had  a  comparatively  aged  countenance,  and  had,  moreover,  been 
precisely  the  same  age — not  perhaps  to  the  full  extent  of  the 
memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,  but  certainly  for  five  good 
years.  But  she  had  been  kept  up  late  every  night,  and  put 
upon  an  unlimited  allowance  of  gin  and  water  from  infancy,  to 


832 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


prevent  her  growing  tall,  and  perhaps  this  system  of  training 
had  produced  in  the  infant  phenomenon  these  additional  phe¬ 
nomena. 

While  this  short  dialogue  was  going  on,  the  gentleman  who 
Had  enacted  the  Savage  came  up,  with  his  walking  shoes  on  his 
feet,  and  his  slippers  in  his  hand,  to  within  a  few  paces,  as  if 
desirous  to  join  in  the  conversation,  and  deeming  this  a  good 
opportunity,  he  put  in  his  word. 

“Talent  there,  Sir,”  said  the  Savage,  nodding  towards  Miss 
Crummies. 

Nicholas  assented. 

“  Ah  I”  said  the  actor,  setting  his  teeth  together,  and  draw¬ 
ing  in  his  breath  with  a  hissing  sound,  “she  oughtn’t  to  be  in 
the  provinces,  she  oughtn’t.” 

“  What  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  the  managei*. 

“I  mean  to  say,”  replied  the  other,  warmly,  “that  she  is  too 
good  for  country  boards,  and  that  she  ought  to  be  in  one  of  the 
large  houses  in  London,  or  nowhere ;  and  I  tell  you  more, 
without  mincing  the  matter,  that  if  it  wasn’t  for  envy  and 
jealousy  in  some  quarter  that  you  know  of,  she  would  be. 
Perhaps  you’ll  introduce  me  here,  Mr.  Crummies.” 

“Mr.  Folair,”  said  the  manager,  presenting  him  to  Nicholas. 

“Happy  to  know  you.  Sir.”  Mr.  Folair  touched  the  brim 
of  his  hat  with  his  forefinger,  and  then  shook  hands.  “  A 
recruit.  Sir,  I  understand  ?” 

“  An  unworthy  one,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  set-out  as  that  ?”  whispered  the 
actor,  drawing  him  away,  as  Crummies  left  them  to  speak  to  his 
wife. 

“  As  what  ?” 

Mr.  Folair  made  a  funny  face  from  his  pantomime  collection, 
and  pointed  over  his  shoulder. 

“You  don’t  mean  the  infant  phenomenon  ?” 

“  Infant  humbug.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Folair.  “  There  isn’t  a 
female  child  of  common  sharpness  in  a  charity  school  that 
couldn’t  do  better  than  that.  She  may  thank  her  stars  she  was 
born  a  manager’s  daughter.” 

“You  seem  to  take  it  to  heart,”  observed  Nicholas,  with  a 
smile. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


«3a 

“Yes,  by  Jove,  and  well  I  may,”  said  Mr,  Folair,  drawing 
his  arm  through  his,  and  walking  him  up  and  down  the  stage. 
“  Isn’t  it  enough  to  make  a  man  crusty  to  see  that  little  sprawler 
put  up  in  the  best  business  every  night,  and  actually  keeping 
money  out  of  the  house,  by  being  forced  down  the  people’s 
throats,  while  other  people  are  passed  over?  Isn’t  it  extraor* 
dinary  to  see  a  man’a  confounded  family  conceit  blinding  him 
even  to  his  own  interest  ?  Why  I  know  of  fifteen  and  sixpence 
that  came  to  Southampton  one  night  last  month  to  see  me 
dance  the  Highland  Fling,  and  what’s  the  consequence  ?  I’ve 
never  been  put  up  in  it  since — never  once — while  the  ‘  infant 
phenomenon’  has  been  grinning  through  artificial  flowers  at 
five  people  and  a  baby  in  the  pit,  and  two  boys  in  the  gallery, 
every  night.” 

“  If  I  may  judge  from  what  I  have  seen  of  you,’'  said 
Nicholas,  “you  must  be  a  valuable  member  of  the  company.” 

“  Oh  !”  replied  Mr.  Folair,  beating  his  slippers  together,  to 
knock  the  dust  out ;  “  I  can  come  it  pretty  well — nobody  bet¬ 
ter  perhaps  in  my  own  line — but  having  such  business  as  one 
gets  here,  is  like  putting  lead  on  one’s  feet  instead  of  chalk, 
and  dancing  in  fetters  without  the  credit  of  it.  Halloo,  old  fel¬ 
low,  how  are  you  ?” 

The  gentleman  addressed  in  these  latter  words  was  a  dark- 
complexioned  man,  inclining  indeed  to  sallow,  with  long  thick 
black  hair,  and  very  evident  indications  (although  he  was  close 
shaved)  of  a  stiff  beard,  and  whiskers  of  the  same  deep  shade. 
His  age  did  not  appear  to  exceed  thirty,  although  many  at  first 
sight  would  have  considered  him  much  older,  as  his  face  was 
long  and  very  pale,  from  the  constant  application  of  stage 
paint.  He  wore  a  checked  shirt,  an  old  green  coat  with  new 
gilt  buttons,  a  neckerchief  of  broad  red  and  green  stripes,  and 
full  blue  trowsers  ;  he  carried  too  a  common  ash  walking-stick, 
apparently  more  for  show  than  use,  as  he  flourished  it  about 
with  tlie  hooked  end  downwards,  except  when  he  raised  it  for  a 
few  seconds,  and  throwing  himself  into  a  fencing  attitude,  made 
a  pass  or  two  at  the  side  scenes,  or  at  any  other  object,  animate 
or  inanimate,  that  chanced  to  afford  him  a  pretty  good  mark  at 
the  moment. 

“Well,  Tommy,  '  said  this  gentleman,  making  a  thrust  at  Ids 


334 


NICHOLAS  N I C  K  L  E  B  Y . 


friend,  wlio  parried  it  dexterously  with  his  slipper,  “what’s  the 
news  ?” 

“  A  new  appearance,  that’s  all,”  replied  Mr.  Folair,  looking 
at  Nicholas, 

“Do  the  honors.  Tommy,  do  the  honors,”  said  the  other 
gentleman,  tapping  him  reproachfully  on  the  crown  of  the  hat 
with  his  stick. 

“This  is  Mr.  Lenville,  who  does  our  first  tragedy,  Mr.  John¬ 
son,”  said  the  pantomimist. 

“  Except  when  old  bricks  and  mortar  takes  it  into  his  head 
to  do  it  himself,  you  should  add.  Tommy,”  remarked  Mr. 
Lenville.  “You  know  who  bricks  and  mortar  is,  I  suppose. 
Sir  ?” 

“I  do  not,  indeed,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  We  call  Crummies  that,  because  his  style  of  acting  is  rather 
in  the  heavy  and  ponderous  way,”  said  Mr,  Lenville.  “  I 
mustn’t  be  cracking  jokes  though,  for  I’ve  got  a  part  of  twelve 
lengths  here  which  I  must  be  up  in  to-morrow  night,  and  I 
haven’t  had  time  to  look  at  it  yet ;  I’m  a  confounded  quick 
study,  that’s  one  comfort.” 

Consoling  himself  with  this  reflection,  Mr.  Lenville  drew 
from  his  coat-pocket  a  greasy  and  crumpled  manuscript,  and 
having  made  another  pass  at  his  friend,  proceeded  to  walk  to 
and  fro,  conning  it  to  himself,  and  indulging  occasionally  in 
such  appropriate  action  as  his  imagination  and  the  text  sug¬ 
gested. 

A  pretty  general  muster  of  the  company  had  by  this  time 
taken  place  ;  for  besides  Mr,  Lenville  and  his  friend  Tommy, 
there  was  ])reseiit  a  slim  young  gentleman  with  weak  eyes,  who 
played  the  low-spirited  lovers  and  sang  tenor  songs,  and  who 
had  come  arm-in-arm  with  the  comic  countryman — a  man  with 
a  turucd-up  nose,  large  mouth,  broad  face,  and  staring  eyes. 
Makin  g  himself  very  amiable  to  the  infant  phenomenon,  was  an 
inebriated  elderly  gentleman  in  the  last  depths  of  shabbiness, 
who  played  the  calm  and  virtuous  old  men  ;  and  paying  especial 
court  to  Mrs.  Crummies  was  another  elderly  gentleman,  a  shade 
more  respectable,  who  played  the  irascible  old  men — those  funny 
fellows  who  have  nephews  in  the  array,  and  perpetually  run 
about  with  thick  sticks  to  compel  them  to  marry  heiresses.  Be- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


835 


sides  these,  there  was  a  roving-looking  person  in  a  rough  great¬ 
coat,  who  strode  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  lamps,  flourishing 
a  dress  cane,  and  rattling  away  in  an  undertone  with  great 
vivacity  for  the  amusement  of  an  ideal  audience.  He  was  not 
quite  so  young  as  he  had  been,  and  his  figure  was  rather  run¬ 
ning  to  seed  ;  but  there  was  an  air  of  exaggerated  gentility 
about  him,  which  bespoke  the  hero  of  swaggering  comedy, 
There  was  also  a  little  group  of  three  or  four  young  men,  with 
lantern  jaws  and  thick  eyebrows,  who  were  conversing  in  one 
corner ;  but  they  seemed  to  be  of  secondary  importance,  and 
laughed  and  talked  together  without  attracting  any  very 
marked  attention. 

The  ladies  were  gathered  in  a  little  knot  by  themselves  round 
the  rickety  table  before  mentioned.  There  was  Miss  Snevel- 
licci,  wlio  could  do  any  thing  from  a  medley  dance  to  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  always  played  some  part  in  blue  silk  knee-smalls  at 
her  benefit,  glancing  from  the  depths  of  her  coal-scuttle  straw 
bonnet  at  Nicholas,  and  affecting  to  be  absorbed  in  the  recital 
of  a  diverting  story  to  her  friend  Miss  Ledrook,  who  had 
brought  her  work,  and  was  making  up  a  ruff  in  the  most  natural 
manner  possible.  There  was  Miss  Belvawney,  who  seldom 
aspired  to  speaking  parts,  and  usually  went  on  as  a  page  in 
white  silk  hose,  to  stand  with  one  leg  bent  and  contemplate  the 
audience,  or  to  go  in  and  out  after  Mr.  Crummies  in  stately 
tragedy,  twisting  up  the  ringlets  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Bravassa, 
who  had  once  had  her  likeness  taken  “in  character”  by  an 
engraver’s  apprentice,  whereof  impressions  wmre  hung  up  for 
sale  in  the  pastry-cook’s  window,  and  the  green-grocer’s,  and 
at  the  circulating  library,  and  the  box-office,  wdienever  the 
announce  bills  came  out  for  her  annual  night.  There  was  Mrs. 
Lenville  in  a  very  limp  bonnet  and  vail,  decidedly  in  that  wmy 
in  which  she  w'ould  wish  to  be  if  she  truly  loved  Mr.  Lenville ; 
there  was  Miss  Gazingi,  with  an  imitation  ermine  boa  tied  in  a 
loose  knot  round  her  neck,  flogging  Air.  Crummies,  junior,  wdth 
both  eTids  in  fun.  Lastly,  there  was  Airs.  Grudden  in  a  brown 
cloth  pelisse  and  a  beaver  bonnet,  who  assisted  Airs.  Crummies 
in  her  domestic  affairs,  and  took  money  at  the  doors,  and  dressed 
the  ladies,  and  swmpt  the  house,  and  held  the  prompt  book  when 
every  body  else  wms  on  for  the  last  scene,  and  acted  any  kind 


836 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


of  part  oil  any  emergency  without  ever  learning  it,  and  was  put 
down  in  the  bills  under  any  name  or  names  whatever  that  oc¬ 
curred  to  Mr.  Crummies  as  looking  well  in  print.  _ 

Mr.  Folair  having  obligingly  confided  these  particulars  to 
Nicholas,  left  him  to  mingle  with  his  fellows ;  the  work  of 
personal  introduction  was  completed  by  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies, 
who  publicly  heralded  the  new  actor  as  a  prodigy  of  genius  and 
learning. 

“1  beg  your  pardon,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  sidling  towards 
Nicholas,  “but  did  you  ever  play  at  Canterbury  ?” 

“  I  never  did,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  I  recollect  meeting  a  gentleman  at  Canterbury,”  said  Miss 
Snevellicci,  “  only  for  a  few  moments,  for  I  was  leaving  the 
company  as  he  joined  it,  so  like  you  that  I  felt  almost  certain 
it  was  the  same.” 

“  I  see  you  now  for  the  first  time,”  rejoined  Nicholas  with  all 
due  gallantry.  “  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  you  before  ;  I  couldn’t 
have  forgotten  it.” 

“  Oil,  I’m  sure — it’s  very  flattering  of  you  to  say  so,”  retorted 
Miss  Snevellicci  with  a  graceful  bend.  “Now  I  look  at  you 
again,  I  see  that  the  gentleman  at  Canterbury  hadn’t  the  same 
eyes  as  you — you’ll  think  me  very  foolish  for  taking  notice  of 
such  things,  won’t  you  ?” 

“Not  at  all,”  said  Nicholas.  “How  can  I  feel  otherwise 
than  flattered  by  your  notice  in  any  way  ?” 

“  Oh  !  you  men,  you  are  such  vain  creatures  !”  cried  Miss 
Snevellicci.  Whereupon  she  became  charmingly  confused,  and, 
pulling  out  her  pocket  handkerchief  from  a  faded  pink  silk  reti¬ 
cule  with  a  gilt  clasp,  called  to  Miss  Ledrook — 

“  Led,  my  dear,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci. 

“Well,  what  is  the  matter  ?”  said  Miss  Ledrook. 

“  It’s  not  the  same.” 

“  Not  the  same  what  ?” 

“  Canterbury — you  know  what  I  mean.  Come  here,  I  want 
to  speak  to  you.” 

But  Miss  Ledrook  wouldn’t  come  to  Miss  Snevellicci,  so 
Miss  Snevellicci  was  obliged  to  go  to  Miss  Ledrook,  which  she 
did  in  a  skipping  manner  that  was  quite  fascinating,  and  Miss 
Ledrook  evidently  joked  Miss  Snevellicci  about  being'  struck 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


837 


with  Nicholas,  for,  after  some  playful  whispering.  Miss  Snevel- 
licci  hit  Miss  Ledrook  very  hard  on  the  backs  of  her  hands,  and 
retired  up,  in  a  state  of  pleasing  confusion, 

“Ladies  and  gentlemen,”  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  who 
had  been  writing  on  a  piece  of  paper,  “we’ll  call  the  Mortal 
Struggle  to-morrow  at  ten ;  every  body  for  the  procession. 
Intrigue,  and  Ways  and  Means,  you’re  all  up  in,  so  we  shall 
only  want  one  rehearsal.  Every  body  at  ten,  if  you  please.” 

“Every  body  at  ten,”  repeated  Mrs.  Grudden,  looking  about 
her, 

“  On  Monday  morning  we  shall  read  a  new  piece,”  said  Mr. 
Crummies ;  “  the  name’s  not  known  yet,  but  every  body  will 
have  a  good  part.  Mr.  Johnson  will  take  care  of  that.” 

“  Halloo  !”  said  Nicholas,  starting,  “  I - ” 

“On  Monday  morning,”  repeated  Mr.  Crummies,  raising  his 
voice,  to  drown  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Johnson’s  remonstrance ; 
“  that’ll  do,  ladies  and  gentlemen.” 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  required  no  second  notice  to  quit, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  theatre  was  deserted,  save  by  the 
Crummies  family,  Nicholas  and  Smike. 

“Upon  my  word,”  said  Nicholas,  taking  the  manager  aside, 
“I  don’t  think  I  can  be  ready  by  Monday.” 

“  Pooh,  pooh,”  replied  Mr,  Crummies. 

“  But  really  I  can’t,”  returned  Nicholas  ;  “  my  invention  is 
not  accustomed  to  these  demands,  or  possibly  I  might  pro¬ 
duce - ” 

“  Invention  !  what  the  devil’s  that  got  to  do  with  it  1”  cried 
the  manager,  hastily. 

“Every  thing,  my  dear  Sir.” 

“Nothing,  my  dear  Sir,”  retorted  the  manager,  with  evident 
impatience.  “Do  you  understand  French  ?” 

“  Perfectly  well.” 

“  V'ery  good,”  said  the  manager,  opening  the  table-drawer, 
and  giving  a  roll  of  paper  from  it  to  Nicholas.  “There,  just 
turn  that  into  English,  and  put  your  name  on  the  title-page. 
Damn  me,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  angrily,  “  if  I  haven’t  often 
said  that  I  wouldn’t  have  a  man  or  woman  in  my  company  that 
wasn’t  master  of  the  language,  so  that  they  might  learn  it  from 
22 


338 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Uie  original,  and  play  it  in  English,  and  by  tliai  means  save  all 
this  trouble  and  expense.” 

Nicholas  smiled,  and  pocketed  the  play. 

“  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  your  lodgings  ?”  said  Mr. 
Cruniinles. 

Nicholas  could  not  help  thinking  that  for  the  first  week  it 
would  be  an  uncommon  convenience  to  have  a  turn-up  bedstead 
in  the  pit,  but  he  merely  remarked  that  he  had  not  turned  his 
thoughts  that  way. 

“  Come  home  with  me,  then,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  “and  my 
boys  shall  go  with  you  after  dinner,  and  show  you  the  most 
likely  place.” 

The  offer  was  not  to  be  refused :  Nicholas  and  Mr.  Crummies 
gave  Mrs.  Crummies  an  arm  each,  and  walked  up  the  street  in 
stately  array.  Smike,  the  boys,  and  the  phenomenon,  went 
home  by  a  shorter  cut,  and  Mrs.  Grudden  remained  behind  to 
take  some  cold  Irish  stew  and  a  pint  of  porter  in  the  box- 
office. 

Mrs.  Crummies  trod  the  pavement  as  if  she  were  going  to 
immediate  execution  with  an  animating  consciousness  of  inno¬ 
cence  and  that  heroic  fortitude  which  virtue  alone  inspires. 
Mr.  Crummies,  on  the  other  hand,  assumed  the  look  and  gait 
of  a  hardened  despot ;  but  they  both  attracted  some  notice 
from  many  of  the  passers-by,  and  when  they  heard  a  whisper 
of  “  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crummies,”  or  saw  a  little  boy  run  back  to 
stare  them  in  the  face,  the  severe  expression  of  their  counte¬ 
nances  relaxed,  for  they  felt  it  was  popularity. 

Mr.  Crummies  lived  in  Saint  Thomas’s  Street,  at  the  house 
of  one  Bulph,  a  pilot,  who  sported  a  boat-green  door,  with 
window-frames  of  the  same  color,  and  had  the  little  finger  of  a 
drowned  man  on  his  parlor  mantel-shelf,  with  other  maritime 
and  natural  curiosities.  He  displayed  also  a  brass  knocker,  a 
brass  plate,  and  a  brass  bell-handle,  all  very  bright  and  shining; 
and  had  a  mast,  with  a  vane  on  the  top  of  it,  in  his  back  yard. 

“  You  are  welcome,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  turning  round  to 
Nicholas,  when  they  reached  the  bow-windowed  front  room  on 
the  first  floor 

Nicholas  bowed  his  acknowledgments,  and  was  unfeignedly 
glad  to  see  the  cloth  laid. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


339 


“We  have  but  a  shoulder  of  mutton  with  onion  sauce,”  said 
Mrs.  Crummies,  in  the  same  charnel-house  voice  ;  “  but  such  as 
our  dinner  is,  we  beg  you  to  partake  of  it.” 

“  You  are  very  good,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  I  shall  do  it  ample 
justice.” 

“  Vincent,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  “  what  is  the  hour  ?” 

“Five  minutes  past  dinner-time,”  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

Mrs.  Crummies  rang  the  bell.  “  Let  the  mutton  and  onion 
sauce  appear.” 

The  slave  who  attended  upon  Mr.  Bulph’s  lodgers  dis¬ 
appeared,  and  after  a  short  interval  re-appeared  with  the  festive 
banquet.  Nicholas  and  the  infant  phenomenon  opposed  each 
other  at  the  peinbroke-table,  and  Smike  and  the  Master  Crumm- 
leses  dined  on  the  sofa  bedstead. 

“  Are  they  very  theatrical  people  here  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“No,”  replied  Ivir.  Crummies,  shaking  his  head,  “far  from 
it — far  from  it.” 

“  I  pity  them,”  observed  Mrs.  Crummies. 

“So  do  I,”  said  Nicholas;  “if  they  have  no  relish  for 
theatrical  entertainments,  properly  conducted.” 

“  Then  they  have  none.  Sir,”  rejoined  Mr.  Crummies.  “  To 
the  infant’s  benefit,  last  year,  on  which  occasion  she  repeated 
three  of  her  most  popular  characters,  and  also  appeared  in  the 
Fairy  Porcupine,  as  originally  performed  by  her,  there  was  a 
house  of  no  more  than  four  pound  twelve.” 

“  Is  it  possible  ?”  cried  Nicholas. 

“And  two  pound  of  that  was  trust,  pa,”  said  the  phenomenon. 

“  And  two  pound  of  that  was  trust,”  repeated  Mr.  Crummies. 
“  ]\Irs.  Crummies  herself  has  played  to  mere  handfuls.” 

“  But  they  are  always  a  taking  audience,  Vincent,”  said  the 
manager’s  wife. 

“  Most  audiences  are,  when  they  have  good  acting — real 
good  acting — the  real  thing,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies  forcibly. 

Do  you  give  lessons,  Ma’am  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  I  do,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies. 

“  There  is  no  teaching  here,  I  suppose  ?” 

“  There  has  been,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies.  “  I  have  received 
pupils  here.  1  imparted  tuition  to  the  daughter  of  a  dealer  in 
ships’  l^o^ision;  but  it  afterwards  appeared  tnat  she  wa.s 


840 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


insane  when  slie  first  came  to  me.  Is  was  very  extraordinary 
that  she  should  come,  under  such  circumstances.” 

Not  feeling  quite  so  sure  of  that,  Nicholas  thought  it  best  to 
hold  his  peace. 

“  Let  me  see,”  said  the  manager,  cogitating  after  dinner. 
“  Would  you  like  some  nice  little  part  with  the  infant  ?” 

“You  are  very  good,”  replied  Nicholas,  hastily;  “but  I 
think  perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  I  had  somebody  of  my  own 
size  at  first,  in  case  I  should  turn  out  awkward.  I  should  feel 
more  at  home  perhaps.” 

“  True,”  said  the  manager.  “  Perhaps  you  would,  and  you 
could  play  up  to  the  infant  in  time,  you  know.” 

“  Certainly,”  replied  Nicholas :  devoutly  hoping  that  it  would 
be  a  very  long  time  before  he  was  honored  with  this  distinction. 

“  Then  I’ll  tell  you  what  we’ll  do,”  said  Mr.  Crummies. 
“  You  shall  study  Romeo  when  you’ve  done  that  piece — don’t 
forget  to  throw  the  pump  and  tubs  in,  by-the-by — Juliet,  Miss 
Snevellicci,  old  Grudden  the  nurse. — Yes,  that’ll  do  very  well. 
Rover  too  ; — you  might  get  up  Rover  while  you  were  about  it, 
and  Cassio,  and  Jeremy  Diddler.  You  can  easily  knock  them 
off ;  one  part  helps  the  other  so  much.  Here  they  are,  cues 
and  all.” 

With  these  hasty  general  directions  Mr.  Crummies  thrust  a 
number  of  little  books  into  the  faltering  hands  of  Nicholas,  and 
bidding  his  eldest  son  go  with  him  and  show  him  where  lodg¬ 
ings  were  to  be  had,  shook  him  by  the  hand  and  wished  him 
good  night. 

There  is  no  lack  of  comfortable  furnished  apartments  in 
Portsmouth,  and  no  difficulty  in  finding  some  that  are  propor¬ 
tionate  to  very  slender  finances ;  but  the  former  were  too  good, 
and  the  latter  too  bad,  and  they  went  into  so  many  houses,  and 
came  out  unsuited,  that  Nicholas  seriously  began  to  think  he 
sliould  be  obliged  to  ask  permission  to  spend  the  night  in  the 
theatre,  after  all. 

Eventually,  however,  they  stumbled  upon  two  small  rooms  up 
three  pair  of  stairs,  or  rather  two  pair  and  a  ladder,  at  a 
tobacconist’s  shop,  on  the  Common  Hard,  a  dirty  street  leading 
down  to  the  dockyard.  These  Nicholas  engaged,  only  too 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


841 


happy  to  have  escaped  any  request  for  payment  of  a  week’s 
rent  beforehand. 

“  There,  lay  down  our  personal  property,  Smike,”  he  said, 
after  showing  young  Crummies  down  stairs.  “  We  have  fallen 
upon  strange  times,  and  God  only  knows  the  end  of  them  ;  but 
I  am  tired  with  the  events  of  these  three  days,  and  will  post¬ 
pone  reflection  till  to-morrow — if  I  can.’' 


CHAPTEE,  XXIY. 


OF  THE  GREAT  BESPEAK  FOR  MISS  SNEVELLICCI,  AND  THE  FIRST 
APPEARANCE  OF  NICHOLAS  UPON  ANY  STAGE. 

Nicholas  was  np  betimes  in  the  morning ;  but  he  had 
scarcely  begun  to  dress,  notwithstanding,  when  he  heard  foot¬ 
steps  ascending  the  stairs,  and  was  presently  saluted  by  the 
voices  of  Mr,  Folair,  the  pantomimist,  and  Mr.  Lenville,  the 
tragedian.  * 

“House,  house,  house  I”  cried  Mr.  Folair 

“  "What,  ho  I  within  there  I”  said  Mr.  Lenville,  in  a  deep 
voice. 

Confound  these  fellows  1  thought  Nicholas;  they  have  come 
to  breakfast,  I  suppose.  “  I’ll  open  the  door  directly,  if  you’ll 
wait  an  instant.” 

The  gentlemen  entreated  him  not  to  hurry  himself;  and  to 
beguile  the  interval,  had  a  fencing  bout  with  their  walking- 
sticks  on  the  very  small  landing-place,  to  the  unspeakable  dis¬ 
composure  of  all  the  other  lodgers  down  stairs. 

“Here,  come  in,”  said  Nicholas,  when  he  had  completed  his 
toilet.  “  In  the  name  of  all  that’s  horrible,  don’t  make  that 
noise  outside.” 

“An  uncommon  snug  little  box  this,”  said  Mr.  Lenville, 
stepi)ing  into  the  front  room,  and  taking  his  hat  off  before  he 
could  get  in  at  all.  “  Pernicious  snug.” 

“  For  a  man  at  all  particular  in  such  matters  it  might  be  a 
trifle  too  snug,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “  for,  although  it  is  undoubt¬ 
edly  a  great  convenience  to  be  able  to  reach  any  thing  you 
M'ant  from  the  coiling  or  the  floor,  or  either  side  of  the  room, 
without  having  to  move  from  your  chair,  still  these  advantages 
can  only  be  had  in  an  apartment  of  the  most  limited  size.” 

“It.  isn’t  a  bit  too  confined  for  a  single  man,”  returned  Mr. 
licnville.  “That  reminds  me, — my  wife,  Mr.  Jolmson — I  hope 
she’ll  have  some  good  part  in  this  piece  of  yours  ?” 

(342) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


813 


“  I  glanced  at  the  French  copy  last  night,”  said  Nicholas. 
“It  looks  very  good,  I  think.” 

“  What  do  you  mean  to  do  for  me,  old  fellow  ?”  asked  Mr. 
Lenville,  poking  the  struggling  fire  with  his  walking-stick,  and 
afterwards  wiping  it  on  the  skirt  of  his  coat.  “Any  thing  in 
the  grufi'  and  grumble  way?” 

“  You  turn  your  wife  and  child  out  of  doors,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las  ;  “  and  in  a  fit  of  rage  and  jealousy  stab  your  eldest  son  in 
the  library.” 

“  Do  I,  though  1”  exclaimed  Mr.  Lenville.  “  That’s  very  good 
business.” 

“  After  which,”  said  Nicholas,  “  you  are  troubled  with  re¬ 
morse  till  the  last  act,  and  then  you  make  up  your  mind  to  de¬ 
stroy  yourself.  But  just  as  you  are  raising  the  pistol  to  your 
head,  a  clock  strikes — ten.” 

“I  see,”  cried  Mr.  Lenville.  “Very  good.” 

“You  pause,”  said  Nicholas;  “you  recollect  to  have  heard 
a  clock  strike  ten  in  yonr  infancy.  The  pistol  falls  from  your 
hand — you  are  overcome — you  burst  into  tears,  and  become 
a  virtuous  and  exemplary  character  forever  afterwards.” 

“  Capital  1”  said  Mr.  Lenville:  “that’s  a  sure  card,  a  sure 
card.  Get  the  curtain  dovvn  with  a  touch  of  nature  like  that, 
and  it’ll  be  a  triumphant  success.” 

“  Is  there  any  thing  good  for  me  ?”  inquired  Mr.  Folair, 
anxiously. 

“Let  me  sec,”  said  Nicholas.  “You  play  the  faithful  and 
attached  servant ;  you  are  turned  out  of  doors  with  the  wife 
and  child.” 

“Always  coupled  with  that  infernal  phenomenon,”  sighed  Mr. 
Folair:  “and  we  go  into  poor  lodgings,  where  I  won’t  take  any 
wages,  and  talk  sentiment,  1  suppose  ?” 

“  Why — yes,”  replied  Nicholas ;  “  that  is  the  course  of  the 
piece.” 

“  I  must  have  a  dance  of  some  kind,  you  know,”  said  Mr. 
Folair.  “  You’ll  have  to  introduce  one  for  the  phenomenon,  so 
you'd  better  make  it  a  paft  de  deux,  and  save  time.” 

“  There’s  nothing  easier  than  that,”  said  Mr.  Lenville,  ob¬ 
serving  the  disturbed  looks  of  tlm  young  dramatist. 


844 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Upon  my  word  I  don’t  see  how  it’s  to  be  done,”  rejoined 
Nicholas. 

“  Why,  isn’t  it  obvious  ?”  reasoned  Mr.  Lenville.  “  Gad- 
zooks,  who  can  help  seeing  the  way  to  do  it  ? — you  astonish 
me  1  You  get  the  distressed  lady,  and  the  little  child,  and  the 
attached  servant,  into  the  poor  lodgings,  don’t  you  ? — Well, 
look  here.  The  distressed  lady  sinks  into  a  chair,  and  buries 
her  face  in  her  pocket-handkerchief — ‘What  makes  you  weep, 
mamma  ?’  says  the  child.  ‘  Don’t  weep,  mamma,  or  you’ll  make 
me  weep  too  1’ — ‘  And  me  !’  says  the  faithful  servant,  rubbing 
his  eyes  with  his  arm.  ‘  What  can  we  do  to  raise  your  spirits, 
dear  mamma  ?”  says  the  little  child.  ‘  Aye,  what  can  we  do  V 
says  the  faithful  servant.  ‘  Oh,  Pierre  I’  says  the  distressed 
lady;  ‘would  that  I  could  shake  off  these  painful  thoughts. 

‘  Try,  Ma’am,  try,’  says  the  faithful  servant ;  ‘  rouse  yourself. 
Ma’am ;  be  amused.’ — ‘  I  will,’  says  the  lady,  ‘  I  will  learn  to 
suffer  with  fortitude.  Do  you  remember  that  dance,  my  honest 
friend,  which,  in  happier  days,  you  practiced  with  this  sweet 
angel  ?  It  never  failed  to  calm  my  spirits  then.  Oh  !  let  me 
see  it  once  again  before  I  die!’ — There  it  is — cue  for  the  band, 
before  I  die, — and  off  they  go.  That’s  the  regular  thing  ;  isn’t 
it.  Tommy  ?” 

“That’s  it,”  replied  Mr.  Folair.  “The  distressed  lady,  over¬ 
powered  by  old  recollections,  faints  at  the  end  of  the  dance,  and 
you  close  in  with  a  picture.” 

Profiting  by  these  and  other  lessons,  which  were  the  result  of 
the  personal  experience  of  the  two  actors,  Nicholas  willingly 
gave  them  the  best  breakfast  he  could,  and  when  he  at  length 
got  rid  of  them  applied  himself  to  his  task,  by  no  means  dis¬ 
pleased  to  find  that  it  was  so  much  easier  than  he  had  at  first 
supposed.  He  worked  very  hard  all  day,  and  did  not  leave  his 
room  until  the  evening,  when  he  went  down  to  the  theatre, 
whither  Smike  had  repaired  before  him  to  go  on  with  another 
gentleman  as  a  general  rebellion. 

Here  all  the  people  were  so  much  changed  that  he  scarcely 
knew  them.  False  hair,  false  color,  false  calves,  false  muscles — 
they  had  become  different  beings.  Mr.  Lenville  was  a  blooming 
waiTior  of  most  exquisite  proportions  ;  Mr.  Crummies,  his  large 
face  shaded  by  a  profusion  of  black  hair,  a  highland  outlaw  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


345 


most  majestic  bearing ;  one  of  the  old  gentlemen  a  gaoler,  and 
the  other  a  venerable  patriarch  ;  the  comic  countryman,  a 
fighting  man  of  great  valor,  relieved  by  a  touch  of  humor  ; 
each  of  the  Master  Crummleses  a  prince  in  his  own  right ;  and 
the  low-spirited  lover  a  desponding  captive.  There  was  a 
gorgeous  banquet  ready  spread  for  the  third  act,  consisting  of 
two  pasteboard  vases,  one  plate  of  biscuits,  a  black  bottle,  and 
a  vinegar  cruet;  and,  in  short,  every  thing  was  on  a  scale  of  the 
utmost  splendor  and  preparation. 

Nicholas  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  curtain,  now 
contemplating  the  first  scene,  which  was  a  Gothic  archway, 
about  two  feet  shorter  than  Mr.  Crummies,  through  which  that 
gentleman  was  to  make  his  first  entrance,  and  now  listening  to 
a  couple  of  people  who  were  cracking  nuts  in  the  gallery, 
wondering  whether  they  made  the  whole  audience,  when  the 
manager  himself  walked  familiarly  up  and  accosted  him. 

“  Been  in  front  to-night  V  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

“No,”  replied  Nicholas,  “  not  yet.  I  am  going  to  see  the 
play.” 

“We’ve  had  a  pretty  good  Let,”  said  Mr.  Crummies.  “  Four 
front  places  in  the  centre,  and  the  whole  of  the  stage-box.” 

“  Oh,  indeed  I”  said  Nicholas  ;  “  a  family,  I  suppose  ?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  “yes.  It’s  an  affecting  thing. 
There  are  six  children,  and  they  never  come  unless  the  phe¬ 
nomenon  plays.” 

It  would  have  been  difficnlt  for  any  party,  family  or  other¬ 
wise,  to  have  visited  the  theatre  on  a  night  when  the  phenomenon 
did  not  play,  inasmuch  as  she  always  sustained  one,  and  not 
uncommonly  two  or  three  characters  every  night;  but  Nicholas, 
sympathizing  with  the  feelings  of  a  father,  refrained  from  hinting 
at  this  trifling  circumstance,  and  Mr.  Crummies  continued  to 
talk  uninterrupted  by  him. 

“  Six,”  said  that  gentleman;  “  pa  and  ma  eight,  aunt  nine, 
governess  ten,  grandfather  and  grandmother  twelve.  Then 
there’s  the  footman,  who  stands  outside,  with  a  bag  of  oranges 
and  a  jug  of  toast-and-water,  and  sees  the  play  for  nothing 
through  the  little  pane  of  glass  in  the  box-door — it’s  cheap  at 
a  guinea;  they  gain  by  taking  a  box.” 

“  1  wonder  you  allow  so  many,”  observed  Nicholas. 


846 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“There’s  no  help  for  it,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies  ;  “it’s  always 
expected  in  the  country.  If  there  are  six  children,  six  people 
come  to  hold  them  in  their  laps.  A  family  box  carries  double 
always.  Ring  in  the  orchestra,  Grudden.” 

That  useful  lady  did  as  she  was  requested,  and  shortly  after¬ 
wards  the  tuning  of  three  fiddles  was  heard.  Which  process 
having  been  protracted  as  long  as  it  was  supposed  -that  the 
patience  of  the  audience  could  possibly  bear  it,  was  put  a  stop 
to  by  another  jerk  of  the  bell,  which,  being  the  signal  to  begin 
in  earnest,  set  the  orchestra  playing  a  variety  of  popular  airs, 
with  involuntary  variations. 

If  Nicholas  had  been  astonished  at  the  alteration  for  the 
better  which  the  gentlemen  displayed,  the  transformation  of  the 
ladies  was  still  more  extraordinary.  When,  from  a  snug  corner 
of  the  manager’s  box,  he  beheld  Miss  Snevellicci.  in  all  the 
glories  of  white  muslin  with  a  gold  hem,  and  ISIrs.  Crummies  in 
all  the  dignity  of  the  outlaw’s  wife,  and  Miss  Bravassa  in  all  the 
sweetness  of  Miss  Snevcllicci’s  confidential  friend,  and  Miss 
Belvawney  in  the  white  silks  of  a  page,  doing  duty  everywhere 
and  swearing  to  live  and  die  in  the  service  of  every  body,  he 
could  scarcely  contain  his  admiration,  which  testified  itself  in 
great  applause,  and  the  closest  possible  attention  to  the  business 
of  the  scene.  The  plot  was  most  interesting.  It  belonged  to 
no  particular  age,  people,  or  country,  and  was  perhaps  the  more 
delightful  on  that  account,  as  nobody’s  previous  information 
could  afford  the  remotest  glimmering  of  what  would  ever  come 
of  it.  An  outlaw  had  been  very  successful  in  doing  something 
somewhere,  and  came  home  in  triumph,  to  the  sound  of  shouts 
and  fiddles,  to  greet  his  wife — a  lady  of  masculine  mind,  who 
talked  a  good  deal  about  her  father’s  bones,  which  it  seemed 
were  unburied,  though  whether  from  a  peculiar  taste  on  the 
part  of  the  old  gentleman  himself,  or  the  reprehensible  neglect 
of  his  relations,  did  not  appear.  This  outlaw’s  wife  was  some¬ 
how  or  other  mixed  up  with  a  patriarch,  living  in  a  castle  a  long 
way  off,  and  this  patriarch  was  the  father  of  several  of  the 
characters,  but  he  didn’t  exactly  know  which,  and  was  uncertain 
whether  he  had  brought  up  the  right  ones  in  his  castle,  or  the 
wrong  ones,  bid  rather  inclined  to  the  latter  opinion,  and,  being 
uneasy,  relieved  his  mind  with  a  banquet,  during  which  solemnity 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


347 


somebody  in  a  cloak  said  “Beware!”  which  somebody  was 
known  by  nobody  (except  the  audience)  to  be  the  outlaw  him¬ 
self,  who  had  come  there  for  reasons  unexplained,  but  possibly 
with  an  eye  to  the  spoons.  There  was  an  agreeable  little  sur¬ 
prise  in  the  way  of  certain  love  passages  between  the  desponding 
captive  and  Miss  Snevellicci,  and  the  comic  lighting-man  and 
Miss  Bravassa  ;  besides  which,  Mr.  Lenville  had  several  very 
tragic  scenes  in  the  dark,  while  on  throat-cutting  expeditions, 
which  were  all  baffled  by  the  skill  and  bravery  of  the  comic 
fighting-man  (who  overheard  whatever  was  said  all  through  the 
piece)  and  the  intrepidity  of  Miss  Snevellicci,  who  adopted 
tights,  and  therein  repaired  to  the  pi’ison  of  her  captive  lover, 
with  a  small  basket  of  refreshments  and  a  dark  lantern  At 
last  it  came  out  that  the  patriarch  was  the  man  who  had  treated 
the  bones  of  the  outlaw’s  father-in-law  with  so  much  disrespect, 
for  which  cause  and  reason  the  outlaw’s  wife  repaired  to  his 
castle  to  kill  him,  and  so  got  into  a  dark  room,  where,  after 
a  great  deal  of  groping  in  the  dark,  every  body  got  hold  of 
every  body  else,  and  took  them  for  somebody  besides,  which 
occasioned  a  vast  quantity  of  confusion,  with  some  pistoling, 
loss  of  life,  and  torchlight ;  after  which  the  patriarch  came 
forw'ard,  and  observing,  with  a  knowing  look,  that  he  knew  all 
about  his  children  now,  and  would  tell  them  when  they  got 
inside,  said  that  there  could  not  be  a  more  appropriate  occasion 
for  marrying  the  young  people  than  that,  and  therefore  he  joined 
their  hands,  with  the  full  consent  of  the  indefatigable  page,  who 
(being  the  only  other  person  surviving)  pointed  with  his  cap 
into  the  clouds,  and  his  right  hand  to  the  ground  ;  thereby 
invoking  a  blessing  and  giving  the  cue  for  the  curtain  to  come 
down,  which  it  did,  amidst  general  applause. 

“What  did  you  think  of  that?”  asked  Mr.  Crummies,  when 
Nicholas  went  round  to  the  stage  again.  Mr.  Crummies  was 
very  red  and  hot,  for  your  outlaws  are  desperate  fellows  to 
shout. 

“I  think  it  was  very  capital,  indeed,”  replied  Nicholas;  “Miss 
Snevellicci  in  particular  was  uncommonly  good.” 

“She’s  a  genius,”  said  Mr.  Crummies;  “quite  a  genius,  that 
girl.  By-the-by,  I’ve  been  thinking  of  bringing  out  that  piece 
of  yours  on  her  bespeak  night.” 


848 


NICHOLAS  NICELEBY. 


“When  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“The  night  of  her  bespeak.  Her  benefit  night,  when  hci 
friends  and  patrons  bespeak  the  play,’'  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

“Oh I  I  understand,”  replied  Nicholas 

“You  see,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  “it’s  sure  to  go  on  such  an 
occasion,  and  even  if  it  should  not  work  up  quite  as  well  as  we 
expect,  why  it  will  be  her  risk,  you  know,  and  not  ours.” 

“Yours,  you  mean,”  said  Nicholas. 

“I  said  mine,  didn’t  I  ?”  returned  Mr.  Crummies.  “Next 
Monday  week.  What  do  you  say  now?  You’ll  have  done  it, 
and  are  sure  to  be  up  in  the  lover’s  part  long  before  that  time.” 

“I  don’t  know  about  ‘long  before,’”  replied  Nicholas;  “but 
by  that  time  I  think  I  can  undertake  to  be  ready.” 

“Yery  good,”  pursued  Mr.  Crummies,  “then  we’ll  call  that 
settled.  Now,  I  want  to  ask  you  something  else.  There’s  a  little 
' — what  shall  I  call  it — a  little  canvassing  takes  place  on  these 
occasions.  ” 

“Among  the  patrons,  I  suppose?”  said  Nicholas. 

“Among  the  patrons;  and  the  fact  is,  that  Snevellicci  has 
had  so  many  bespeaks  in  this  place,  that  she  wants  an  attrac¬ 
tion.  She  had  a  bespeak  when  her  mother-in-law  died,  and  a 
bespeak  when  her  uncle  died ;  and  Mrs.  Crummies  and  myself 
have  had  bespeaks  on  the  anniversary  of  the  phenomenon’s 
birthday  and  our  wedding-day,  and  occasions  of  that  descrip¬ 
tion,  so  that,  in  fact,  there’s  some  difficulty  in  getting  a  good 
one.  Now  won’t  you  help  this  poor  girl,  Mr.  Johnson  ?”  said 
Crummies,  sitting  himself  down  on  a  drum,  and  taking  a  great 
pinch  of  snuff  as  he  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face. 

“How  do  you  mean?”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“Don’t  you  think  you  could  spare  half-an-hour  to-morrow 
morning,  to  call  with  her  at  the  houses  of  one  or  two  of  the 
principal  people  ?”  murmured  the  manager  in  a  persuasive  tone. 

“  Oh  dear  me,”  said  Nicholas  with  an  air  of  very  strong  objec¬ 
tion,  “  I  shouldn’t  like  to  do  that.” 

“The  infant  will  accompany  her,” said  Mr.  Crummies.  “The 
moment  it  was  suggested  to  me,  I  gave  permission  for  the  infant 
to  go.  There  will  not  be  the  smallest  impropriety — Miss 
Snevellicci,  Sir,  is  the  very  soul  of  honor.  It  would  be  of 
material  service — the  gentleman  from  London — author  of  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


849 


new  piece — actor  in  the  new  piece — first  appearance  on  any 
boards — it  would  lead  to  a  great  bespeak,  Mr.  Johnson  ” 

“  I  am  very  sorry  to  throw  a  damp  upon  the  prospects  of 
any  body,  and  more  especially  a  lady,”  replied  Nicholas;  “but 
really  I  must  decidedly  object  to  making  one  of  the  canvassing 
party.” 

“What  docs  Mr.  Johnson  say,  Vincent?”  inquired  a  voice 
close  to  his  ears ;  and,  looking  round,  he  found  Mrs.  Crummies 
and  Miss  Snevellicci  herself  standing  behind  him. 

“  lie  has  some  objection,  my  dear,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies, 
looking  at  Nicholas. 

“  Objection  1”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Crummies.  •“  Can  it  be  pos¬ 
sible  ?” 

“Oh,  I  hope  not  1”  cried  Miss  Snevellicci.  “You  surelj 
are  not  so  cruel — oh,  dear  me  ! — Well,  I — to  think  of  that  now, 
after  all  one’s  looking  forward  to  it.” 

“  Mr.  Johnson  will  not  persist,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies. 
“  Think  better  of  him  than  to  suppose  it.  Gallantry,  humanity, 
all  the  best  feelings  of  his  nature,  must  be  enlisted  in  this 
interesting  cause  ” 

“  Which  moves  even  a  manager,”  said  Mr.  Crummies, 
smiling. 

“  And  a  manager’s  wife,”  added  Mrs.  Crummies,  in  her 
accustomed  tragedy  tones.  “  Come,  come,  you  will  relent,  I 
know  you  will.” 

“  It  is  not  in  my  nature,”  said  Nicholas,  moved  by  these 
appeals,  “  to  resist  any  entreaty,  unless  it  is  to  do  something 
positively  wrong ;  and,  beyond  a  feeling  of  pride,  I  know 
nothing  which  should  prevent  my  doing  this.  I  know  nobody 
here  either,  and  nobody  knows  me.  So  be  it,  then.  I  yield.” 

]\[iss  Snevellicci  was  at  once  overwhelmed  with  blushes  and 
expressions  of  gratitude,  of  which  latter  commodity  neither  INfr. 
nor  Mrs.  Crnniinles  was  by  any  means  sparing.  It  was  arranged 
that  Nicholas  should  call  upon  her  at  her  lodgings  at  eleven 
next  morning,  and  soon  afterwards  they  parted  ;  he  to  return 
home  to  his  authorship  ;  Miss  Snevellicci  to  dress  for  the  after- 
piece ;  and  the  disinterested  manager  and  his  wife  to  discuss  the 
probable  gains  of  the  forthcoming  bespeak,  of  which  they  were 
to  have  two-thirds  of  the  profits  by  solemn  treaty  of  agiceroent 


860 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


At  tlie  stipulated  hour  next  morning,  Nicholas  repaired  to 
the  lodgings  of  Miss  Snevellicci,  which  were  in  a  place  called 
Lombard-street,  at  the  house  of  a  tailor.  A  strong  smell  of 
ironing  pervaded  the  little  passage,  and  the  tailor’s  daughter, 
who  opened  the  door,  appeared  in  that  flutter  of  spirits  which  is 
BO  often  attendant  upon  the  periodical  getting  up  of  a  family’s 
linen. 

“Miss  Snevellicci  lives  here,  I  believe?”  said  Nicholas,  when 
the  door  was  opened. 

The  tailor’s  daughter  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

“Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  let  her  know  that  Mr.  John¬ 
son  is  here  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Oh,  if  jmu  please,  you’re  to  come  up  stairs,”  replied  the 
tailor’s  (laughter,  with  a  smile. 

Nicliolas  followed  the  young  lady,  and  was  shown  into  a  small 
apartment  on  the  first  floor,  communicating  with  a  back  room  ; 
in  which,  as  he  judged  from  a  certain  half-subdued  clinking 
sound  as  of  cups  and  saucers.  Miss  Snevellicci  was  then  taking 
her  breakfast  in  bed. 

“You’re  to  wait,  if  you  please,”  said  the  tailor’s  daughter, 
after  a  short  period  of  absence,  during  which  the  clinking  in 
the  back  room  had  ceased,  and  been  succeeded  by  whispering — 
“  she  won’t  be  long.” 

As  she  spoke  she  pulled  op  the  window-blind,  and  having  by 
this  means  (as  she  thought)  diverted  Mr.  Johnson’s  attention 
from  the  room  to  the  street,  caught  up  some  articles  which  were 
airing  on  the  fender,  and  had  very  much  the  appearance  of 
stockings,  and  darted  off. 

As  there  were  not  many  objects  of  interest  outside  the  window, 
Nicholas  looked  about  the  room  with  more  curiosity  than  he 
might  otherwise  have  bestowed  upon  it.  On  the  sofa  lay  an  old 
guitar,  several  thumbed  pieces  of  music,  and  a  scattered  litter 
of  curl-papers  :  together  with  a  confused  heap  of  play-bills,  and 
a  pair  of  soiled  white  satin  shoes  with  large  blue  rosettes. 
Hanging  over  the  back  of  a  chair  was  a  half-finished  muslin 
apron  with  little  pockets  ornamented  with  red  ribbons,  such  as 
waiting-women  wear  on  the  stage,  and  by  consequence  are 
never  seen  with  any  where  else.  In  one  corner  stood  the 
diminutive  pair  of  top-boots  in  which  Miss  Snevellicci  was 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


m 

accustomed  to  enact  the  little  jockey,  and,  folded  on  a  chair 
hard  by,  was  a  small  ])arcel,  which  bore  a  very  suspicious  re¬ 
semblance  to  the  companion  smalls. 

But  the  most  interesting  object  of  all,  was  perhaps  the  open 
scrap-book,  displayed  in  the  midst  of  some  theatrical  duodecimos 
that  were  strewn  upon  the  table,  and  pasted  into  which  scrap¬ 
book  were  various  critical  notices  of  jNliss  Snevellicci’s  acting, 
extracted  from  different  provincial  journals,  together  with  one 
poetic  address  in  her  honor,  commencing — 


Sing,  God  of  Love,  and  tell  me  in  what  dearth 
Thrice-gifted  Snuvkllicci  came  on  earth, 

To  thrill  us  with  her  smile,  her  tear,  her  eye. 

Sing,  God  of  Love,  and  tell  me  quickly  why. 

Besides  this  effusion,  there  were  innumerable  complimentary 
allusions,  also  extracted  from  newspapers,  such  as — “We  ob¬ 
serve  from  an  advertisement  in  another  part  of  our  paper  of  to¬ 
day,  that  the  charming  and  highly-talented  Miss  Snevellicci 
takes  her  benefit  on  Wednesday/,  for  which  occasion  she  has  put 
forth  a  bill  of  fare  that  might  kindle  exhilaration  in  the  breast 
of  a  misanthrope.  In  the  confidence  that  our  fellow-townsmen 
have  not  lost  that  high  appreciation  of  public  ability  and  private 
Mmrth,  for  which  they  have  long  been  so  pre-eminently  distin¬ 
guished,  we  predict  that  this  charming  actress  will  be  greeted 
with  a  bumper.”  “To  Correspondents. — J.  S.  is  misinformed 
when  he  supposes  that  the  highly-gifted  and  beautiful  Miss 
Snevellicci,  nightly  captivating  all  hearts  at  our  pretty  and 
commodious  little  theatre,  is  not  the  same  lady  to  whom  the 
young  gentleman  of  immense  fortune,  residing  within  a  hundred 
miles  of  the  good  city  of  York,  lately  made  honorable  proposals 
Wg  have  reason  to  know  that  Aliss  Snevellicci  is  the  lady  who 
was  implicated  in  that  mysterious  and  romantic  affair,  and 
whose  conduct  on  that  occason  did  no  less  honor  to  her  head 
and  heart,  than  do  her  histrionic  trium])hs  to  her  brilliant 
genius.”  A  most  cojiions  assortment  of  such  paragraphs  as 
these,  with  long  bills  of  benefits  all  ending  with  “Come  Early,” 
in  large  capitals,  forn.cd  the  principal  contents  of  Aliss  Snevel- 
licei’s  scrap-book. 

Nicholas  had  read  a  great  many  of  these  scraps,  and  was 


852 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


absorbed  in  a  circumstantial  and  melancholy  account  of  the 
train  of  events  which  had  led  to  Miss  Snevellicci’s  spraining 
her  ankle  by  slipping  on  a  piece  of  orange-peel  flung  by  a 
monster  in  human  form,  (so  the  paper  said,)  upon  the  stage  at 
Winchester, — wnen  that  young  lady  herself,  attired  in  the  coal¬ 
scuttle  bonnet  and  walking-dress  complete,  tripped  into  the 
room,  with  a  thousand  apologies  for  having  detained  him  so 
long  after  the  appointed  time. 

“  But  really,”  said  Miss  Siievellicci,  “  my  darling  Led,  who 
lives  with  me  here.  Was  taken  so  very  ill  in  the  night  that  I 
thought  she  would  have  expired  in  my  arms.” 

“  Such  a  fate  is  almost  to  be  envied,”  returned  Nicholas,  “but 
I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it  nevertheless.” 

“What  a  creature  you  are  to  flatter  I”  said  Miss  Snevellicci, 
buttoning  her  glove  in  much  confusion. 

“  If  it  be  flattery  to  admire  your  charms  and  accomplish¬ 
ments,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  scrap-book, 
“you  have  better  specimens  of  it  here.” 

“  Oh  you  cruel  creature,  to  read  such  things  as  those.  I’m 
almost  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the  face  afterwards,  positively  I 
am,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  seizing  the  book  and  putting  it  away 
in  a  closet.  “How  careless  of  Led  1  How  could  she  be  so 
naughty  !” 

“  I  thought  you  had  kindly  left  it  here,  on  purpose  for  me  to 
read,”  said  Nicholas.  And  really  it  did  seem  possible. 

“  I  wouldn’t  have  had  you  see  it  for  the  world  !”  rejoined 
Mi  ss  Snevellicci.  “  I  never  was  so  vexed — never.  But  she  is 
such  a  careless  thing,  there’s  no  trusting  her.” 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the 
phenomenon,  who  had  discreetly  remained  in  the  bed-room  up 
to  this  moment,  and  now  presented  herself  with  much  grace 
and  lightness,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  very  little  green  parasol 
with  a  broad  fringe  border,  and  no  handle.  After  a  few  words 
of  course,  they  sallied  into  the  street. 

The  phenomenon  was  rather  a  troublesome  companion,  for 
first  the  right  sandal  came  down,  and  then  the  left,  and  these 
mischances  being  repaired,  one  leg  of  the  little  white  trowsers 
was  discovered  to  be  longer  than  the  other ;  besides  these  acci¬ 
dents,  the  green  parasol  was  dropped  down  an  iron  grating. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


853 


and  only  fished  up  again  with  great  difficulty  and  by  dint  of 
much  exertion.  However,  it  was  impossible  to  scold  her,  as  she 
was  the  manager’s  daughter,  so  Nicholas  took  it  all  in  perfect 
good  humor,  and  walked  on  with  Miss  Snevellicci,  armdn-arm 
on  one  side,  and  the  offending  infant  on  the  other. 

The  first  house  to  which  they  bent  their  steps,  was  situated 
in  a  terrace  of  respectable  appearance.  Miss  Snevellicci’s 
modest  double-knock  was  answered  by  a  foot- boy,  who,  in  reply 
to  her  inquiry  whether  Mrs.  Curdle  was  at  home,  opened  his 
eyes  very  wide,  grinned  very  much,  and  said  he  didn’t  know, 
but  he’d  inquire.  With  this,  he  showed  them  into  a  parlor 
wdiere  he  kept  them  waiting,  until  the  two  women-servants  had 
repaired  thither,  under  false  pretences,  to  see  the  play-actors, 
and  having  compared  notes  with  them  in  the  passage,  and  joined 
in  a  vast  quantity  of  whispering  and  giggling,  he  at  length 
went  up  stairs  with  Miss  Snevellicci’s  name. 

Now,  Mrs.  Curdle  was  supposed,  by  those  who  were  best  in¬ 
formed  on  such  points,  to  possess  quite  the  London  taste  in 
matters  relating  to  literature  and  the  drama ;  and  as  to  Mr. 
Curdle,  he  had  written  a  pamphlet  of  sixty-four  pages,  post 
octavo,  on  the  character  of  the  Nurse’s  deceased  husband  in 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  with  an  inquiry  whether  he  really  had  been 
a  merry  man”  in  his  lifetime,  or  whether  it  was  merely  his 
widow’s  affectionate  partiality  that  induced  her  so  to  report  him. 
He  had  likewise  proved,  that  by  altering  the  received  mode  of 
punctuation,  any  one  of  Shakspeare’s  plays  conld  be  made  quite 
different,  and  the  sense  completely  changed ;  it  is  needless  to 
say,  therefore,  that  he  was  a  great  critic,  and  a  very  profound 
and  most  original  thinker. 

‘‘  Well,  Miss  Snevellicci,”  said  Mrs.  Curdle,  entering  the  par¬ 
lor,  “  and  how  do  you  do  ?” 

Miss  Snevellicci  made  a  graceful  obeisance,  and  hoped  Mrs. 
Curdle  wms  well,  as  also  Mr.  Curdle,  who  at  the  same  time 
appeared.  Mrs.  Curdle  was  dressed  in  a  morning  wrapper, 
with  a  little  cap  stuck  upou  the  top  of  her  head ;  Mr.  Curdle 
wore  a  loose  robe  on  his  back,  and  his  right  fore-finger  on  his 
forehead,  after  the  portraits  of  Sterne,  to  whom  somebody  or 
other  had  once  said  he  bore  a  striking  resemblance. 

“  I  ventured  to  call  for  the  purpose  of  asking  whether  you 
23 


354 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


would  put  your  name  to  my  bespeak,  Ma'am,”  said  Miss  Sne- 
vellicci,  producing  documents. 

“  Oh  I  I  really  don’t  know  what  to  say,”  replied  Mrs.  Curdle. 
“  It’s  not  as  if  the  tneatre  was  in  its  high  and  palmy  days — ■ 
you  needn’t  stand.  Miss  Snevellicci — the  drama  is  gone,  per¬ 
fectly  gone.” 

“As  an  exquisite  embodiment  of  the  poet’s  visions,  and  a 
realization  of  human  intellectuality,  gilding  with  refulgent  light 
our  dreamy  moments,  and  laying  open  a  new  and  magic  world 
before  the  mental  eye,  the  drama  is  gone,  perfectly  gone,”  said 
Mr.  Curdle. 

“What  man  is  there  now  living  who  can  present  before  us 
all  those  changing  and  prismatic  colors  with  which  the  character 
of  Hamlet  is  invested  ?”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Curdle. 

“  What  man  indeed — upon  the  stage  ?”  said  Mr.  Curdle,  with 
a  small  reservation  in  favor  of  himself.  “  Hamlet  I  Pooh  1 
ridiculous  !  Hamlet  is  gone,  perfectly  gone.” 

Quite  overcome  by  these  dismal  reflections,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Curdle  sighed,  and  sat  for  some  short  time  without  speaking. 
At  length  the  lady,  turning  to  Miss  Snevellicci,  inquired  what 
play  she  proposed  to  have. 

“Quite  a  new  one,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  “of  which  this 
gentleman  is  the  author,  and  in  which  he  plays ;  being  his 
first  appearance  on  any  stage.  Mr.  Johnson  is  the  gentleman’s 
name.” 

“  I  hope  you  have  preserved  the  unities.  Sir  ?”  said  Mr. 
Curdle. 

“The  original  piece  is  a  French  one,”  said  Nicholas.  “There 
is  abundance  of  incident,  sprightly  dialogue,  strongly-marked 
characters — ” 

“  — All  unavailing  without  a  strict  observance  of  the  unities, 
Sir,”  returned  Mr.  Curdle.  “The  unities  of  the  drama  before 
every  thing.” 

“Might  I  ask  you,”  said  Nicholas,  hesitating  between  the 
respect  he  ouglit  to  assume,  and  his  love  of  the  whimsical, 
“might  I  ask  you  what  the  unities  are  ?” 

Mr.  Curdle  coughed  and  considered.  “The  unities,  Sir,”  ho 
said,  “  are  a  completeness — a  kind  of  a  universal  dove-tailed* 
ness  with  regard  to  place  and  time — a  sort  of  a  general  oneness, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


356 


if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  so  strong  an  expression.  I  take 
those  to  be  the  dramatic  unities,  so  far  as  I  have  been  enabled 
to  bestow  attention  upon  them,  and  I  have  read  much  upon 
the  subject,  and  thought  much.  I  find,  running  through  the 
performances  of  this  child,”  said  Mr.  Curdle,  turning  to  the 
phenomenon,  “  a  unity  of  feeling,  a  breadth,  a  light  and  shade, 
a  warmth  of  coloring,  a  tone,  a  harmony,  a  glow,  an  artistical 
development  of  original  conceptions,  udiich  I  look  for  in  vain 
among  older  performers — I  don’t  know  whether  I  make  myself 
understood  ?” 

“  Perfectly,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“Just  so,”  said  Mr.  Curdle,  pulling  up  his  neckcloth.  “  That 
is  my  definition  of  the  unities  of  the  drama.” 

Mrs.  Curdle  had  sat  listening  to  this  lucid  explanation  with 
great  complacency,  and  it  being  finished,  inquired  what  Mr. 
Curdle  thought  about  putting  down  their  names. 

“  I  don’t  know,  my  dear ;  upon  my  word  I  don’t  know,”  said 
Mr.  Curdle.  “  If  we  do,  it  must  be  distinctly  understood  that 
we  do  not  pledge  ourselves  to  the  quality  of  the  performances. 
Let  it  go  forth  to  the  world,  that  we  do  not  give  them  the 
sanction  of  our  names,  but  that  we  confer  the  distinction  merely 
upon  Miss  Snevellicci.  That  being  clearly  stated,  I  take  it  to 
be,  as  it  were,  a  duty,  that  we  should  extend  our  patronage  to  a 
degraded  stage  even  for  the  sake  of  the  associations  with  which 
it  is  e'ntwined.  Have  you  got  two-and-sixpence  for  half-a- 
crown,  Miss  Snevellicci  ?”  said  Mr.  Curdle,  turning  over  four 
of  those  pieces  of  money. 

Miss  Snevellicci  felt  in  all  the  corners  of  the  pink  reticule,  but 
there  was  nothing  in  any  of  them.  Nicholas  murmured  a  jest 
about  his  being  an  author,  and  thought  it  best  not  to  go  thi’ough 
the  form  of  feeling  in  his  own  pockets  at  all. 

“Let  me  see,”  said  Mr.  Curdle;  “  twice  four’s  eight — four 
Bhillings  apiece  to  the  boxes.  Miss  Snevellicci,  is  exceedingly 
dear  in  the  jireseut  state  of  the  drama — three  half-crowns  is 
Bcven-and-six ;  we  shall  not  differ  about  sixpence,  I  suppose. 
Sixpence  will  not  part  us.  Miss  Snevellicci  ?” 

Poor  Miss  Snevellicci  took  the  three  half-crowns  with  many 
smiles  and  bends,  and  Mrs.  Curdle,  adding  several  supplemen¬ 
tary  directions  relative  to  keeping  the  places  for  them,  and 


86G 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


dusting  the  seat,  and  sending  two  clean  bills  as  soon  as 
they  came  out,  rang  the  bell  as  a  signal  for  breaking  up  the 
conference. 

“  Odd  people,  those,”  said  Nicholas,  when  they  got  clear  of 
the  house 

"I  assure  you,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  taking  his  arm,  “that 
I  think  myself  very  lucky  they  did  not  owe  all  the  money 
instead  of  being  sixpence  short.  Now,  if  you  were  to  succeed, 
they  would  give  people  to  understand  that  they  had  always 
patronized  you  ;  and  if  you  were  to  fail,  they  would  have  been 
quite  certain  of  that  from  the  very  beginning.” 

The  next  house  they  visited  they  were  in  great  glory,  for 
there  resided  the  six  children  who  were  so  enraptured  with  the 
public  actions  of  the  phenomenon,  and  who,  being  called  down 
from  the  nursery  to  be  treated  with  a  private  view  of  that  young 
lady,  proceeded  to  poke  their  fingers  into  her  eyes,  and  tread 
upon  her  toes,  and  show  her  many  other  little  attentions  pecu¬ 
liar  to  their  time  of  life. 

“  I  shall  certainly  persuade  Mr.  Borum  to  take  a  private  box,” 
said  the  lady  of  the  house,  after  a  most  gracious  reception.  “  I 
shall  only  take  two  of  the  children,  and  will  make  up  the  rest 
of  the  party,  of  gentlemen — your  admirers.  Miss  Snevellicci. 
Augustus,  you  naughty  boy,  leave  the  little  girl  alone.” 

This  was  addressed  to  a  young  gentleman  who  was  pinching 
the  phenomenon  behind,  apparently  with  the  view  of  ascertain¬ 
ing  whether  she  was  real. 

“  I  am  sure  you  must  be  very  tired,”  said  the  mamma,  turn¬ 
ing  to  Miss  Snevellicci.  “  I  cannot  think  of  allowing  you  to 
go  without  first  taking  a  glass  of  wine.  Fie,  Charlotte,  I  am 
ashamed  of  you.  Miss  Lane,  my  dear,  pray  see  to  the  children.” 

Miss  Lane  was  the  governess,  and  this  entreaty  was  rendered 
necessary  by  the  abrupt  behavior  of  the  youngest  Miss  Borum, 
who,  having  filched  the  phenomenon’s  little  green  parasol,  was 
now  carrying  it  bodily  off,  while  the  distracted  infant  looked 
helplessly  on. 

“  I  am  sure,  where  you  ever  learned  to  act  as  you  do,”  said 
good-natured  Mrs.  Borum,  turning  again  to  Miss  Snevellicci, 
“  I  cannot  understand  (Emma,  don’t  stare  so)  ;  laughing  in  one 
pic(!e,  and  crying  in  the  next,  and  so  natural  in  all — oh,  dear!” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


357 


“  I  am  rcry  happy  to  hear  you  express  so  favorable  an  opi¬ 
nion,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci.  “  It’s  quite  delightful  to  think 
vou  like  it.” 

“Like  it!”  cried  Mrs.  Borum.  “Who  can  help  liking  it  1 
I  would  go  to  the  play  twice  a  week  if  I  could  :  I  dote  upon  it — 
only  you’re  too  affecting  sometimes.  You  do  put  me  in  such 
a  state — into  such  fits  of  crying  !  Goodness  gracious  me,  Miss 
Lane,  how  can  you  let  them  torment  that  poor  child  so  ?” 

The  phenomenon  was  really  in  a  fair  way  of  being  torn  limb 
from  limb,  for  two  strong  little  boys,  one  holding  on  by  each  of 
her  hands,  were  dragging  her  in  different  directions  as  a  trial 
of  strength.  However,  Miss  Lane  (who  had  herself  been  too 
much  occupied  in  contemplating  the  grown-up  actors,  to  pay 
the  necessary  attention  to  these  proceedings)  rescued  the  un¬ 
happy  infant  at  this  juncture,  who,  being  recruited  with  a  glass 
of  wine,  was  shortly  afterwards  taken  away  by  her  friends,  after 
sustaining  no  more  serious  damage  than  a  flattening  of  the  pink 
gauze  bonnet,  and  a  rather  extensive  creasing  of  the  white  frock 
and  trowsers. 

It  was  a  trying  morning,  for  there  were  a  great  many  calls  to 
make,  and  every  body  wanted  a  different  thing ;  some  wanted 
tragedies,  and  others  comedies  ;  some  objected  to  dancing,  some 
wanted  scarcely  any  thing  else.  Some  thought  the  comic  singer 
decidedly  low,  and  others  hoped  he  would  have  more  to  do 
than  he  usually  had.  Some  people  wouldn’t  promise  to  go,  be¬ 
cause  other  people  wouldn’t  promise  to  go  ;  and  other  people 
wouldn’t  go  at  all,  because  other  people  went.  At  length,  and 
by  little  and  little,  omitting  something  in  this  place,  and  adding 
something  in  that.  Miss  Snevellicci  pledged  herself  to  a  bill  of 
fare,  which  was  comprehensive  enough,  if  it  had  no  other  merit 
(it  included,  among  other  trifles,  four  pieces,  divers  songs,  a  few 
combats,  and  several  dances) ;  and  they  returned  home  pretty 
well  exhausted  with  the  business  of  the  day. 

Nicholas  worked  away  at  the  piece,  which  was  speedily  put 
into  rehearsal,  and  then  worked  away  at  his  own  part,  which  he 
studied  with  great  perseverance  and  acted — as  the  whole  com¬ 
pany  said — to  perfection.  And  at  length  the  great  day  arrived. 
The  crier  was  sent  round  in  the  morning  to  proclaim  the  (mter- 
taiumente  with  sound  of  bell  in  all  the  thoroughfares ;  extra 


358 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


bills  of  three  feet  long  by  nine  inches  wide,  were  dispersed  in 
all  directions,  flung  down  all  the  areas,  thrust  under  all  the 
knockers,  and  developed  in  all  the  shops ;  they  were  placarded 
on  all  the  walls  too,  though  not  with  complete  success,  for  an 
illiterate  person  having  undertaken  this  office  dnring  the  indis¬ 
position  of  the  regular  bill-sticker,  a  part  were  posted  sideways 
and  the  remainder  upside  down. 

At  half-past  five,  there  was  a  rush  of  four  people  to  the  gal¬ 
lery-door  ;  at  a  quarter  before  six  there  were  at  least  a  dozen  ; 
at  six  o’clock  the  kicks  were  terrific ;  and  when  the  elder 
Master  Crummies  opened  the  door,  he  was  obliged  to  run  behind 
it  for  his  life.  Fifteen  shillings  were  taken  by  Mrs,  Grudden 
in  the  first  ten  minutes. 

Behind  the  scenes  the  same  unwonted  excitement  prevailed. 
Miss  Snevellicci  was  in  such  a  perspiration  that  the  paint  would 
scarcely  stay  on  her  face.  Mrs.  Crummies  was  so  nervous  that 
she  could  hardly  remember  her  part.  Miss  Bravassa’s  ringlets 
came  out  of  curl  with  the  heat  and  anxiety ;  even  Mr.  Crummies 
himself  kept  peeping  through  the  hole  in  the  curtain,  and 
running  back  every  now  and  then  to  announce  that  another  man 
had  come  into  the  pit. 

At  last  the  orchestra  left  olf,  and  the  curtain  rose  upon  the 
new  piece.  The  first  scene,  in  which  there  was  nobody  par¬ 
ticular,  passed  off  calmly  enough,  but  when  Miss  Snevellicci 
went  on  in  the  second,  accompanied  by  the  phenomenon  as  child, 
what  a  roar  of  applause  broke  out  1  The  people  in  the  Borum 
box  rose  as  one  man,  waving  their  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  and 
uttering  shouts  of  “  Bravo  I”  Mrs.  Borum  and  the  governess 
cast  wreaths  upon  the  stage,  of  which  some  fluttered  into  the 
lamps,  and  one  crowned  the  temples  of  a  fat  gentleman  in  the 
pit,  who,  looking  eagerly  towards  the  scene,  remained  uncon¬ 
scious  of  the  honor  ;  the  tailor  and  his  family  kicked  at  the 
panels  of  the  upper  boxes  till  they  threatened  to  come  out  alto¬ 
gether  ;  the  very  ginger-beer  boy  remained  transfixed  in  the 
center  of  the  house  ;  a  young  officer,  supposed  to  entertain  a 
passion  for  Miss  Snevellicci,  stuck  his  glass  in  his  eye  as  though 
to  hide  a  tear.  Again  and  again  Miss  Snevellicci  courtesyed 
lower  and  lower,  and  again  and  again  the  applause  came  down 
louder  and  louder.  At  length,  when  the  phenomenon  picked 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


359 


np  one  of  the  smoking  wreaths  and  put  it  on  sideways  over  Miss 
Snevellicci’s  eye,  it  reached  its. climax,  and  the  play  proceeded. 

But  when  Nicholas  came  on  for  his  crack  scene  with  Mrs. 
Crummies,  what  a  clapping  of  hands  there  was !  When  Mrs. 
Crummies  (who  was  his  unworthy  mother)  sneered,  and  called 
him  “  presumptuous  boy,”  and  he  defied  her,  what  a  tumult  of 
applause  came  on  1  When  he  quarreled  with  the  other  gentle¬ 
men  about  the  young  lady,  and  producing  a  case  of  pistols,  said, 
that  if  he  was  a  gentleman,  he  would  fight  him  in  that  drawing¬ 
room,  till  the  furniture  was  sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  one,  if 
not  of  two — how  boxes,  pit,  and  gallery,  joined  in  one  most 
vigorous  cheer  1  When  he  called  his  mother  names,  because 
she  wouldn’t  give  up  the  young  lady’s  property,  and  she  re¬ 
lenting,  caused  him  to  relent  likewise,  and  fall  down  on  one  knee 
and  ask  her  blessing,  how  the  ladies  in  the  audience  sobbed  ! 
When  he  was  hid  behind  the  curtain  in  the  dark,  and  the 
wicked  relation  poked  a  sharp  sword  in  every  direction,  save 
where  his  legs  were  plainly  visible,  what  a  thrill  of  anxious  fear 
ran  through  the  house  1  His  air,  his  figure,  his  walk,  his  look, 
every  thing  he  said  or  did,  was  the  subject  of  commendation. 
There  was  a  round  of  applause  every  time  he  spoke.  And 
when  at  last,  in  the  pump-and-tub  scene,  Mrs.  Grudden  lighted 
the  blue  fire,  and  all  the  unemployed  members  of  the  company 
came  in,  and  tumbled  down  in  various  directions — not  because 
that  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  plot,  but  in  order  to  finish 
olf  with  a  tableau — the  audience  (who  had  by  this  time  increased 
considerably)  gave  vent  to  such  a  shout  of  enthusiasm,  as  had 
not  been  heard  within  those  walls  for  many  and  many  a  day. 

In  short,  the  success,  both  of  new  piece  and  new  actor,  was 
complete,  and  when  Miss  Snevellicci  was  called  for  at  the  end 
of  the  play,  Nicholas  led  her  on,  and  divided  the  applause. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 


CONCERNING  A  YOUNG  LADY  FROM  LONDON,  WHO  JOINS  THE 

COMPANY,  AND  AN  ELDERLY  ADMIRER  WHO  FOLLOWS  IN 

HER  TRAIN  ;  WITH  AN  AFFECTING  CEREMONY  CONSEQUENT 

ON  THEIR  ARRIVAL. 

The  new  piece  being  a  decided  hit,  was  announced  for  e^  ei  y 
evening  of  performance  until  further  notice,  and  the  evenings 
when  the  theatre  was  closed,  were  reduced  from  three  in  the 
week  to  two.  Xor  were  these  the  only  tokens  of  extraordinary 
success ;  for  on  the  succeeding  Saturday  Nicholas  received,  by 
favor  of  the  indefatigable  Mrs.  Grudden,  no  less  a  sum  than 
thirty  shillings ;  besides  which  substantial  reward,  he  enjoyed 
considerable  fame  and  honor,  having  a  presentation  copy  of  Mr. 
Curdle’s  pamphlet  forwarded  to  the  theatre,  with  that  gentle¬ 
man’s  own  autograph  (in  itself  an  inestimable  treasure)  on  the 
fly-leaf,  accompanied  with  a  note,  containing  many  expressions 
of  approval,  and  an  unsolicited  assurance  that  Mr.  Curdle  would 
be  very  happy  to  read  Shakspeare  to  him  for  three  hours  every 
morning  before  breakfast  during  his  stay  in  the  town. 

“  I’ve  got  another  novelty,  Johnson,”  said  Mr.  Crummies  one 
morning,  in  great  glee. 

“  What’s  that  ?”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “The  pony?” 

“No,  no,  we  never  come  to  the  pony  till  every  thing  else  has 
failed,”  said  Mr.  Crummies.  “I  don’t  think  we  shall  come  to 
the  pony  at  all  this  season.  No,  no,  not  the  pony.” 

“  A  boy  phenomenon,  perhaps  ?”  suggested  Nicholas. 

“  There  is  only  one  phenomenon.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies 
impressively,  “and  that’s  a  girl.” 

“  Aery  true,”  said  Nicholas.  “  I  beg  your  pardon.  Then  1 
don’t  know  what  it  is,  I  am  sure.” 

“What  should  you  say  to  a  young  lady  from  London  ?”  in- 
rpiired  Mr.  Crummies.  “Miss  So-and-So,  of  the  Theatre 
Royal,  Drury  Lane  1” 

(360) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


361 


"  I  sliould  say  she  would  look  very  well  in  the  bills,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“You’re  about  right  there,”  said  Mr.  Crummies;  “and  if 
you  had  said  she  would  look  very  well  upon  the  stage  too,  yon 
wouldn’t  have  been  far  out.  Look  here  ;  what  do  you  think  of 
that  ?  ’• 

With  this  inquiry  Mr.  Crummies  severally  unfolded  a  red 
poster,  and  a  blue  poster,  and  a  yellow  poster,  at  the  top  of  each 
of  which  public  notification  was  inscribed  in  enormous  characters 
— “  First  appearance  of  the  unrivaled  Miss  Petowker,  of  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane  1” 

“  Dear  me  I”  said  Nicholas,  “  I  know  that  lady.” 

“  Then  you  are  acquainted  with  as  much  talent  as  was  ever 
compressed  into  one  young  person’s  body,”  retorted  Mr. 
Crummies,  rolling  up  the  bills  again ;  “  that  is,  talent  of  a 
ertain  sort — of  a  certain  sort.  ‘  The  Blood  Drinker,’  ”  added 
Mr.  Crummies  with  a  prophetic  sigh,  “  ‘  The  Blood  Drinker’ 
will  die  with  that  girl ;  and  she’s  the  only  sylph  I  ever  saw  who 
could  stand  upon  one  leg,  and  play  the  tambourine  on  her  other 
knee,  like  a  sylph.” 

“When  does  she  come  down?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“We  expect  her  to-day,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies.  “She  is 
an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Crummies’s.  Mrs.  Crummies  saw  what  she 
could  do — always  knew  it  from  the  first.  She  taught  her,  in¬ 
deed,  nearly  all  she  knows.  Mrs.  Crummies  was  the  original 
Blood-Drinker.” 

“Was  she,  indeed  ?” 

“Yes.  She  was  obliged  to  give  it  up,  though.” 

“  Did  it  disagree  with  her  ?”  asked  Nicholas,  smiling. 

“Not  so  much  with  her,  as  with  her  audiences,”  replied  Mr. 
Crummies.  “  Nobody  could  stand  it.  It  was  too  tremendous. 
You  don’t  quite  know  what  Mrs.  Crummies  is,  yet.” 

Nicholas  ventured  to  insinuate  that  he  thought  he  did. 

“No,  no,  you  don’t,”  said  Mr.  Crummies;  “you  don’t,  in¬ 
deed.  I  don’t,  and  that’s  a  fact ;  I  don’t  think  her  country 
will  till  she  is  dead.  Some  new  proof  of  talent  bursts  from 
that  astonishing  woman  every  jmar  of  her  life.  Look  at  her 
. — mother  of  six  children — three  of  ’em  alive,  and  all  upon  the 
etage  1” 


3C2 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


"  Extraordinary  1”  cried  Nicholas. 

“  Ah  !  extraordinary  indeed,”  rejoined  Mr.  Crummies,  taking 
a  complacent  pinch  of  snuif,  and  shaking  his  head  gravely.  “I 
pledge  you  my  professional  word  I  didn’t  even  know  she  could 
fiance  till  her  last  benefit,  and  then  she  played  Juliet  and  Helen 
IMacgregor,  and  did  the  skipping-rope  hornpipe  between  the 
pieces.  The  very  first  time  I  saw  that  admirable  woman. 
Johnson,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  drawing  a  little  nearer,  and 
speaking  in  the  tone  of  confidential  friendship,  “she  stood  upon 
her  head  on  the  butt-end  of  a  spear,  surrounded  with  blazing 
fireworks.” 

“  You  astonish  me  1”  said  Nicholas. 

“  She  astonished  meP'  returned  Mr.  Crummies,  with  a  very 
serious  countenance.  “  Such  grace,  coupled  with  such  dignity  I 
1  adored  her  from  that  moment.” 

The  arrival  of  the  gifted  subject  of  these  remarks  put  an  ab¬ 
rupt  termination  to  Mr.  Crummies’s  eulogium,  and  almost  imme¬ 
diately  afterwards.  Master  Percy  Crummies  entered  with  a 
letter,  which  had  arrived  by  the  General  Post,  and  was  directed 
to  his  gracious  mother ;  at  sight  of  the  superscription  whereof, 
Mrs.  Crummies  exclaimed,  “  From  Henrietta  Petowker,  I  do 
declare  1”  and  instantly  became  absorbed  in  the  contents. 

“  Is  it - ?”  inquired  Mr.  Crummies,  hesitating. 

“Oh  yes,  it’s  all  right,”  replied  Mrs.  Crummies,  anticipating 
the  question.  “What  an  excellent  thing  for  her,  to  be  sure  !” 

“  It’s  the  best  thing  altogether  that  I  ever  heard  of,  I  think,” 
said  Mr.  Crummies ;  and  then  Mr.  Crummies,  Mrs.  Crummies, 
and  Master  Percy  Crummies  all  fell  to  laughing  violently.  Nicho¬ 
las  left  them  to  enjoy  their  mirth  together,  and  walked  to  his  lodg¬ 
ings,  wondering  very  much  what  mystery  connected  with  Miss 
Petowker  could  provoke  such  merriment,  and  pondering  still 
more  on  the  extreme  surprise  with  which  that  lady  would  re¬ 
gard  his  sudden  enlistment  in  a  profession  of  which  she  was  such 
a  distinguished  and  brilliant  ornament. 

Put  in  this  latter  respect  he  was  mistaken ;  for — whether  Mr. 
Vincent  Crummies  had  paved  the  way,  or  Miss  Petowker  had 
some  special  reason  for  treating  him  with  even  more  than  her 
usual  amiability — their  meeting  at  the  theatre  next  day  was 
more  like  that  of  two  dear  friends  w'ho  had  been  inseparable 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


368 


from  infancy,  than  a  recognition  passing  between  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  who  had  only  met  some  half-dozen  times,  and  then 
by  mere  chance.  Nay,  Miss  Petowker  even  whispered  that  she 
had  wholly  dropped  the  Kenwigses,  in  her  conversations  with 
the  manager’s  family,  and  had  represented  herself  as  having  en¬ 
countered  Mr.  Johnson  in  the  very  first  and  most  fasliionable 
circles  ;  and  on  Nicholas  receiving  this  intelligence  with  un¬ 
feigned  surprise,  she  added  with  a  sweet  glance  that  she  had 
a  claim  on  his  good-nature  now,  and  might  tax  it  before  long. 

Nicholas  had  the  honor  of  playing  in  a  slight  piece  with  Miss 
Petowker  that  night,  and  could  not  but  observe  that  the  warmth 
of  her  reception  was  mainly  attributable  to  a  most  persevering 
umbrella  in  the  upper  boxes ;  he  saw  too,  that  the  enchanting 
actress  cast  many  sweet  looks  towards  the  quarter  whence  these 
sounds  proceeded,  and  that  every  time  she  did  so  the  umbrella 
broke  out  afresh.  Once  he  thought  that  a  peculiarly  shaped 
hat  in  the  same  corner  was  not  wholly  unknown  to  him,  but 
being  occupied  with  his  share  of  the  stage  business  he  bestowed 
no  great  attention  upon  this  circumstance,  and  it  had  quite  van¬ 
ished  from  his  memory  by  the  time  he  reached  home. 

He  had  just  sat  down  to  supper  with  Smike,  when  one  of  the 
people  of  the  house  came  outside  the  door,  and  announced  that 
a  gentleman  below  stairs  wished  to  speak  to  Mr.  Johnson. 

“  Well,  if  he  does,  you  must  tell  him  to  come  up,  that’s  all  I 
know,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  One  of  our  hungry  brethren,  I 
suppose,  Smike.” 

llis  fellow-lodger  looked  at  the  cold  meat,  in  silent  calcula¬ 
tion  of  the  quantity  that  would  be  left  for  dinner  next  day, 
and  put  back  a  slice  he  had  cut  for  himself,  in  order  that 
the  visitor’s  encroachments  might  be  less  formidable  in  their 
elfiicts. 

“  It  is  not  any  body  who  has  been  here  before,”  said  Nicholas, 
“for  he  is  tumbling  up  every  stair.  Come  in,  come  in.  In  the 
name  of  wonder — Mr.  Lillyvick  !” 

It  was  indeed,  the  collector  of  water-rates,  who,  regarding 
Nicholas  with  a  fixed  look  and  immovable  countenance,  shook 
hands  with  most  portentous  solemnity  and  sat  himself  down  in 
a  seat  by  the  chimney-corner. 

“  Why,  when  did  you  come  here  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 


364 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  This  morning,  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

“  Oh  !  I  see ;  then  you  were  at  the  theatre  to-night,  and  It 
was  your  umb - ” 

“  This  umbrella,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  producing  a  fat,  green 
cotton  one,  with  a  battered  ferrule  :  “  what  did  you  think  of 
that  performance  ?” 

“  So  far  as  I  could  judge,  being  on  the  stage,”  replied  Nicho¬ 
las,  "I  thought  it  very  agreeable.” 

“  Agreeable  !”  cried  the  collector.  “  I  mean  to  say.  Sir,  that 
it  was  delicious.” 

Mr.  Lillyvick  bent  forward  to  pronounce  the  last  word  with 
greater  emphasis ;  and  having  done  so,  drew  himself  up,  and 
frowned  and  nodded  a  great  many  times. 

“I  sa}'-,  delicious,”  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick.  “Absorbing, 
fairy -like,  toomultuous.”  And  again  Mr.  Lillyvick  drew  him¬ 
self  up,  and  again  he  frowned  and  nodded. 

“Ah  !”  said  Nicholas,  a  little  surprised  at  these  symptoms  of 
ecstatic  approbation.  “Yes — she  is  a  clever  girl.” 

“She  is  a  divinity,” returned  Mr.  Lillyvick,  giving  a  collector’s 
double  knock  on  the  ground  with  the  umbrella  before-mentioned. 
“  I  have  known  divine  actresses  before  now,  Sir ;  I  used  to 
collect,  at  least  I  used  to  call  for — and  very  often  call  for — the 
water-rate  at  the  house  of  a  divine  actress,  who  lived  in  my  beat 
for  upwards  of  four  year,  but  never — no,  never.  Sir — of  all 
divine  creatures,  actresses  or  no  actresses,  did  I  see  a  diviner 
one  than  is  Henrietta  Petowker.” 

Nicholas  had  much  ado  to  prevent  himself  from  laughing ; 
not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  he  merely  nodded  in  accordance 
with  Mr.  Lillyvick’s  nods,  and  remained  silent. 

“  Let  me  speak  a  word  with  you  in  private,”  said  Mr.  Lilly¬ 
vick. 

Nicholas  looked  good-humoredly  at  Smike,  who,  taking  the 
hint,  disappeared. 

“A  bachelor  is  a  miserable  wretch.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

“  Is  he  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  He  is,”  rejoined  the  collector.  “  I  have  lived  in  the  world 
for  nigh  sixty  year,  and  I  ought  to  know  what  it  is.” 

“You  ought  to  know,  certainly,”  thought  Nicholas,  “but 
whether  you  do  or  not,  is  another  question.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


3C5 


“  If  a  baclielor  happens  to  have  saved  a  little  matter  of 
money,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  “  his  sisters  and  brothers,  and 
nephews  and  nieces,  look  to  that  money,  and  not  to  him  ;  even 
if  by  being  a  public  character  he  is  the  head  of  the  family,  or 
as  it  may  be  the  main  from  which  all  the  otlier  little  branches 
are  turned  on,  they  still  wish  him  dead  all  the  while,  and  get 
low-spirited  every  time  they  see  him  looking  in  good  healtli, 
because  they  want  to  come  into  his  little  property.  You  see 
that  ?” 

“  0,  yes,”  replied  Nicholas  ;  “  it’s  very  true,  no  doubt.” 

“The  great  reason  for  not  being  married,”  resumed  Mr. 
Lillyvick,  “is  the  expense ;  that’s  what’s  kept  me  off,  or  else — • 
Lordl”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  snapping  his  fingers,  “I  miglit  have 
had  fifty  women.” 

“  Fine  women  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Fine  women.  Sir  1”  replied  the  collector ;  “  aye  !  not  so  fine 
as  Henrietta  Petowker,  for  she  is  an  uncommon  specimen,  but 
such  women  as  don’t  fall  into  every  man’s  way,  I  can  tell  you 
that.  Now  suppose  a  man  can  get  a  fortune  in  his  wife  instead 
of  with  her — eh  ?” 

“Why,  then,  he  is  a  lucky  fellow,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  That’s  what  I  say,”  retorted  the  collector,  patting  him 
benignantly  on  the  side  of  the  head  with  his  umbrella ;  “just 
what  I  say  :  Henrietta  Petowker,  the  talented  Henrietta  Pe- 
tuwker,  has  a  fortune  in  herself,  and  I  am  going  to - ” 

“  To  make  her  Mrs.  Lillyvick  ?”  suggested  Nicholas. 

“No,  Sir,  not  to  make  her  Mrs.  Lillyvick,”  replied  the  col¬ 
lector.  “  Actresses,  Sir,  always  keep  their  maiden  names, 
that’s  the  regular  thing, — but  I’m  going  to  marry  her ;  and  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  too.” 

“I  congratulate  you.  Sir,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Thank  you.  Sir,”  replied  the  collector,  buttoning  his  waist¬ 
coat.  “  I  shall  draw  her  salary,  of  course,  and  I  hope  after  all 
that  it’s  nearly  as  cheap  to  keep  two  as  it  is  to  keep  one  ;  that’s 
a  consolation.” 

“  Surely  you  don’t  want  anv  consolation  at  such  a  moment  ?” 
observed  Nicholas. 

“No,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  shaking  his  head  nervously; 
'‘no--of  course  not.” 


8G6 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


"But  bow  come  you  both  here,  if  you’re  going  to  be  married, 
Mr.  Lillyvick  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Why,  that’s  what  I  came  to  explain  to  you,”  replied  the 
collector  of  water-rate.  "  The  fact  is,  we  have  thought  it  best 
to  keep  it  secret  from  the  family.” 

"  Family  !”  said  Nicholas.  ‘‘What  family  ?” 

"The  Kenwigses,  of  course,”  rejoined  Mr.  Lillyvick.  "If  my 
niece  and  the  children  had  known  a  word  about  it  before  I  came 
away,  they’d  have  gone  into  fits  at  ray  feet,  and  never  have 
come  out  of  ’em  till  I  took  an  oath  not  to  marry  any  body — or 
they’d  have  got  out  a  commission  of  lunacy,  or  some  dreadful 
thing,”  said  the  collector,  quite  trembling  as  he  spoke. 

"  To  be  sure,”  said  Nicholas.  “  Yes  ;  they  would  have  been 
jealous,  no  doubt.” 

"  To  prevent  which,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  "  Henrietta  Pe« 
towker  (it  was  settled  between  us)  should  come  down  here  to 
her  friends,  the  Crumrnleses,  under  pretence  of  this  engagement, 
and  I  should  go  down  to  Guildford  the  day  before,  and  join  her 
on  the  coach  there,  which  I  did,  and  we  came  down  from 
Guildford  yesterday  together.  Now,  for  fear  you  should  be 
writing  to  Mr.  Noggs,  and  might  say  any  thing  about  us,  wa 
have  thought  it  best  to  let  you  into  the  secret.  We  shall  ba 
married  from  the  Crumrnleses’  lodgings,  and  shall  be  delighted 
to  see  you — either  before  church  or  at  breakfast-time,  which  you 
like.  It  won’t  be  expensive,  you  know,”  said*  the  collector, 
highly  anxious  to  prevent  any  misunderstanding  on  this  point; 
"just  muffins  and  coffee,  with  perhaps  a  shrimp  or  something 
of  that  sort  for  a  relish,  you  know.” 

‘‘Yes,  yes,  I  understand,”  replied  Nicholas.  "Oh,  I  shall 
be  most  happy  to  come  ;  it  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure. 
Where’s  the  lady  stopping — with  Mrs.  Crummies  ?” 

"Why,  no,”  said  the  collector;  “they  couldn’t  very  well 
dispose  of  her  at  night,  and  so  she  is  staying  with  an  acquaint¬ 
ance  of  hers,  and  another  young  lady ;  they  both  belong  to  the 
theatre.” 

"  Miss  Snevellicci,  I  suppose  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

"Yes,  that’s  the  name.” 

"And  they’ll  be  bridesmaids,  I  presume?”  said  Nicholas. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


367 


“Why,”  said  the  collector,  with  a  rueful  face,  “they  will  have 
four  bridesmaids  ;  I’m  afraid  they’ll  make  it  rather  theatrical  ” 

“Oh,  no,  not  at  all,”  replied  Nicholas,  with  an  awkward 
attempt  to  convert  a  laugh  into  a  cough.  “Who  may  the  four 
be  ?  Miss  Suevellicci  of  course — Miss  Ledrook — ” 

“'riie — the  phenomenon,”  groaned  the  collector. 

“  Ha,  ha  1”  cried  Nicholas.  “  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  don’t 
£.now  what  I’m  laughing  at — yes,  that’ll  be  very  pretty — the 
phenomenon — who  else  ?” 

“  Some  young  woman  or  other,”  replied  the  collector,  rising; 
“some  other  friend  of  Henrietta  Petowker’s.  Well,  you’ll  be 
careful  not  to  say  any  thing  about  it,  will  you  ?” 

“  You  may  safely  depend  upon  me,”  replied  Nicholas 
“Won’t  you  take  any  thing  to  eat  or  drink  ?” 

“No,”  said  the  collector;  “I  haven’t  any  appetite.  I  should 
think  it  was  a  very  pleasant  life,  the  married  one — eh  ?” 

“  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“  Yes,”  said  the  collector ;  “certainly.  Oh  yes.  No  doubt 
Good  night.” 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Lilly vick,  whose  manner  had  ex¬ 
hibited  through  the  whole  of  this  interview  a  most  extraordinary 
compound  of  precipitation,  hesitation,  confidence  and  doubt ; 
fondness,  misgiving,  meanness,  and  self-importance,  turned  his 
back  upon  the  room,  and  left  Nicholas  to  enjoy  a  laugh  by  him¬ 
self,  if  he  felt  so  disposed. 

Without  stopping  to  inquire  whether  the  intervening  day 
appeared  to  Nicholas  to  consist  of  the  usual  number  of  hours 
of  the  ordinary  length,  it  may  be  remarked  that,  to  the  parties 
more  directly  interested  in  the  forthcoming  ceremony,  it  passed 
witli  great  rapidity,  insomuch  that  when  Miss  Petowker  awoke 
on  the  succeeding  morning  in  the  chamber  of  Miss  Suevellicci, 
she  declared  that  nothing  should  ever  persuade  her  that  that 
really  was  the  day  which  was  to  behold  a  change  in  her  con¬ 
dition. 

“  I  never  will  believe  it,”  said  Miss  Petowker ;  “  I  cannot 
really.  It’s  of  no  use  talking,  I  never  can  make  up  my  mind 
to  go  through  with  such  a  trial  1” 

On  hearing  this.  Miss  Suevellicci  and  Miss  Ledrook,  who 
knew  perfectly  well  that  their  fair  friend’s  mind  had  been  made 


368 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


up  for  three  or  four  years,  at  any  period  of  which  time  she 
would  have  cheerfully  undergone  the  desperate  trial  now  ap¬ 
proaching,  if  she  could  have  found  any  eligible  gentleman  dis¬ 
posed  for  the  venture,  began  to  preach  comfort  and  firmness, 
and  to  say  how  very  proud  she  ought  to  feel  that  it  was  in  her 
power  to  confer  lasting  bliss  on  a  deserving  object,  and  how 
necessary  it  was  for  the  happiness  of  mankind  in  general  that 
women  should  possess  fortitude  and  resignation  on  such  occa¬ 
sions  ;  and  that  although  for  their  parts  they  held  true  happi¬ 
ness  to  consist  in  a  single  life,  which  they  would  not  willingly 
exchange — no,  not  for  any  worldly  consideration — still  (thank 
God),  if  ever  the  time  should  come,  they  hoped  they  knew  their 
duty  too  well  to  repine,  but  would  the  rather  submit  with  meek¬ 
ness  and  humility  of  spirit  to  a  fate  for  which  Providence  had 
clearly  designed  them  with  a  view  to  the  contentment  and  re¬ 
ward  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

“  I  might  feel  it  was  a  great  blow',”  said  Miss  Snevellicci, 
“  to  break  up  old  associations  and  what-do-you-callems  of  that 
kind,  but  I  would  submit,  my  dear,  I  would  indeed.” 

“So  would  I,”  said  Miss  Ledrook;  “I  wmuld  rather  court 
the  yoke  than  shun  it.  I  have  broken  hearts  before  now,  and  I 
am  very  sorry  for  it :  for  it’s  a  terrible  thing  to  reflect  upon.” 

“It  is  indeed,”  said  Miss  Snevellicci.  “Now, Led,  my  dear, 
we  must  positively  get  her  ready,  or  wm  shall  be  too  late,  we 
shall  indeed.” 

This  pious  reasoning,  and  perhaps  the  fear  of  being  too 
late,  supported  the  bride  through  the  ceremony  of  robing,  after 
which,  strong  tea  and  brandy  were  administered  in  alternate 
doses,  as  a  means  of  strengthening  her  feeble  limbs  and  causing 
her  to  w'alk  steadier. 

“  How  do  you  feel  now,  my  love  ?”  inquired  Miss  Snevellicci. 

“  Oh  Lillyvick  !”  cried  the  bride — “  if  you  knew  what  I  am 
undergoing  for  you  !” 

“  Of  course  he  know's  it,  love,  and  will  never  forget  it,”  said 
Miss  Ledrook. 

“  Do  you  think  he  won’t  ?”  cried  Miss  PetowLer,  really 
show'ing  great  capability  for  the  stage.  “  Oh,  do  you  think  ho 
won’t  ?  Do  you  think  Lillyvick  will  always  remember  it — 
always,  alwmys,  always  V 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


8H9 


Tliere  is  no  knowing  in  what  this  hurst  of  feeling  might  have 
ended,  if  Miss  Snevellicci  had  not  at  that  moment  proclaimed 
the  arrival  of  the  fly,  which  so  astounded  the  bride  that  she 
shook  off  divers  alarming  symptoms  which  were  coming  on  very 
strong,  and  running  to  the  glass  adjusted  her  dress,  and  calmly 
declared  that  she  was  ready  for  the  sacrifice. 

She  was  accordingly  supported  into  the  coach,  and  there 
“  kept  up”  (as  Miss  Snevellicci  said)  with  perpetual  sniffs  of 
sal  volatile  and  sips  of  brandy  and  other  gentle  stimulants,  until 
they  reached  the  manager’s  door,  which  was  already  opened  by 
the  two  Master  Crurnmleses,  who  wore  white  cockades,  and 
were  decorated  with  the  choicest  and  most  resplendent  waist¬ 
coats  in  the  theatrical  wardrobe.  By  the  combined  exertions 
of  these  young  gentlemen  and  the  bridesmaids,  assisted  by  the 
coachman,  Miss  Petowker  was  at  length  supported  in  a  condi¬ 
tion  of  much  exhaustion  to  the  first  floor,  where  she  no  sooner 
encountered  the  youthful  bridegroom  than  she  fainted  with  great 
decorum. 

“  Henrietta  Petowker !”  said  the  collector ;  “  cheer  up,  ray 
lovely  one.” 

Miss  Petowker  grasped  the  collector’s  hand,  but  emotion 
choked  her  utterance. 

“  Is  the  sight  of  me  so  dreadful,  Henrietta  Petowker  ?”  said 
the  collector. 

“Oh  no,  no,  no,”  rejoined  the  bride;  “but  all  the  friends — 
the  darling  friends — of  my  youthful  days. — to  leave  them  all — 
it  is  such  a  shock  !” 

With  such  expressions  of  sorrow.  Miss  Petowker  went  on  to 
enumerate  the  dear  friends  of  her  youthful  days  one  by  one,  and 
10  call  upon  such  of  them  as  were  present  to  come  and  embrace 
her.  This  done,  she  remembered  that  Mrs.  Crummies  had  been 
more  than  a  mother  to  her,  and  after  that,  that  Mr.  Crummies 
had  been  more  than  a  father  to  her,  and  after  that,  that  the 
Master  Crurnmleses  and  Miss  Ninetta  Crummies  had  been  more 
tlian  brothers  and  sisters  to  her.  These  various  remembrances 
being  each  accompanied  with  a  series  of  hugs,  occupied  a  long 
time,  and  they  were  obliged  to  drive  to  church  very  fast,  for 
fear  they  should  be  too  late. 

The  procession  consisted  of  two  flys ;  in  the  first  of  which 
24 


870 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


were  Miss  Bravassa  (the  fourth  bridesmaid),  Mrs.  Crummies, 
the  collector,  and  Mr.  Folair,  who  had  been  chosen  as  hia 
second  on  the  occasion.  In  the  other  were  the  bride,  Mr.  Crum¬ 
mies,  Miss  Snevellicci,  Miss  Ledrook,  and  the  phenomenon. 
The  costumes  were  beautiful.  The  bridesmaids  were  quite 
covered  wiln  artificial  flowers,  and  the  phenomenon,  in  particu¬ 
lar,  was  rendered  almost  Invisible  by  the  portable  arbor  in  which 
she  was  enshrined.  Miss  Ledrook,  who  was  of  a  romantic  turn, 
wore  in  her  breast  the  miniature  of  some  field-olBcer  unknown, 
which  she  had  purchased,  a  great  bargain,  not  very  long  before; 
the  other  ladies  displayed  several  dazzling  articles  of  imitative 
jewelry,  almost  equal  to  real ;  and  Mrs.  Crummies  came  out  in  a 
stern  and  gloomy  majesty,  which  attracted  the  admiration  of  all 
beholders. 

But,  perhaps  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Crummies  was  more  strik¬ 
ing  and  appropriate  than  that  of  any  member  of  the  party. 
This  gentleman,  who  personated  the  bride’s  father,  had,  in  pur¬ 
suance  of  a  happy  and  original  conception,  “  made  up”  for  the 
part  by  arraying  himself  in  a  theatrical  wig,  of  a  style  and  pat¬ 
tern  commonly  known  as  a  brown  George,  and  moreover  assum¬ 
ing  a  snuff-colored  suit,  of  the  i)revious  century,  with  gray  silk 
stockings,  and  buckles  to  his  shoes.  The  better  to  support  his 
assumed  character,  he  had  determined  to  be  greatly  overcome, 
and,  consequently,  when  they  entered  the  church,  the  sobs  of 
the  affectionate  parent  were  so  heart-rending  that  the  pew- 
opener  suggested  the  propriety  of  his  retiring  to  the  vestry,  and 
comforting  himself  with  a  glass  of  water  before  the  ceremony 
began. 

The  procession  up  the  aisle  was  beautiful.  The  bride,  with 
the  four  bridesmaids,  forming  a  group  previously  arranged  and 
rehearsed ;  the  collector,  followed  by  his  second,  imitating  his 
walk  and  gestures,  to  the  indescribable  amusement  of  some 
theatrical  friends  in  the  gallery  ;  Mr.  Crummies,  with  an  infirm 
and  feeble  gait;  Mrs.  Crummies  advancing  with  that  stage  walk, 
which  consists  of  astride  and  a  stop  alternately — it  was  the  corn- 
pletest  thing  ever  witnessed.  The  ceremony  was  very  quickly  dis¬ 
posed  of,  and  all  parlies  present  having  signed  the  register  (for 
which  purpose,  when  it  came  to  his  turn,  Mr.  Crummies  care¬ 
fully  wiped  aud  put  on  an  immense  pair  of  spectacles),  they 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


371 


went  back  to  breakfast  in  high  spirits.  And  here  they  found 
^^icholas  an'aiting  their  arrival. 

“Now  then,”  said  Crummies,  wlio  had  been  assisting  Mrs. 
Grudden  in  the  preparations,  which  were  on  a  more  extensive 
scale  than  was  quite  agreeable  to  the  collector.  “  Breakfast, 
breakfast.” 

No  second  invitation  was  required.  The  company  crowded 
and  squeezed  themselves  at  the  table  as  well  as  they  could,  and 
fell  to,  immediately  :  Miss  Fetowker  blushing  very  much  when 
any  body  was  looking,  and  eating  very  much  when  any  body 
was  not  looking ;  and  Mr.  Lillyvick  going  to  work  as  though 
with  the  cool  resolve,  that  since  the  good  things  must  be  paid 
for  by  him,  he  would  leave  as  little  as  possible  for  the  Crum- 
mleses  to  eat  up  afterwards. 

“It’s  very  soon  done,  Sir,  isn’t  it?”  inquired  Mr.  Folair  of  the 
collector,  leaning  over  the  table  to  address  him. 

“What  is  soon  done.  Sir?”  returned  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

‘  The  tying  up — the  fixing  oneself  with  a  wife,”  replied  Mr 
Folair.  “It  don’t  take  long,  does  it?” 

“No,  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  coloring.  “It  does  not 
take  long.  And  what  then.  Sir?” 

“t)h!  nothing,”  said  the  actor.  “It  don’t  take  a  man  long 
to  hang  himself,  either,  eh?  Ila,  ha!” 

Mr.  Lillyvick  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  looked  round 
the  table  with  indignant  astonishment. 

“To  hang  himself!”  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

A  profound  silence  came  upon  all,  for  Mr.  Lillyvick  was  dig- 
nifie  1  beyond  expression. 

‘To  hang  himself  I”  cried  Mr.  Lillyvick  again.  “Is  any 
parallel  attempted  to  be  drawn  in  this  company  between  matri* 
mo.iy  and  hanging  ?” 

“The  noose,  you  know,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  a  little  crest-fallen. 

“The  noose.  Sir?”  retorted  Mr.  Lillyvick.  “Does  any  man 
dare  to  speak  to  me  of  a  noose,  and  Henrietta  Pe — ” 

“Lillyvick,”  suggested  Mr.  Crummies. 

—  “and  Henrietta  Lillyvick  in  the  same  breath?”  said  the 
c-^llector.  “In  this  house,  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ci  ummles,  who  have  brought  up  a  talented  and  virtuous  family, 


872 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


to  be  blessings  and  phenomenons,  and  what  not,  are  we  to  hear 
talk  of  nooses 

“Folair,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  deeming  it  a  matter  of  decency 
to  be  affected  by  this  allusion  to  himself  and  partner,  “I’m 
astonished  at  you.” 

“What  are  you  going  on  in  this  way  at  me  for?”  urged  the 
mlfortuuate  actor.  “What  have  I  done?” 

“Done,  Sirl”  cried  Mr.  Lilly vick,  “aimed  a  blow  at  the 
whole  frame- work  of  society- — ” 

“And  the  best  and  tenderest  feelings,”  added  Crummies,, 
relapsing  into  the  old  man. 

“And  the  highest  and  most  estimable  of  social  ties,”  said  the 
collector.  “Noose!  As  if  one  was  caught,  trapped  into  the 
married  state,  pinned  by  the  leg,  instead  of  going  into  it  of  one’s 
own  accord  and  glorying  in  the  act!” 

“I  didn’t  mean  to  make  it  out,  that  you  were  caught  and 
trapped,  and  pinned  by  the  leg,”  replied  the  actor.  “I’m  sorry 
for  it;  I  can’t  say  any  more.” 

“So  you  ought  to  be.  Sir,”  returned  Mr.  Lilly  vick;  “and  I 
am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  enough  of  feeling  left  to  be  so.” 

The  quarrel  appearing  to  terminate  with  this  reply,  Mrs. 
Lillyvick  considered  that  the  fittest  occasion  (the  attention  of 
the  company  being  no  longer  distracted)  to  burst  into  tears,  and 
require  the  assistance  of  all  four  bridesmaids,  which  was  imme¬ 
diately  rendered,  though  not  without  some  confusion,  for  the 
room  being  small  and  the  table-cloth  long,  a  whole  detachment 
of  plates  were  swept  off  the  board  at  the  very  first  move. 
Regardless  of  this  circumstance,  however,  Mrs.  Lillyvick  re¬ 
fused  to  be  comforted  until  the  belligerents  had  passed  their 
words  that  the  dispute  should  be  carried  no  further,  which, 
after  a  sufficient  show  of  reluctance,  they  did,  and  from  that  time 
Mr.  Folair  sat  in  moody  silence,  contenting  himself  with  pinch¬ 
ing  Nicholas’s  leg  when  any  thing  was  said,  and  so  expressing 
his  contempt  both  for  the  speaker  and  the  sentiments  to  which 
he  gave  utterance. 

There  were  a  great  number  of  speeches  made,  some  by 
Nicholas,  and  some  by  Crummies,  and  some  by  the  collector ; 
two  by  the  Master  Crummleses,  in  returning  thanks  for  them¬ 
selves,  and  one  by  the  phenomenon  on  behalf  of  the  brides- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


373 

maids,  at  which  Mrs.  Crummies  shed  tears.  There  was  some 
singing,  t^-O,  from  Miss  Ledrook  and  Miss  Bravassa,  and  very 
likely  there  might  have  been  more,  if  the  fly-driver,  who  stopped 
to  drive  the  happy  pair  to  the  spot  where  they  proposed  to 
take  steam-boat  to  Ryde,  had  not  sent  in  a  peremptory  message 
intimating,  that  if  they  didn’t  come  directly  he  should  infallibly 
demand  eighteen-pence  over  and  above  his  agreement. 

This  desperate  threat  effectually  broke  up  the  party.  After 
a  most  pathetic  leave-taking,  Mr.  Lillyvick  and  his  bride 
departed  for  Ryde,  where  they  were  to  spend  the  next  two 
days  in  profound  retirement,  and  whither  they  were  accompa¬ 
nied  by  the  infant,  who  had  been  appointed  traveling  brides¬ 
maid  on  Mr.  Lillyvick’s  express  stipulation,  as  the  steam-boat 
people,  deceived  by  her  size,  would  (he  had  previously  ascer¬ 
tained)  transport  her  at  half  price. 

As  there  was  no  performance  that  night,  Mr.  Crummies 
declared  his  intention  of  keeping  it  up  till  every  thing  to 
drink  was  disposed  of;  but  Nicholas  having  to  play  Romeo  for 
the  first  time  on  the  ensuing  evening,  contrived  to  slip  away  in 
the  midst  of  a  temporary  confusion,  occasioned  by  the  unex¬ 
pected  development  of  strong  symptoms  of  inebriety  in  the 
conduct  of  Mrs.  Grudden. 

To  this  act  of  desertion  he  was  led,  not  only  by  his  own 
inclinations,  but  by  his  anxiety  on  account  of  Smike,  who, 
having  to  sustain  the  character  of  the  Apothecary,  had  been  as 
yet  wholly  unable  to  get  any  more  of  the  part  into  his  head 
than  the  general  idea  that  he  was  very  hungry,  which — perhaps 
from  old  recollections — he  had  acquired  with  great  aptitude. 

“  I  don’t  know  what’s  to  be  done,  Smike,”  said  Nicholas, 
laying  down  the  book.  “  I  am  afraid  you  can’t  learn  it,  my 
poor  fellow.” 

“  I  am  afraid  not,”  said  Smike,  shaking  his  head.  “  I  think 
if  you — but  that  would  give  you  so  much  trouble.” 

“  What  ?”  inquired  Nicholas.  “  Never  mind  me.” 

“  I  think,”  said  Smike,  “  if  you  were  to  keep  saying  it  to  me 
in  little  bits,  over  and  over  again,  I  should  be  able  to  recollect 
it  from  hearing  you.” 

“  Do  you  think  so  1”  exclaimed  Nicholas. 


“  Well  said.  Let 


374 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


US  s(^,e  who  tires  first.  Not  I,  Smike,  trust  me.  Now  thea 
Who  calls  so  loud  ?’  ” 

“  ‘  Who  calls  so  loud  ?’  ”  said  Smike. 

“  ‘  Who  calls  so  loud  ?’  ”  repeated  Nicholas. 

“  ‘  Who  calls  so  loud  ?’  ”  cried  Smike. 

Thus  they  continued  to  ask  each  other  who  called  so  loud, 
over  and  over  and  over  again ;  and  when  Smike  had  that  by 
heart,  Nicholas  went  to  another  sentence,  and  then  to  two  at  a 
time,  and  then  to  three,  and  so  on,  until  at  midnight  poor 
Smike  found  to  his  unspeakable  joy  that  he  really  began  to 
remember  something  about  the  text. 

Early  in  the  morning  they  went  to  it  again,  and  Smike,  ren¬ 
dered  more  confident  by  the  progress  he  had  already  made,  got 
on  faster  and  with  better  heart.  As  soon  as  he  began  to 
acquire  the  words  pretty  freely,  Nicholas  showed  him  how  he 
must  come  in  with  both  hands  spread  out  upon  his  stomach, 
and  how  he  must  occasionally  rub  it,  in  compliance  with  the 
established  form  by  which  people  on  the  stage  always  denote 
that  they  want  something  to  eat.  After  the  morning’s  rehearsal 
they  went  to  work  again,  nor  did  they  stop,  except  for  a  hasty 
dinner,  until  it  was  time  to  repair  to  the  theatre  at  night. 

Never  had  master  a  more  anxious,  humble,  docile  pupil. 
Never  had  pupil  a  more  patient,  unwearying,  considerate, 
kind-hearted  master. 

As  soon  as  they  were  dressed,  and  at  every  interval  when  he 
was  not  upon  the  stage,  Nicholas  renewed  his  instructions. 
They  prospered  well.  The  Romeo  was  received  with  hearty 
plaudits  and  unbounded  favor,  and  Smike  was  pronounced 
unanimously,  alike  by  audience  and  actors,  the  very  prince  and 
prodigy  of  Apothecaries. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 


18  FRAUGHT  WITH  SOME  DANGER  TO  MISS  NICKLEBY’S  PEACE 

OF  MIND. 

The  place  was  a  handsome  suit  of  private  apartments  in 
Regent  Street ;  the  time  was  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  to 
the  dull  and  plodding,  and  the  first  hour  of  morning  to  the  gay 
and  spirited  ;  the  persons  were  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht,  and 
his  friend  Sir  Mullierry  Hawk. 

These  distinguislied  gentlemen  were  reclining  listlessly  on  a 
couple  of  sofas,  with  a  table  between  them,  on  which  were  scat¬ 
tered  in  rich  confusion  the  materials  of  an  untasted  breakfast. 
Newspapers  lay  strewn  about  the  room,  but  these,  like  the  meal, 
were  neglected  and  unnoticed  ;  not,  however,  because  any  flow 
of  conversation  prevented  the  attractions  of  the  journals  from 
being  called  into  request,  for  not  a  word  was  exchanged  between 
the  two,  nor  was  any  sound  uttered,  save  when  one,  in  tossing 
about  to  find  an  easier  resting-place  for  his  aching  head,  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  impatience,  and  seemed  for  the  moment  to 
communicate  a  new  restlessness  to  his  companion. 

These  api)earances  would  in  themselves  have  furnished  a 
pretty  strong  clue  to  the  extent  of  the  debauch  of  the  previous 
nisrht,  even  if  there  had  not  been  other  indications  of  the  amuse- 
ments  in  which  it  had  been  passed.  A  couple  of  billiard-balls, 
all  mud  and  dirt,  two  battered  hats,  a  champagne  bottle  with  a 
soiled  glove  twisted  round  the  neck,  to  allow  of  its  being 
grasped  more  surely  iti  its  capacity  of  an  offensive  weapon  ;  a 
broken  cane  ;  a  card-case  witliout  the  top ;  an  empty  purse  ; 
a  watch-guard  snapped  asunder;  a  handful  of  silver,  mingled 
with  fragments  of  half-smoked  cigars,  and  their  stale  and  crum¬ 
bled  ashes  ; — these,  and  many  other  tokens  of  riot  and  disorder, 
hinted  very  intelligibly  at  the  nature  of  last  night’s  gentlemanly 
frolics. 

Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht  was  the  first  to  speak.  Drojrping 

(■3751 


d76 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


his  slippered  foot  on  the  ground,  and  yawning  heavily,  he 
struggled  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  turned  his  dull,  languia 
eyes  towards  his  friend,  to  whom  he  called,  in  a  drowsy  voice. 

“Halloo  1”  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  round. 

“  Are  we  going  to  lie  here  all  da-a-y  said  the  Lord. 

“I  don’t  know  that  we’re  fit  for  any  thing  else,”  replied  Sir 
Mulberry;  “yet  awhile,  at  least.  I  haven’t  a  grain  of  life  iu 
me  this  morning.” 

“Life  1”  cried  Lord  Yerisopht.  “I  feel  as  if  there  would  be 
nothing  so  snug  and  comfortable  as  to  die  at  once.” 

“  Then  why  don’t  you  die  ?”  said  Sir  Mulberry. 

With  which  inquiry  he  turned  his  face  away,  and  seemed  to 
occupy  himself  in  an  attempt  to  fall  asleep. 

His  hopeful  friend  and  pupil  drew  a  chair  to  the  breakfast- 
table,  and  essayed  to  eat ;  but,  finding  that  impossible,  lounged 
to  the  window,  then  loitered  up  and  down  the  room,  with  his 
hand  to  his  fevered  head,  and  finally  threw  himself  again  on  his 
sofa,  and  roused  his  friend  once  more. 

“  What  the  devil’s  the  matter  ?”  groaned  Sir  Mulberry,  sitting 
upright  on  the  couch. 

Although  Sir  Mulberry  said  this  with  sufficient  ill-humor,  he 
did  not  seem  to  feel  himself  quite  at  liberty  to  remain  silent; 
for,  after  stretching  himself  very  often,  and  declaring  with  a 
shiver,  that  it  was  “infernal  cold,”  he  made  an  experiment  at 
the  breakfast-table,  and  proving  more  successful  in  it  than  his 
less-seasoned  friend,  remained  there. 

“  Suppose,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  pausing,  with  a  morsel  on  the 
point  of  his  fork,  “  suppose  we  go  back  to  the  subject  of  little 
Nickleby,  eh  ?” 

“Which  little  Nickleby ;  the  money-lender,  or  thega-a-1?” 
asked  Lord  Yerisopht. 

“You  take  me,  I  see,”  replied  Sir  Mulberry.  “The  girl,  of 
course.” 

“  You  promised  me  you’d  find  her  out,”  said  Lord  Yerisopht. 

“  So  I  did,”  rejoined  his  friend;  “but  I  have  thought  further 
of  the  matter  since  then.  You  distrust  me  in  the  business — 
you  shall  find  her  out  yourself.” 

“  Na — ay,”  remonstrated  Lord  Yerisopht. 

“  But  I  say  yes,”  returned  his  friend.  “You  shall  find  her 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


377 


out  yourself.  Don’t  think  that  I  mean,  when  you  can — 1  know 
us  well  as  you,  that  if  I  did,  you  could  never  get  sight  of  her 
without  me.  No.  I  say  you  shall  find  her  out — shall — and 
I’ll  put  you  in  the  way.” 

“Now,  curse  me,  if  you  ain’t  a  real,  deyvlish,  downright, 
thorough-paced  friend,”  said  the  young  lord,  on  whom  this 
speech  had  produced  a  most  reviving  effect. 

“  I’ll  tell  you  how,”  said  Sir  Mulberry.  “  She  was  at  that 
dinner  as  a  bait  for  you.” 

“No  1”  cried  the  young  lord.  “  What  the  dey — ” 

“Asa  bait  for  you,”  repeated  his  friend  ;  “  old  Nickleby  told 
me  so  himself.” 

“  What  a  fine  old  cock  it  is!”  exclaimed  Lord  Yerisopht; 
“  a  noble  rascal  1” 

“Yes,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “he  knew  she  was  a  smart  little 
creature — ’  ’ 

“  Smart  1”  interposed  the  young  lord.  “  Upon  my  soul, 
Hawk,  she’s  a  perfect  beauty — a — a — picture,  a  statue,  a — a— - 
upon  my  soul  she  is  I” 

“Well,”  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and 
manifesting  an  indifference,  whether  he  felt  it  or  not ;  “  that’s  a 
matter  of  taste  ;  if  mine  doesn’t  agree  with  yours,  so  much  the 
better.” 

“Confound  it  1”  reasoned  the  lord,  “you  were  thick  enough 
with  her  that  day,  any  how.  I  could  hardly  get  in  a  word.” 

“Well  enough  for  once,  well  enough  for  once,”  replied  Sir 
Mulberry;  “but  not  worth  the  trouble  of  being  agreeable  to 
again.  If  you  seriously  want  to  follow  up  the  niece,  tell  the 
uncle  that  you  must  know  where  she  lives,  and  how  she  lives, 
and  with  whom,  or  you  are  no  longer  a  customer  of  his.  He’ll 
tell  you  fast  enough.” 

“Why  didn’t  you  say  this  before?”  asked  Lord  Yerisopht, 
“instead  of  letting  me  go  on  burning,  consuming,  dragging  out 
a  miserable  existence  for  an  a-age  ?” 

“  I  didn’t  know  it,  in  the  first  place,”  answered  Sir  Mulberry, 
carelessly;  “and  in  the  second,  I  didn’t  believe  you  were  so 
very  much  in  earnest.” 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  in  the  interval  which  had  elapsed 
since  the  dinner  at  Ralph  Nickleby’s,  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  had 


378 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


been  furtively  trying  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  discover 
whence  Kate  had  so  suddenly  appeared,  and  whither  she  had 
disappeared.  Unassisted  by  Ralph,  however,  with  whom  be 
had  held  no  communication  since  their  angry  parting  on  that 
occasion,  all  his  efforts  were  wholly  unavailing,  and  he  had 
therefore  arrived  at  the  determination  of  communicating  to  the 
young  lord  the  substance  of  the  admission  he  had  gleaned  from 
that  worthy.  To  this  he  was  impelled  by  various  considera* 
tions  ;  among  which  the  certainty  of  knowing  whatever  the 
weak  young  man  knew  was  decidedly  not  the  least,  as  the  de¬ 
sire  of  encountering  the  usurer’s  niece  again,  and  using  his 
utmost  arts  to  reduce  her  pride,  and  revenge  himself  for  her 
contempt,  was  uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  It  was  a  politic 
course  of  proceeding,  and  one  which  could  not  fail  to  redound 
to  his  advantage  in  every  point  of  view,  since  the  very  circum¬ 
stance  of  his  having  extorted  from  Ralph  Nickleby  his  real  de¬ 
sign  in  introducing  his  niece  to  such  society,  coupled  with  his 
extreme  disinterestedness  in  communicating  it  so  freely  to  his 
friend,  could  not  but  advance  his  interests  in  that  quarter,  and 
greatly  facilitate  the  passage  of  coin  (pretty  frequent  and  speedy 
already)  from  the  pockets  of  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht  to  those 
of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

Thus  reasoned  Sir  Mulberry,  and  in  pursuance  of  this  reason¬ 
ing  he  and  his  friend  soon  afterwards  repaired  to  Ralph  Nick- 
leby’s,  there  to  execute  a  plan  of  operations  concerted  by  Sir 
Mulberry  himself,  avowedly  to  promote  his  friend’s  object,  and 
really  to  attain  his  own. 

They  found  Ralph  at  home,  and  alone.  As  he  led  them  into 
the  drawing-room,  the  recollection  of  the  scene  which  had  taken 
place  there  seemed  to  occur  to  him,  for  he  cast  a  curious  look 
at  Sir  Mulberry,  who  bestowed  upon  it  no  other  acknowledg¬ 
ment  than  a  careless  smile. 

Tliey  had  a  short  conference  upon  some  money  matters  then 
in  progress,  which  were  scarcely  disposed  of  when  the  lordly 
dupe  (in  pursuance  of  his  friend’s  instructions)  requested  with 
some  embarrassment  to  speak  to  Ralph  alone. 

“  Alone,  eh  ?”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  affecting  surprise.  “  Oh, 
very  good.  I’ll  walk  into  the  next  room  here.  Don’t  keep 
me  long,  that’s  all.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


879 


So  saying,  Sir  Mulberry  took  up  his  hat,  and  humming  a 
fragment  of  a  song,  disappeared  through  the  door  of  com¬ 
munication  between  the  two  drawing-rooms,  and  closed  it  after 
him. 

“  Now,  my  lord,”  said  Ralph,  “what  is  it  ?” 

“  Nickleby,”  said  his  client,  throwing  himself  along  the 
sofa,  on  which  he  had  been  previously  seated,  so  as  to  bring 
his  lips  nearer  to  the  old  man’s  ear,  “  what  a  pretty  creature 
your  niece  is  !” 

“  Is  she,  my  lord  ?”  replied  Ralph.  “  Maybe — maybe — I 
don’t  trouble  my  head  with  such  matters.” 

“  You  know  she’s  a  deyvlish  fine  girl,”  said  the  client.  “  Yor 
must  know  that,  Nickleby.  Come,  don’t  deny  that.” 

“  Yes,  I  believe  she  is  considered  so,”  replied  Ralph.  “In¬ 
deed,  I  know  she  is.  If  I  did  not,  you  are  an  authority  on  such 
points,  and  your  taste,  my  lord — on  all  points,  indeed — is  un¬ 
deniable.” 

Nobody  but  the  young  man  to  whom  these  words  were  ad¬ 
dressed  could  have  been  deaf  to  the  sneering  tone  in  which  they 
were  spoken,  or  blind  to  the  look  of  contempt  by  which  they 
were  accompanied.  But  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht  was  both, 
and  took  tliem  to  be  complimentary. 

“Well,”  he  said,  “p’raps  you’re  a  little  right,  and  p’raps 
you’re  a  little  wrong — a  little  of  both,  Nickleby.  I  want  to 
know  where  this  beauty  lives,  that  I  may  have  another  peep  at 
her,  Nickleby.” 

“  Really — ”  Ralph  began  in  his  usual  tones. 

“  Don’t  talk  so  loud,”  cried  the  other,  achieving  the  great 
point  of  his  lesson  to  a  miracle.  “  I  don’t  want  Hawk  to 
hear.” 

“  You  know  he  is  your  rival,  do  you  ?”  said  Ralph,  looking 
sharply  at  him. 

“He  always  is,  d-a-amn  him,”  replied  the  client;  “and  I 
want  to  steal  a  march  upon  him.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  He’ll  cut  up  so 
rough,  Nickleby,  at  our  talking  together  without  him.  Where 
does  she  live,  Nickleby,  that’s  all  ?  Only  tell  me  where  she 
lives,  Ninkleby.” 

“He  bites.”  thought  Ralph.  “He  bites.” 


380 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


“  Eh,  Nickleby,  eh  ?”  pursued  the  client.  “  Where  does  she 
live  ?” 

“Really,  my  lord,”  said  Ralph,  rubbing  his  hands  slowly  over 
each  other.  “  I  must  think  before  I  tell  you.” 

“No,  not  a  bit  of  it,  Nickleby;  you  mustn’t  think  at  all,” 
replied  Yerisopht.  “Where  is  it  ?” 

“No  good  can  come  of  your  knowing,”  replied  Ralph.  “  She 
has  been  virtuously  and  well  brought  up ;  to  be  sure  she  is 
handsome,  poor,  unprotected — poor  girl,  poor  girl.” 

Ralph  ran  over  this  brief  summary  of  Kate’s  condition  as  if 
it  were  merely  passing  through  his  own  mind,  and  he  had  no 
intention  to  speak  aloud ;  but  the  shrewd  sly  look  w’hich  he 
directed  at  his  companion  as  he  delivered  it,  gave  this  poor 
assumption  the  lie. 

“I  tell  you  I  only  want  to  see  her,”  cried  his  client.  “A 
ma-an  may  look  at  a  pretty  woman  without  harm,  mayn’t  he  ? 
Now,  where  does  she  live  ?  You  know  you’re  making  a  fortano 
out  of  me,  Nickleby,  and  upon  my  soul  nobody  shr,ll  e>et-  take 
me  to  any  body  else,  if  you  only  tell  me  this.” 

“As  you  promise  that,  my  lord,”  said  Ralph,  *vit>.  feigned 
reluctance,  “  and  as  I  am  most  anxious  to  oblige  yo<i,  and  as 
there’s  no  harm  in  it — no  harm — I’ll  tell  you.  Rue  you  had 
better  keep  it  to  yourself,  my  lord;  strictly  \,o  yourself.” 
Ralph  pointed  to  the  adjoining  room  as  he  spoke,  and  nodded 
expressively. 

The  young  lord,  feigning  to  be  equally  impres  sed  with  the 
necessity  of  this  precaution,  Ralph  disclosed  the  piesent  address 
and  occupation  of  his  niece,  observing  that  from  vhat  he  heard 
of  the  family  they  appeared  very  ambitious  to  have  distinguished 
acquaintances,  and  that  a  lord  could,  doubtless,  introduce  him¬ 
self  with  great  ease,  if  he  felt  disposed. 

“Your  object  being  only  to  see  her  again,”  said  Ralph,  “you 
could  effect  it  at  any  time  you  chose  by  that  means.” 

Lord  Yerisopht  acknowledged  the  hint  with  a  great  many 
squeezes  of  Ralph’s  hard,  horny  hand,  and  whispering  that  they 
would  new  do  well  to  close  the  conversation,  called  to  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  Hawk  that  he  might  come  back. 

“  I  thought  you  had  gone  to  sleep,”  said  Sir  Mulberiy,  re¬ 
appearing  with  an  ill-tempered  air. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


881 


“  Sorry  to  detain  you,”  replied  the  gull ;  “  but  Nickleby  has 
been  so  araa-azingly  funny  that  I  couldn’t  tear  myself  away.” 

“  No,  no,”  said  Ralph  ;  “it  was  all  his  lordship.  You  know 
what  a  witty,  humorous,  elegant,  accomplished  man  Lord 
Frederick  is.  Mind  the  step,  my  lord — Sir  Mulberry,  pray 
give  way.” 

With  such  courtesies  as  these,  and  many  low  bows,  and  the 
same  cold  sneer  upon  his  face  all  the  while,  Ralph  busied  him¬ 
self  in  showing  his  visitors  down  stairs,  and  otherwise  than  by 
the  slightest  possible  motion  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  re¬ 
turned  no  show  of  answer  to  the  look  of  admiration  with  wdiich 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  seemed  to  compliment  him  on  being  such 
an  accomplished  and  most  consummate  scoundrel. 

There  had  been  a  ring  at  the  bell  a  few  moments  before, 
which  was  answered  by  Newman  Noggs  just  as  they  reached 
the  hall.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  business  Newman  would 
have  either  admitted  the  new-comer  in  silence,  or  have  requested 
him  or  her  to  stand  aside  while  the  gentlemen  passed  out.  But 
he  no  sooner  saw  who  it  was,  than  as  if  for  some  private  reason  of 
his  own,  he  boldly  departed  from  the  established  custom  of 
Ralph’s  mansion  in  business  hours,  and  looking  towards  the  re¬ 
spectable  trio  who  were  approaching,  cried  in  a  loud  and  sono¬ 
rous  voice,  “  Mrs.  Nickleby  !” 

“  Mrs.  Nickleby  1”  cried  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  as  his  friend 
looked  back,  and  stared  him  in  the  face. 

It  was,  indeed,  that  well-intentioned  lady,  who  having  received 
an  offer  for  the  empty  house  in  tlie  city,  directed  to  the  landlord, 
had  brought  it  post-haste  to  Mr.  Nickleby  without  delay. 

“  Nobody  you  know,”  said  Ralph.  “  Step  into  the  office,  my 
— my — dear.  I’ll  be  with  you  directly.” 

“Nobody  I  know  I”  cried  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  advancing  to 
the  astonished  lady.  “  Is  this  Mrs.  Nickleby — the  mother  of 
Miss  Nickleby^ — the  delightful  creature  that  I  had  the  happiness 
of  meeting  in  this  house  the  very  last  time  I  dined  here  ! 
But  no,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  stopping  short.  “No,  it  can’t  be. 
There  is  the  same  cast  of  features,  the  same  indescribable  air  of 
—But  no  ;  no.  This  lady  is  too  young  for  that.” 

“  I  think  you  can  tell  the  gentleman,  brother-in-law,  if  it 
concerns  him  to  know,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  ack:\owledgiug  the 


382 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


compliment  with  a  graceful  bend,  “that  Kate  Nickleby  is  my 
daughter,  ” 

“  Her  daughter,  my  lord  !”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  to  his 
friend.  “  This  lady’s  daughter,  my  lord.” 

“My  lord!”  thought  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Well,  I  never 
did—!” 

“This,  then,  my  lord,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “is  the  lady  to 
whose  obliging  marriage  we  owe  so  much  happiness.  This  lady 
is  the  mother  of  sweet  Miss  Nickleby.  Do  you  observe  the  ex¬ 
traordinary  likeness,  my  lord?  Nickleby,  introduce  us.” 

Ikalph  did  so  in  a  kind  of  desperation. 

“Upon  my  soul,  it’s  a  most  delightiful  thing,”  said  Lord 
Frederick,  pressing  forward:  “How  de  do  ?” 

Mrs,  Nickleby  was  too  much  flunned  by  these  uncommonly 
kind  salutations,  and  her  regrets  at  not  having  on  her  other 
bonnet,  to  make  any  immediate  reply,  so  she  merely  continued 
to  bend  and  smile,  and  betray  great  agitation. 

“A — and  how  is  Miss  Nickleby?”  said  Lord  Frederick. 
“  Well,  I  hope  ?” 

“  She  is  quite  well,  I’m  obliged  to  you,  my  lord,”  returned 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  recovering,  “  Quite  well.  She  wasn’t  well  for 
some  days  after  that  day  she  dined  here,  and  I  can’t  help  think¬ 
ing,  that  she  caught  cold  in  that  hackney  coach  coming  home  : 
hackney  coaches,  my  lord,  are  such  nasty  things,  that  it’s 
almost  better  to  walk  at  any  time,  for  although  I  believe  a  hack¬ 
ney  coachman  can  be  transported  for  life,  if  he  has  a  broken 
window,  still  they  are  so  reckless,  that  they  nearly  all  have 
broken  windows,  I  once  had  a  swelled  face  for  six  weeks,  my 
lord,  from  riding  in  a  hackney  coach — I  think  it  was  a  hackney 
coach,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  reflecting,  “though  I’m  not  quite 
certain  whether  it  wasn’t  a  chariot ;  at  all  events,  I  know  it 
was  a  dark  green,  with  a  very  long  number,  beginning  with  a 
naught  and  ending  with  a  nine — no,  beginning  with  a  nine  and 
ending  with  a  naught,  that  was  it,  and  of  course  the  stamp 
oflice  peoi)le  would  know  at  once  whether  it  was  a  coach  or  a 
chariot  if  any  inquiries  were  made  there — however  that  was, 
there  it  was  with  a  broken  window,  and  there  was  I  for  six 
weeks  with  a  swelled  face — I  think  that  was  the  very  same 
hackney  coach,  that  we  found  out  afterwards,  had  the  top  open 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


88a 


all  the  time,  and  we  should  never  even  have  known  it,  if  they 
hadn’t  charged  us  a  shilling  an  hour  extra  for  having  it  open, 
which  it  seems  is  the  law,  or  was  then,  and  a  most  shameful  law 
it  appears  to  be — I  don’t  understand  the  subject,  but  I  should 
say  the  Corn  Laws  could  be  nothing  to  that  act  of  Parliament.” 

Having  pretty  well  run  herself  out  by  this  time,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
stopped  as  suddenly  as  she  had  started  off,  and  repeated  that 
Kate  was  quite  well.  “Indeed,”  said  Mrs.  Kickleby,  “I  don’t 
think  she  ever  was  better,  since  she  had  the  hooping-cough, 
scarlet-fever  and  measles,  all  at  the  same  time,  and  that’s  the 
fact.  ” 

“  Is  that  letter  for  me  ?”  growled  Ralph,  pointing  to  the  little 
packet  Mrs.  Nickleby  held  in  her  hand. 

“For  you,  brother-in-law,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “and  1 
walked  all  the  way  up  here  on  purpose  to  give  it  you.” 

“  All  the  way  up  here  !”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  seizing  upon  the 
chance  of  discovering  where  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  come  from. 
“  Whai  a  confounded  distance  !  How  far  do  you  call  it  now  ?” 

“  How  far  do  I  call  it  1”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  Let  me  see. 
It’s  just  a  mile  from  our  door  to  the  Old  Bailey.” 

“  No,  no.  Not  so  much  as  that,”  urged  Sir  Mulberry. 

“  Oh  I  It  is,  indeed,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  I  appeal  to 
his  lordship.” 

“  I  should  decidedly  say  it  was  a  mile,”  remarked  Lord  Fred¬ 
erick,  with  a  solemn  aspect. 

“It  must  be;  it  can’t  be  a  yard  less,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
“All  down  Newgate  Street,  all  down  Cheapside,  all  up  Lom¬ 
bard  Street,  down  Gracechnrch  Street,  and  along  Thames 
Street,  as  far  as  Spigwiffin’s  Wharf.  Oh  1  it’s  a  mile.” 

“Yes,  on  second  thoughts-I  should  say  it  was,”  replied  Sir 
Mulberry.  “  But  you  don’t  surely  mean  to  walk  all  the  way 
back  ?” 

“Oh,  no,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “I  shall  go  back  in  an 
omnibus.  I  didn’t  travel  about  in  omnibuses  when  ray  poor 
dear  Nicholas  was  alive,  brother-in-law.  But  as  it  is,  you 
know — ” 

“  Yes,  yes,”  replied  Ralph  impatiently,  “and  you  had  better 
get  back  before  dark  ” 


881 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Thank  you,  brother-in-law,  so  I  had,”  returned  Mrs.  Nick- 
leby.  “  I  think  I  had  better  say  good-by,  at  once.” 

“Not  stop  and — rest?”  said  Ralph,  who  seldom  offered  re¬ 
freshments  unless  something  was  to  be  got  by  it. 

“Oh  dear  me  no,”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  glancing  at  the 
dial. 

“Lord  Frederick,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  “we  are  going  Mrs. 
Nickleby’s  way.  We’ll  see  her  safe  to  the  omnibus?” 

“By  all  means.  Ye-es.” 

“  Oh  !  I  really  couldn’t  think  of  it !”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

But  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  Lord  Yerisopht  were  peremptory 
in  their  politeness,  and  leaving  Ralph,  who  seemed  to  think,  not 
unwisely,  that  he  looked  less  ridiculous  as  a  mere  spectator, 
than  he  would  have  done  if  he  had  taken  any  part  in  these 
proceedings,  they  quitted  the  house  with  Mrs.  Nickleby  be¬ 
tween  them ;  that  good  lady  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  satisfaction, 
no  less  with  the  attentions  shown  her  by  two  titled  gentlemen, 
than  with  the  conviction,  that  Kate  might  now  pick  and  choose, 
at  least  between  two  large  fortunes,  and  most  unexceptionable 
husbands. 

A  s  she  was  carried  away  for  the  moment  by  an  irresistible 
train  of  thought,  all  connected  with  her  daughter’s  future  great¬ 
ness,  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  his  friend  exchanged  glances 
over  the  top  of  the  bonnet  which  the  poor  lady  so  much  re¬ 
gretted  not  having  left  at  home,  and  proceeded  to  dilate  with 
great  rapture,  but  much  respect,  on  the  manifold  perfections  of 
Miss  Nickleby. 

“  What  a  delight,  what  a  comfort,  what  a  happiness,  this 
amiable  creature  must  be  to  you,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  throwing 
into  his  voice  an  indication  of  the  warmest  feeling. 

“She  is  indeed.  Sir,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “she  is  the 
sweetest-tempered,  kindest-hearted  creature — and  so  clever  !” 

“She  looks  clayver,”  said  Lord  Yerisopht,  with  the  air  of  a 
judge  of  cleverness. 

“I  assure  you  she  is,  my  lord,”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby 
“W’’hen  she  was  at  school  in  Devonshire,  she  was  universally 
allowed  to  be  beyond  all  exception  the  very  cleverest  girl  there, 
and  there  were  a  great  many  very  clever  ones  too,  and  that’s^ 
the  truth — twenty-five  voung  ladies,  fifty  guineas  a  year  without 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


386 


the  et-ceteras,  both  the  Miss  Dowdies,  the  most  accomplished, 
elegant,  fascinating  creatures — Oh  dear  me  1”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby^ 
“  I  never  shall  forget  what  pleasure  she  used  to  give  me  and  her 
poor  dear  papa,  when  she  was  at  that  school,  never — such  a 
delightful  letter  every  half-year,  telling  us  that  she  was  the  first 
pupil  in  the  whole  establishment,  and  had  made  more  progress 
than  any  body  else !  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  it  even 
now.  The  girls  wrote  all  the  letters  themselves,”  added  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  “and  the  writing-master  touched  them  up  afterwards 
with  a  magnifying  glass  and  a  silver  pen  ;  at  least  I  think  they 
wrote  them,  though  Kate  was  never  quite  certain  about  that, 
because  she  didn’t  know  the  handwriting  of  hers  again  ;  but  any 
way,  I  know  it  was  a  circular  which  they  all  copied,  and  of 
course  it  was  a  very  gratifying  thing — very  gratifying.” 

With  similar  recollections  Mrs,  Nickleby  beguiled  the  tedious¬ 
ness  of  the  way,  until  they  reached  the  omnibus,  which  the 
extreme  politeness  of  her  new  friends  would  not  allow  them  to 
leave  until  it  actually  started,  when  they  took  their  hats,  as  Mrs. 
Nickleby  solemnly  assured  her  hearers  on  many  subsequent 
occasions,  “completely  off,”  and  kissed  their  straw-colored  kid 
gloves  till  they  were  no  longer  visible. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  leant  back  in  the  furthest  corner  of  the  con¬ 
veyance,  and,  closing  her  eyes,  resigned  herself  to  a  host  of  most 
pleasing  meditations.  Kate  had  never  said  a  word  about  having 
met  either  of  these  gentlemen  ;  “  that,”  she  thought,  “  argues 
that  she  is  strongly  prepossessed  in  favor  of  one  of  them,” 
Then  the  question  arose,  which  one  could  it  be.  The  lord  was 
the  youngest,  and  his  title  was  certainly  the  grandest ;  still 
Kate  was  not  the  girl  to  be  swayed  by  such  considerations  as 
these.  “  I  will  never  put  any  constraint  upon  her  inclinations,’' 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby  to  herself;  “but  upon  my  word  I  think 
there’s  no  comparison  between  his  lordship  and  Sir  Mulberry — 
Sir  Mulberry  is  such  an  attentive  gentlemanly  creature,  so  much 
manner,  such  a  fine  man,  and  has  so  much  to  say  for  himself.  I 
hope  it’s  Sir  Mulberry — I  think  it  must  be  Sir  Mulberry  !” 
And  then  her  thoughts  flew  back  to  her  old  predictions,  and  the 
number  of  times  she  had  said,  that  Kate  with  no  fortune  would 
marry  better  than  other  people’s  daughters  with  thousands ; 
and,  as  she  pictured  with  the  brightness  of  a  mother’s  fancy  all 
25 


88R 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  poor  girl  who  had  struggled  so 
cheerfully  with  her  new  life  of  hardship  and  trial,  her  heart  giew 
too  full,  and  the  tears  trickled  down  her  face. 

Meanwhile,  Ralph  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  little  back  office, 
troubled  in  mind  by  what  had  just  occurred.  To  say  that  Ralph 
loved  or  cared  for — in  the  most  ordinary  acceptation  of  those 
terms — any  one  of  God’s  creatures,  would  be  the  wildest  fiction. 
Still,  there  had  somehow  stolen  upon  him  from  time  to  time  a 
thought  of  his  niece  which  was  tinged  with  compassion  and 
pity ;  breaking  through  the  dull  cloud  of  dislike  or  indifference 
which  darkened  men  and  women  in  his  eyes,  there  was,  in  her 
case,  the  faintest  gleam  of  light — a  most  feeble  and  sickly  ray  at 
the  best  of  times- — bui,  there  it  was,  and  it  showed  the  poor  girl 
in  a  better  and  purer  aspect  than  any  in  which  he  had  looked 
on  human  nature  yet 

“I  wish,”  thought  Ralph,  “I  had  never  done  this.  And  yet 
it  will  keep  this  boy  to  me,  while  there  is  money  tc  be  made. 
Selling  a  girl — throwing  her  in  the  way  of  temptation,  and  in¬ 
sult,  and  coarse  speech.  Nearly  two  thousand  pounds  profit 
from  him  already  though.  Pshaw  1  match-making  mothers  do 
the  same  thing  every  day.” 

He  sat  down,  and  told  the  chances,  for  and  against,  on  his 
fingers. 

“If  I  had  not  put  them  in  the  right  track  to  day,”  thought 
Ralph,  “this  foolish  woman  would  have  done  so.  Well.  If  her 
daughter  is  as  true  to  herself  as  she  should  be  from  what  I  have 
seen,  what  harm  ensues  ?  A  little  teazing,  a  little  humbling,  a 
few  tears.  Yes,”  said  Ralph,  aloud,  as  he  locked  his  iron  safe, 
“  she  must  take  her  chance — she  must  take  her  chance.” 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


MBS.  NICKLEBY  BECOMES  ACQUAINTED  WITH  MESSRS.  PYKE  AND 

PLUCK,  WHOSE  AFFECTION  AND  INTEREST  ARE  BEYOND  ALT- 

BOUNDS. 

Mrs.  Xickleby  had  uot  felt  so  proud  and  important  for 
many  a  day,  as  when,  on  reaching  home,  she  gave  herself  wholly 
up  to  the  pleasant  visions  which  had  accompanied  her  on  her 
way  thither.  Lady  Mulberry  Hawk — that  was  the  prevalent 
idea.  Lady  Mulberry  Hawk  1 — On  Tuesday  last,  at  St.  George’s- 
Hanover  Square,  by  the  Right  Reverend  the  Bishop  of  Llan- 
dalf.  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  of  Mulberry  Castle,  North  Wales,  to 
Catherine,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Nicholas  Nickleby,  Esquire, 
of  Devonshire.  “Upon  my  word  1”  cried  Mrs.  Nicholas 
Nickleby,  “it  sounds  very  well.” 

Having  dispatched  the  ceremony,  with  its  attendant  festivi¬ 
ties,  to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  her  own  mind,  the  sanguine 
mother  pictured  to  her  imagination  a  long  train  of  honors  and 
distinctions  which  could  not  fail  to  accompany  Kate  in  her  new 
and  brilliant  sphere.  She  would  be  presented  at  court,  of 
course.  On  the  anniversary  of  her  birth-day,  which  was  upon 
tlie  nineteenth  of  July,  (“at  ten  minutes  past  three  o’clock  in 
the  morning,”  thought  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  parenthesis,  “for  I 
recollect  asking  what  o’clock  it  was,”)  Sir  Mulberry  would  give 
a  great  feast  to  all  his  tenants,  and  would  return  them  three- 
and-a-half  per  cent,  on  the  amount  of  their  last  half-year’s  rent, 
as  would  be  fully  described  and  recorded  in  the  fashionable  intel¬ 
ligence,  to  the  immeasurable  delight  and  admiration  of  all  the 
readers  thereof.  Kate’s  picture,  too,  would  be  in  at  least  half- 
a-dozen  of  the  annuals,  and  on  the  opposite  page  would  appear 
in  delicate  type,  “Lines  on  contemplating  the  Portrait  of  Lady 
Mulberry  Hawk.  By  Sir  Dingleby  Dabber.”  Perhaps  some 
one  annual,  of  more  comprehensive  design  than  its  fellovvs, 
might  even  contain  a  portrait  of  the  mother  of  Lady  Mulberry 

(387) 


*388 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Hawk,  with  lines  by  the  father  of  Sir  Dingleby  Dabber.  More 
unlikely  things  had  come  to  pass.  Less  interesting  portraits 
had  appeared.  As  this  thought  occurred  to  the  good  lady,  her 
countenance  unconsciously  assumed  that  compound  expression 
of  simpering  and  sleepiness  which,  being  common  to  all  such 
portraits,  is  perhaps  one  reason  why  they  are  always  so  charm¬ 
ing  and  agreeable. 

With  such  triumphs  of  aerial  architecture  did  Mrs.  Nickleby 
occupy  the  whole  evening  after  her  accidenta,!  introduction  to 
Ralph’s  titled  friends ;  and  dreams,  no  less  prophetic  and 
equally  promising,  haunted  her  sleep  that  night.  She  was  pre¬ 
paring  for  her  frugal  dinner  next  day,  still  occupied  with  the 
same  ideas — a  little  softened  down  perhaps  by  sleep  and  day¬ 
light — when  the  girl  who  attended  her,  partly  for  company, 
and  partly  to  assist  in  the  household  affairs,  rushed  into  the 
room  in  unwonted  agitation,  and  announced  that  two  gen¬ 
tlemen  were  waiting  in  the  passage  for  permission  to  walk  up 
stairs. 

“  Bless  my  heart !”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  hastily  arranging 
her  cap  and  front,  “  if  it  should  be — dear  me,  standing  in  the 
passage  all  this  time — why  don’t  you  go  and  ask  them  to  walk 
up,  you  stupid  thing  ?” 

While  the  girl  was  gone  on  this  errand,  Mrs.  Nickleby  hastily 
swept  into  a  cupboard  all  vestiges  of  eating  and  drinking;  which 
she  had  scarcely  done,  and  seated  herself  with  looks  as  collected 
as  she  could  assume,  when  two  gentlemen,  both  perfect  strangers, 
presented  themselves. 

“  How  do  you  do  ?”  said  one  gentleman,  laying  great  stress 
on  the  last  word  of  the  inquiry. 

‘'How  do  you  do  ?”  said  the  other  gentleman,  altering  the 
emphasis,  as  if  to  give  variety  to  the  salutation. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  courtesyed  and  smiled,  and  courtesyed  again, 
and  remarked,  rubbing  her  hands  as  she  did  so,  that  she  hadn’t 
the — really — the  honor  to — 

To  know  us,”  said  the  first  gentleman.  “  The  loss  has  been 
ours,  Mrs.  Nickleby.  Has  the  loss  been  ours,  Pyke  ?” 

“  It  has.  Pluck,”  answered  the  other  gentleman. 

“  We  have  regretted  it  very  often,  I  believe,  Pyke  ?”  said  the 
first  gentleman. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


889 


“  Vei’y  often,  Pluck,”  answered  the  second. 

“But  now,”  said  the  first  gentleman,  “  now  we  have  the  hap¬ 
piness  we  have  pined  and  languished  for.  Have  we  pined  and 
languished  for  this  happiness,  Pyke,  or  have  we  not  ?” 

“You  know  we  have,  Pluck,”  said  Pyke,  reproachfully. 

“You  hear  him,  Ma’am?”  said  Mr.  Pluck,  looking  round; 
“you  hear  the  unimpeachable  testimony  of  my  friend  I’yke — 
that  reminds  me, — formalities,  formalities,  must  not  be  neglected 
in  civilized  society.  Pyke — Mrs.  Nickleby.” 

Mr.  Pyke  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  bowed  low. 

“  Whether  I  shall  introduce  myself  with  the  same  formality,” 
said  Mr.  Pluck — “  whether  I  shall  say  myself  that  my  name  is 
Pluck,  or  whether  I  shall  ask  my  friend  Pyke  (who  being  now 
regularly  introduced,  is  competent  to  the  office)  to  state  for  me, 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  that  my  name  is  Pluck ;  whether  I  shall  claim 
your  acquaintance  on  the  plain  ground  of  the  strong  interest  I 
take  in  your  welfare,  or  whether  I  shall  make  myself  known  to 
you  as  the  friend  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk — these,  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
are  considerations  which  I  leave  you  to  determine.” 

“Any  friend  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk’s  requires  no  better  in 
troduction  to  me,”  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  graciously. 

“  It  is  delightful  to  hear  you  say  so,”  said  Mr.  Pluck,  draw¬ 
ing  a  chair  close  to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  sitting  himself  down. 
“  It  is  refreshing  to  know  that  you  hold  my  excellent  friend. 
Sir  Mulberry,  in  such  high  esteem.  A  word  in  your  ear,  Mrs. 
Nickleby.  When  Sir  Mulberry  knows  it,  he  will  be  a  happy 
man — I  say,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  a  happy  man.  Pyke,  be  seated.” 

“  7!/y  good  opinion,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  the  poor  lady 
exulted  in  the  idea  that  she  was  marvelously  sly, — “  my  good 
oi)inion  can  be  of  very  little  consequence  to  a  gentleman  like 
Sir  Mulberry.” 

“  Of  little  consequence  !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Pluck.  “Pjdce,  of 
what  consequence  to  our  friend.  Sir  Mulberry,  is  the  good  opi¬ 
nion  of  Mrs.  Nickleby?” 

“  Of  what  consequence  ?”  echoed  Pyke. 

“  Aye,”  repeated  Pluck  ;  “  is  it  of  the  greatest  consequence  ?” 

“  Of  the  very  greatest  consequence,”  replied  Pyke. 

“Mrs.  Nickleby  cannot  be  ignorant,”  said  Mr.  Pluck,  ‘of 
the  immense  impression  which  that  sweet  girl  has — ’• 


390 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Pluck,”  said  his  friend,  “beware  I” 

“Pyke  is  right,”  muttered  Mr.  Pluck,  after  a  short  pause; 

“  I  was  not  to  mention  it.  Pyke  is  very  right.  Thank  you, 
Pyke.” 

“Well,  now,  really,”  thought  Mrs,  Nickleby  within  herself. 

“  Such  delicacy  as  that,  I  never  saw  !” 

Mr.  Pluck,  after  feigning  to  be  in  a  condition  of  great  em¬ 
barrassment  for  some  minutes,  resumed  the  conversation  by 
entreating  Mrs.  Nickleby  to  take  no  heed  of  what  he  had  inad¬ 
vertently  said — to  consider  him  imprudent,  rash,  injudicious. 
The  only  stipulation  he  would  make  in  his  own  favor  was,  that 
she  should  give  him  credit  for  the  best  intentions. 

“  But  when,”  said  Mr.  Pluck,  “  when  I  see  so  much  sweetness 
and  beauty  on  the  one  hand,  and  so  much  ardor  and  devotion 
on  the  other,  I — pardon  me,  Pyke,  I  didn’t  intend  to  resume  that 
theme.  Change  the  subject,  Pyke.” 

“We  promised  Sir  Mulberry  and  Lord  Frederick,”  said 
Pyke,  “that  we’d  call  this  morning  and  inquire  whether  you 
took  any  cold  last  night.” 

“Not  the  least  in  the  world  last  night.  Sir,”  replied  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  “  with  many  thanks  to  his  lordship  and  Sir  Mulberry 
for  doing  me  the  honor  to  inquire  ;  not  the  least — which  is  the 
more  singular,  as  I  really  am  very  subject  to  colds,  indeed — very 
subject.  I  had  a  cold  once,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “  I  think  it 
was  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  seventeen ;  let  me  see, 
four  and  five  are  nine,  and — yes,  eighteen  hundred  and  seventeen, 
that  I  cnought  I  never  should  get  rid  of ;  actually  and  seriously, 
that  I  thought  I  never  should  get  rid  of.  I  was  only  cured  at 
last  by  a  remedy  that  I  don’t  know  whether  you  ever  happened  to 
hear  of,  Mr.  Pluck.  You  have  a  gallon  of  water  as  hot  as  you 
can  possibly  bear  it,  with  a  pound  of  salt  and  sixpen’orth  of  the 
finest  bran,  and  sit  with  your  head  in  it  for  twenty  minutes  every 
night  just  before  going  to  bed  ;  at  least,  I  don’t  mean  your 
head — your  feet.  It’s  a  most  extraordinary  cure,  a  most  ex¬ 
traordinary  cure.  I  used  it  for  the  first  time,  I  recollect,  the  day 
after  Christmas  Day,  and  by  the  middle  of  April  following  the 
cold  was  gone.  It  seems  quite  a  miracle  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  for  I  had  it  ever  since  the  beginning  of  September.” 

“  What  an  afflicting  calamity  !”  said  Mr.  Pyke. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


891 


‘‘Perfectly  horrid!”  exclaimed  Mr.  Pluck. 

“But  it’s  worth  the  pain  of  hearing,  only  to  know  that  Mrs. 
Nickleby  recovered  it,  isn’t  it.  Pluck  ?”  cried  Mr.  Pyke. 

“That  is  the  circumstance  which  gives  it  such  a  thrilling 
interest,”  replied  Mr.  Pluck. 

“But  come,”  said  Pyke,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  himself; 
“  we  must  not  forget  our  mission  in  the  pleasure  of  this  inter¬ 
view.  We  come  on  a  mission,  Mrs.  Nickleby.” 

“  On  a  mission,”  exclaimed  that  good  lady,  to  whose  mind  a 
definite  proposal  of  marriage  for  Kate  at  once  presented  itself 
in  lively  colors. 

“From  Sir  Mulberry,”  replied  Pyke.  “You  must  be  very 
dull  here.” 

“Rather  dull,  I  confess,”  said  Mrs.  Kickleby. 

“We  bring  the  compliments  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and  a 
thousand  entreaties  that  you’ll  take  a  seat  in  a  private  box  at 
the  play  to-night,”  said  Mr.  Pluck. 

“Oh,  dear!”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “I  never  go  out  at  all, 
never.” 

“  And  that  is  the  very  reason,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nickleby,  why 
you  should  go  out  to-night,”  retorted  Mr.  Pluck.  “Pyke, 
entreat  Mrs.  Kickleby.” 

“Oh,  pray  do,”  said  Pyke. 

‘‘You  positively  must,”  urged  Pluck. 

“  You  are  very  kind,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  hesitating ;  “but — ” 

“There’s  not  a  but  in  the  case,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nickleby,”  re¬ 
monstrated  Mr.  Pluck;  “not  such  a  word  in  the  vocabulary. 
Your  brother-in-law  joins  us.  Lord  Frederick  joins  us.  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  joins  us,  Pyke  joins  us — a  refusal  is  out  of  the  question. 
Sir  Mulberry  sends  a  carriage  for  you — twenty  minutes  before 
seven  to  the  moment — you’ll  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  disappoint 
the  whole  party,  Mrs.  Nickleby  ?” 

“  Ton  are  so  very  pressing,  that  I  scarcely  know  what  to 
say,”  replied  the  worthy  lady. 

“  Say  nothing  ;  not  a  word,  not  a  wmrd,  my  dearest  Madam,” 
urged  Mr.  Pluck.  “Mrs.  Nickleby,”  said  that  excellent  gen¬ 
tleman,  lowering  his  voice,  “there  is  the  most  trifling,  the  most 
excusable  breach  of  confidence  in  wdiat  I  am  about  to  say ;  and 
yet  if  my  friend  Pyke  there  overlieard  it — such  is  that  man’s 


892 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


delicate  sense  of  honor,  Mrs.  Nickleby — ^lie’d  have  ms  out  before 
dinner-time.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  at  the  warlike 
Pyke,  who  had  walked  to  the  window;  and  Mr  Pluck,  squeez¬ 
ing  her  hand,  went  on — 

“Your  daughter  has  made  a  conquest — a  conquest  on  which 
I  may  congratulate  you.  Sir  Mulberry,  my  dear  Ma’am,  Sir 
.Mulberry  is  her  devoted  slave.  Hera  1” 

“  Hah  !”  cried  Mr.  Pyke,  at  this  juncture,  snatching  some¬ 
thing  from  the  chimney-piece,  with  a  theatrical  air.  “  What  is 
this  1  what  do  I  behold  1” 

“What  do  you  behold,  my  dear  fellow  ?”  asked  Mr.  Pluck. 

“It  is  the  face,  the  countenance,  the  expression,”  cried  Mr. 
Pyke,  falling  into  his  chair,  with  a  miniature  in  his  hand  ; 
“  feebly  portrayed,  imperfectly  caught,  but  still  the  face,  the 
countenance,  the  expression.” 

“  I  recognize  it  at  this  distance  !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Pluck  in  a 
fit  of  enthusiasm.  “Is  it  not,  my  dear  Madam,  the  faint  simili¬ 
tude  of — ” 

“It  is  my  daughter’s  portrait,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great 
pride.  And  so  it  was.  And  little  Miss  La  Creevy  had  brought 
it  home  for  inspection  only  two  nights  before. 

Mr.  Pyke  no  sooner  ascertained  that  he  was  quite  right  in 
his  conjecture,  than  he  launched  into  the  most  evtravagant 
encomiums  of  the  divine  original ;  and  in  the  warmth  of  his 
enthusiasm  kissed  the  picture  a  thousand  times,  while  Mr.  Pluck 
pressed  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  hand  to  his  heart,  and  congratulated 
her  on  the  possession  of  such  a  daughter,  with  so  much  earnest¬ 
ness  and  affection,  that  the  tears  stood,  or  seemed  to  stand,  in 
his  eyes.  Poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  had  listened  in  a  state  of 
enviable  complacency  at  first,  became  at  length  quite  over¬ 
powered  by  these  tokens  of  regard  for,  and  attachment  to,  the 
family :  and  even  the  servant  girl,  who  had  peeped  in  at  the 
door,  remained  rooted  to  the  spot  in  astonishment  at  the  ecsta¬ 
sies  of  the  two  friendly  visitors. 

By  degrees  these  raptures  subsided,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  went 
on  to  entertain  her  guests  with  a  lament  over  her  fallen  fortunes, 
and  a  picturesque  account  of  her  old  house  in  the  country:  com¬ 
prising  a  full  description  of  the  different  apartments,  not  for- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


893 


gelling  the  little  store-room,  and  a  lively  recollection  of  how 
many  steps  you  went  down  to  get  into  the  garden,  and  which 
way  you  turned  when  you  came  out  at  the  parlor-door,  and 
what  capital  fixtures  there  were  in  the  kitchen.  This  last 
reflection  naturally  conducted  her  into  the  wash-house,  where 
she  stumbled  upon  the  brewing  utensils,  among  which  she  might 
have  wandered  for  an  flour,  if  tfle  mere  mention  of  tflose  imple¬ 
ments  flad  not  by  an  association  of  ideas,  instantly  reminded 
Mr.  Pyke  that  lie  was  “amazing  thirsty.” 

“And  I’ll  tell  you  what,”  said  Mr.  Pyke;  “if  you’ll  send 
round  to  the  public-house  for  a  pot  of  mild  half-and-half,  posi¬ 
tively  and  actually  I’ll  drink  it.” 

And  positively  and  actually  Mr.  Pyke  did  drink  it,  and  Mi. 
Pluck  helped  him,  while  Mrs.  Nickleby  looked  on  in  divided 
admiration  of  the  condescension  of  the  two,  and  the  aptitude 
with  w'hich  they  accommodated  themselves  to  the  pewter-pot ; 
in  explanation  of  which  seeming  marvel  it  may  be  here  observed, 
that  gentlemen  who,  like  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck,  live  upon 
their  wits  (or  not  so  much,  perhaps,  upon  the  presence  of  their 
own  wits  as  upon  the  absence  of  wits  in  other  people),  are  occa¬ 
sionally  reduced  to  very  narrow  shifts  and  straits,  and  are  at 
such  periods  accustomed  to  regale  themselves  in  a  very  simple 
and  primitive  manner. 

“At  twenty  minutes  before  seven,  then,”  said  Mr.  Pyke,  ris¬ 
ing,  “  the  coach  will  be  here.  One  more  look — one  little  look 
' — at  that  sweet  face.  Ah  !  here  it  is.  Unmoved,  unchanged  !” 
This  by  the  way  was  a  very  remarkable  circumstance,  miniatures- 
being  liable  to  so  many  changes  of  expression. — “Oh,  Pluck! 
Pluck !” 

Mr.  Pluck  made  no  other  reply  than  kissing  Mrs.  Niekleby’s 
hand  with  a  great  show  of  feeling  and  attachment;  Mr.  Pyke 
having  done  the  same,  both  gentlemen  hastily  withdrew. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  was  commonly  in  the  habit  of  giving  herself 
credit  for  a  pretty  tolerable  share  of  penetration  and  acuteness, 
but  she  had  never  felt  so  satisfied  with  her  own  sharp-sighted¬ 
ness  as  she  did  that  day.  She  had  found  it  all  out  the  night 
before.  She  had  never  seen  Sir  Mulberry  and  Kate  together — 
never  even  heard  Sir  Mulberry’s  name — and  yet  hadn’t  she  said 
to  herself  from  the  '’eiy  first,  that  she  saw  how  the  case  stood  ? 


894 


NICHOLAS  NIGKLEBY. 


And  what  a  triumph  it  was,  for  there  was  no  doubt  about  it  1 
If  these  flattering  attentions  to  herself  were  not  sufficient  proof, 
Sir  Mulberry’s  confidential  friend  had  suffered  the  secret  to 
escape  him  in  so  many  words.  “  I  am  quite  in  loi  e  vvith  that 
dear  Mr.  Pluck,  I  declare  I  am,”  said  Mrs.  Nicklcby. 

There  was  one  great  source  of  uneasiness  in  the  midst  oi  this 
good  fortune,  and  that  was  the  having  nobody  by,  to  whom  sho 
could  confide  it.  Once  or  twice  she  almost  resolved  to  walk 
straight  to  Miss  La  Creevy’s  and  tell  it  all  to  her.  “But  I 
don’t  know,”  thought  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “  she  is  a  very  worthy 
person,  but  I  am  afraid  too  much  beneath  Sir  Mulberry’s  sta¬ 
tion  for  us  to  make  a  companion  of.  Poor  thing  1”  Acting 
upon  this  grave  consideration  she  rejected  the  idea  of  taking 
the  little  portrait-painter  into  her  confidence,  and  contented 
herself  with  holding  out  sundry  vague  and  mysterious  hopes  of 
preferment  to  the  servant  girl,  who  received  these  obscure  hints 
of  dawning  greatness  with  much  veneration  and  respect. 

Punctual  to  its  time  came  the  promised  vehicle,  which  was 
no  hackney  coach,  but  a  private  chariot,  having  behind  it  a 
footman,  whose  legs,  although  somewhat  large  for  his  body, 
might,  as  mere  abstract  legs,  have  set  themselves  up  for  models 
at  the  Royal  Academy.  It  was  quite  exhilarating  to  hear  the 
clash  and  bustle  with  which  he  banged  the  door  and  jumped  up 
behind  after  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  in  ;  and  as  that  good  lady  was 
perfectly  unconscious  that  he  applied  the  gold-headed  end  of 
his  long  stick  to  his  nose,  and  so  telegraphed  most  disrespect¬ 
fully  to  the  coachman  over  her  very  head,  she  sat  in  a  state  of 
much  stiffness  and  dignity,  not  a  little  proud  of  her  position. 

At  the  theatre  entrance  there  was  more  banging  and  more 
bustle,  and  there  were  also  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  tvuiting  (o 
escort  her  to  her  box ;  and  so  polite  were  they,  that  Mr.  I’yke 
threatened  with  many  oaths  to  “  smifligate’*  a  very  old  man 
with  a  lantern  who  accidentally  stumbled  in  her  way — to  the 
great  terror  of  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  conjecturing  more  from  Mr. 
Pyke’s  excitement  than  any  previous  acquaintance  with  the  ety¬ 
mology  of  the  word  that  smifligation  and  bloodshed  must  be  in 
the  main  one  and  the  same  thing,  was  alarmed  beyond  expres¬ 
sion,  lest  something  should  occur.  Fortunately,  however,  Mr. 
Pyke  confined  himself  to  mere  verbal  smifligation,  and  they 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


895 


reached  their  box  with  no  more  serious  interruption  by  tlie  way, 
than  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  same  pugnacious  gentleman  to 
“smash”  the  assistant  box-keeper  for  happening  to  mistake  the 
number. 

jVJrs.  Nickleby  had  scarcely  been  put  away  behind  the  cur¬ 
tain  of  the  box  in  an  arm  chair,  when  Sir  Mulberry  and  Lord 
Yerisopht  arrived,  arrayed  from  the  crowns  of  their  heads  to 
the  tips  of  their  gloves,  and  from  the  tips  of  their  gloves  to  the 
toes  of  their  boots,  in  the  most  elegant  and  costly  manner.  Sir 
Mulberry  was  a  little  hoarser  than  on  the  previous  day,  and 
Lord  Verisopht  looked  rather  sleepy  and  queer ;  from  which 
tokens,  as  well  as  from  the  circumstance  of  their  both  being  to 
a  trifling  extent  unsteady  upon  their  legs,  Mrs.  Nickleby  justly 
concluded  that  they  had  taken  dinner. 

“We  have  been — we  have  been — toasting  your  lovely 
daughter,  Mrs.  Nickleby,”  whispered  Sir  Mulberry,  sitting 
down  behind  her. 

“Oh,  hoi”  thought  that  knowing  lady;  “wine  in;  truth 
out. — You  are  very  kind,  Sir  Mulberry.” 

“  No,  no,  upon  my  soul  1”  replied  Sir  MulbeiTy  Hawk.  “It’s 
you  that’s  kind,  upon  my  soul  it  is.  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to 
come  to-night.” 

“So  very  kind  of  you  to  invite  me,  you  mean.  Sir  Mulberry,” 
replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  tossing  her  head,  and  looking  prodi¬ 
giously  sly. 

“  I  am  so  anxious  to  know  you,  so  anxious  to  cultivate  your 
good  opinion,  so  desirous  that  there  should  be  a  delicious  kind 
of  harmonious  family  understanding  between  us,”  said  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry,  “that  you  mustn’t  think  I’m  disinterested  in  what  I  do. 
I’m  infernal  selfish;  I  am — upon  my  soul  I  am.” 

“I  am  sure  you  can’t  be  selfish.  Sir  Mulberry  1”  replied  Mrs. 
Nickleby.  “You  have  much  too  open  and  generous  a  counte¬ 
nance  for  that.” 

“  What  an  extraordinary  observer  you  are  1”  said  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  Hawk. 

“Oh  no,  indeed,  I  don’t  see  very  far  into  things.  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  left  the 
baronet  to  infer  that  she  saw  very  far  indeed. 

“I  am  quite  afraid  of  you,”  said  the  baronet.  “Upon  my 


396 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Eoul,”  repeated  Sir  Mulberry,  looking  round  to  his  companions; 
‘•'T  am  afraid  of  Mrs.  Nickleby.  She  is  so  immensely  sharp.” 

Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  shook  their  heads  mysteriously,  and 
observed  together  that  they  had  found  that  out  long  ago  ;  upon 
which  Mrs.  Nickleby  tittered,  and  Sir  Mulberry  laughed,  and 
Pyke  and  Pluck  roared. 

“  But  where’s  my  brother-in-law,  Sir  Mulberry  ?”  inquired 
Mrs.  Nickleby.  “I  shouldn’t  be  here  without  him.  I  hope 
he’s  coming.” 

“  Pyke,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  taking  out  his  tooth-pick  and 
lolling  back  in  his  chair,  as  if  he  were  too  lazy  to  invent  a  reply 
to  this  question,  “where’s  Ralph  Nickleby?” 

“Pluck,”  said  Pyke,  imitating  the  baronet’s  action,  and 
turning  the  lie  over  to  his  friend,  “where’s  Ralph  Nickleby?” 

Mr.  Pluck  was  about  to  return  some  evasive  reply,  when  the 
bustle  caused  by  a  party  entering  the  next  box  seemed  tc 
attract  the  attention  of  all  four  gentlemen,  who  exchanged 
glances  of  much  meaning.  The  new  party  beginning  to  con¬ 
verse  together.  Sir  Mulberry  suddenly  assumed  the  character 
of  a  most  attentive  listener,  and  implored  his  friends  not  to 
breathe — not  to  breathe. 

“  Why  not  ?”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “What  is  the  matter  ?” 

“Hush  1”  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm. 
“Lord  Frederick,  do  you  recognize  the  tones  of  that  voice  ?” 

“  Deyvle  take  me  if  I  didn’t  think  it  was  the  voice  of  Miss 
Nickleby.” 

“Lor,’ my  lord!”  cried  Miss  Nickleby’s  mamma,  thrusting 
her  head  round  the  curtain.  “  Why,  actually — Kate,  my  dear 
Kate.” 

“  You  here,  mamma  I  Is  it  possible  1” 

“Possible,  my  dear?  Yes.” 

“Why  who — who  on  earth  is  that  you  have  with  yon, 
mamma?”  said  Kate,  shrinking  back  as  she  caught  sight  of  a 
man  smiling  and  kissing  his  hand. 

“  Who  do  you  suppose,  my  dear  ?”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
bending  towards  Mrs.  Wititterly,  and  speaking  a  little  louder 
for  that  lady’s  edification.  “  There’s  Mr.  Pyke,  Mr.  Pluck, 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


39  < 

“  Gracious  Heaven  I”  thought  Kate,  hurriedly.  “  How 
comes  she  in  such  society  I” 

Now,  Kate  thought  thus  so  hurriedly,  and  the  surprise  was 
so  great,  and  moreover  brought  back  so  forcibly  the  recollection 
of  what  had  passed  at  Ralph’s  delectable  dinner,  that  she  turned 
extremely  pale  and  appeared  greatly  agitated,  which  symptoms 
being  observed  by  Mrs.  Nickleby,  were  at  once  set  down  by 
that  acute  lady  as  being  caused  and  occasioned  by  violent  love. 
But,  although  she  was  in  no  small  degree  delighted  by  this  dis¬ 
covery  which  reflected  so  much  credit  on  her  own  quickness  of 
perception,  it  did  not  lessen  her  motherly  anxiety  in  Kate’s  be¬ 
half;  and  accordingly,  with  a  vast  quantity  of  trepidation,  she 
quitted  her  own  box  to  hasten  into  that  of  Mrs.  Wititterly. 
Mrs.  Wititterly,  keenly  alive  to  the  glory  of  having  a  lord  and 
a  baronet  among  her  visiting  acquaintance,  lost  no  time  in 
signing  to  Mr.  Wititterly  to  open  the  door,  and  thus  it  was 
that  in  less  than  thirty  seconds  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  party  had  made 
an  irruption  into  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  box,  which  it  filled  to  the 
very  door,  there  being  in  fact  only  room  for  Messrs.  Pyke  and 
Pluck  to  get  in  their  heads  and  waistcoats. 

“  My  dear  Kate,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  kissing  her  daughter 
affectionately.  “How  ill  you  looked  a  moment  ago!  You 
quite  frightened  me,  I  declare  1” 

“It  was  mere  fancy,  mamma, — the — the — reflection  of  the 
lights  perhaps,”  replied  Kate,  glancing  nervously  round,  and 
finding  it  impossible  to  whisper  any  caution  or  explanation. 

“Don’t  you  see  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  my  dear?” 

Kate  bowed  slightly,  and  biting  her  lip  turned  her  head 
towards  the  stage. 

But  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  was  not  to  be  so  easily  repulsed,  for 
he  advanced  with  extended  hand;  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  officiously 
infoi'ining  Kate  of  this  circumstance,  she  was  obliged  to  extend 
her  own  Sir  Mulberry  detained  it  while  he  murmured  a  pro¬ 
fusion  of  compliments,  which  Kate,  remembering  wha,t  had 
jiassed  between  them,  rightly  considered  as  so  many  aggrava¬ 
tions  of  the  insult  he  had  already  put  upon  her.  Then  followed 
the  recognition  of  Lord  Verisopht,  and  then  the  greeting  of 
Mr.  Pyke,  and  then  that  of  Mr,  Pluck,  and  finally,  to  complete 
the  young  lady’s  mortification,  she  was  compelled  at  Mrs.  Wit- 


398 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


itterly’s  request  to  perform  the  ceremony  of  introducing  the 
odious  persons,  whom  she  regarded  with  the  utmost  indignation 
and  abhorrence. 

“Mrs,  Wititterly  is  delighted,”  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  rubbing 
his  hands ;  “  delighted,  my  lord,  I  am  sure,  with  this  o])por- 
tunity  of  contracting  an  acquaintance  which,  I  trust,  my  lord, 
we  shall  improve.  Julia,  my  dear,  you  must  not  allow  yourself 
to  be  too  much  excited,  you  must  not.  Indeed  you  must  not. 
Mrs.  Wititterly  is  of  a  most  excitable  nature,  Sir  Mulberry. 
The  snuff  of  a  candle,  the  wick  of  a  lamp,  the  bloom  on  a 
peach,  the  down  on  a  butterfly.  You  might  blow  her  away, 
my  lord  ;  you  might  blow  her  away.” 

Sir  Mulberry  seemed  to  think  that  it  would  be  a  great  con¬ 
venience  if  the  lady  could  be  blown  away.  He  said,  however, 
that  the  delight  was  mutual,  and  Lord  Verisopht  added  that  it 
was  mutual,  whereupon  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  were  heard  to 
murmur  from  the  distance  that  it  was  very  mutual  indeed. 

“  I  take  an  interest,  my  lord,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a 
faint  smile,  “such  an  interest  in  the  drama.” 

“Ye — es.  It’s  very  interasting,”  replied  Lord  Yerisopht. 

“  I’m  always  ill  after  Shakspeare,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly.  “  1 
scarcely  exist  the  next  day ;  I  find  the  re-action  so  very  great 
after  a  tragedy,  my  lord,  and  Shakspeare  is  such  a  delicious 
creature.” 

“Ye — es  !”  replied  Lord  Yerisopht.  “He  was  a  clayver 
man.” 

“  Do  you  know,  my  lord,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  after  a  long 
silence,  “  I  find  I  take  so  much  more  interest  in  his  plays,  after 
having  been  to  that  dear  little  dull  house  he  was  born  in  1 
Were  you  ever  there,  my  lord  ?” 

“No,  nayver,”  replied  Yerisopht. 

“  Then  really  you  ought  to  go,  my  lord,”  returned  Mrs 
Wititterly,  in  very  languid  and  drawling  accents.  “  I  don’t 
know  how  it  is,  but  after  you’ve  seen  the  place  and  written  your 
name  in  the  little  book,  somehow  or  other  you  seem  to  be 
inspired  ;  it  kindles  up  quite  a  fire  within  one.” 

“Ye — es  !”  replied  Lord  Yerisopht.  “I  shall  certainly  go 
there.” 

“Julia,  my  life,”  interposed  Mr.  Wititterly,  “you  are  de- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


39S 


cciving  his  lordship — unintentionally,  my  lord,  she  is  deceiving 
you.  It  is  your  poetical  temperament,  my  dear — your  ethereal 
soul — your  fervid  imagination,  which  throws  you  into  a  glow  of 
genius  and  excitement.  There  is  nothing  in  the  place,  my  deal 
—nothing,  nothing.” 

“I  think  there  must  be  something  in  the  place,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  who  had  been  listening  in  silence;  ‘‘for,  soon  after  I 
was  married,  I  went  to  Stratford  with  poor  dear  Mr.  Nickleby, 
in  a  post-chaise  from  Birmingham — was  it  a  post-chaise  thougli  I” 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  considering ;  “yes,  it  must  have  been  a 
post-chaise,  because  I  recollect  remarking  at  the  time  that  the 
driver  had  a  green  shade  over  his  left  eye  ;  in  a  post-chaise 
from  Birmingham,  and  after  we  had  seen  Shakspeare’s  tomb 
and  birth-place,  we  went  back  to  the  inn  there,  where  we  slept 
that  night,  and  I  recollect  that  all  night  long  I  dreamt  of 
nothing  but  a  black  gentleman,  at  full  length,  in  plaster  of 
Baris,  with  a  lay  down  collar  tied  with  two  tassels,  leaning 
against  a  post  and  thinking ;  and  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning 
and  described  him  to  Mr.  Nickleby,  he  said  it  was  Shakspeare 
just  as  he  had  been  when  he  was  alive,  which  was  very  curious 
indeed.  Stratford — Stratford,”  continued  Mrs.  Nickleby,  con¬ 
sidering.  “Yes,  I  am  positive  about  that,  because  I  recollect 
I  was  in  the  family-way  with  my  son  Nicholas  at  the  time,  and 
I  had  beeii  very  much  frightened  by  an  Italian  image  boy  that 
very  morning.  In  fact,  it  was  quite  a  merej",  Ma’am,”  added 
!Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  whisper  to  Mrs.  Wititterly,  “that  my  sou 
didn’t  turn  out  to  be  a  Shakspeare,  and  what  a  dreadful  thing 
that  would  have  been  !” 

When  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  brought  this  interesting  anecdote 
to  a  close,  Pyke  and  Pluck,  ever  zealous  in  their  patron’s  cause, 
['roposed  the  adjournment  of  a  detachment  of  the  party  into 
the  next  box ;  and  with  so  much  skill  were  the  preliminaries 
adjusted,  that  Kate,  despite  all  she  could  say  or  do  to  the  con¬ 
trary,  had  no  alternative  but  to  suffer  herself  to  be  led  away  by 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk.  Her  mother  and  Mr.  Pluck  accompanied 
them,  but  the  worthy  lady,  j)luming  herself  upon  her  discretion, 
took  particular  care  not  so  much  as  to  look  at  her  daughter 
during  the  whole  evening,  and  to  seem  wholly  absorbed  in  the 
jokes  and  conversation  of  Mr.  Plurlv  who,  having  been  ap- 


dOO 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


pointed  sentry  over  Mrs.  Nickleby  for  that  especial  purpose, 
neglected,  on  his  side,  no  possible  opportunity  of  engrossing  her 
attention. 

Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht  remained  in  the  next  box  to  be 
talked  to  by  Mrs.  Wititterly,  and  Mr.  Pyke  was  in  attendance 
to  throw  in  a  word  or  two  when  necessary.  As  to  Mr.  Witit¬ 
terly,  he  was  sufficiently  busy  in  the  body  of  the  house,  inform¬ 
ing  such  of  his  friends  and  acquaintance  as  happened  to  be 
there,  that  those  two  gentlemen  up  stairs,  whom  they  had  seen 
in  conversation  with  Mrs.  W.,  were  the  distinguished  Lord 
Frederick  Verisopht  and  his  most  intimate  friend,  the  gay  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk — a  communication  which  inflamed  several 
respectable  housekeepers  with  the  utmost  jealousy  and  rage, 
and  reduced  sixtemi  unmarried  daughters  to  the  very  brink  of 
despair. 

The  evening  came  to  an  end  at  last,  but  Kate  had  yet  to  be 
handed  down  stairs  by  the  detested  Sir  Mulberry ;  and  so  skill¬ 
fully  were  the  manoeuvres  of  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  conducted, 
that  she  and  the  baronet  were  the  last  of  the  party,  and  were 
even — without  an  appearance  of  effort  or  design — left  at  some 
bttle  distance  behind. 

“Don’t  hurry,  don’t  hurry,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  as  Kate 
hastened  on,  and  attempted  to  release  her  arm. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  still  pressed  forward. 

“Nay,  then — ”  coolly  observed  Sir  Mulberry,  stopping  her 
outright. 

“You  had  best  not  seek  to  detain  me,  Sirl”  said  Kate 
angrily. 

“  And  why  not  retorted  Sir  Mulberry.  “  My  dear  creature, 
now  why  do  you  keep  up  this  show  of  displeasure  ?” 

“Show!"  repeated  Kate  indignantly.  “How  dare  you 
presume  to  speak  to  me,  Sir — to  address  me — to  come  into  my 
presence  ?” 

“You  look  prettier  in  a  passion.  Miss  Nickleby,”  said  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk,  stooping  down,  the  better  to  see  her  face. 

“I  hold  you  ill  the  bitterest  detestation  and  contempt.  Sir,” 
said  Kate.  “  If  you  find  any  attraction  in  looks  of  disgust  and 
eversion,  you — let  me  rejoin  my  friends,  Sir,  instantly.  What¬ 
ever  considerations  may  have  withheld  me  thus  far,  I  will  dis* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


401 


re|:ard  them  all,  and  take  a  course  that  even  you  might  feel,  if 
you  do  not  immediately  suffer  me  to  proceed.” 

Sir  Mulberry  smiled,  and  still  looking  in  her  face  and  retain¬ 
ing  her  arm,  walked  towards  the  door. 

“  If  no  regard  for  my  sex  or  helpless  situation  will  induce 
you  to  desist  from  this  coarse  and  unmanly  persecution,”  said 
Kate,  scarcely  knowing,  in  the  tumult  of  her  passions,  what  she 
said, — “1  have  a  brother  who  will  resent  it  dearly,  one  day.” 

“  Upon  my  soul  I”  exclaimed  Sir  Mulberry,  as  though  quietly 
communing  with  himself ;  passing  his  arm  round  her  waist  as  he 
spoke,  “  she  looks  more  beautiful,  and  I  like  her  better  in  this 
mood,  than  when  her  eyes  are  cast  down,  and  she  is  in  perfect 
repose  1” 

How  Kate  reached  the  lobby  where  her  friends  were  waiting 
she  never  knew,  but  she  hurried  across  it  without  at  all  regard¬ 
ing  them,  and  disengaged  herself  suddenly  from  her  companion, 
sprang  into  the  coach,  and  throwing  herself  into  its  darkest 
corner,  burst  into  tears. 

Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck,  knowing  their  cue,  at  once  threw 
the  party  into  great  commotion  by  shouting  for  the  carriages, 
and  getting  up  a  violent  quarrel  with  sundry  inoffensive  by¬ 
standers  ;  in  the  midst  of  which  tumult  they  put  the  affrighted 
Mrs.  Nickleby  in  her  chariot,  and  having  got  her  safely  off, 
turned  their  thoughts  to  Mrs.  Wititterly,  whose  attention  also 
they  had  now  effectually  distracted  from  the  young  lady,  by 
throwing  her  into  a  state  of  the  utmost  bewilderment  and  con¬ 
sternation.  At  length,  the  conveyance  in  which  she  had  come 
rolled  0  0'  too  with  its  load,  and  the  four  worthies,  being  left 
alone  under  the  portico,  enjoyed  a  hearty  laugh  together. 

'*  There,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  to  his  noble  friend. 
“  Didn’t  I  tell  you  last  night  that  if  we  could  find  where  they 
were  going  by  bribing  a  servant  through  ray  fellow,  and  then 
established  ourselves  close  by  with  the  mother,  these  people’s 
honor  would  be  our  own  ?  Why  here  it  is,  done  in  four-and- 
twenty  hours.” 

“  Ye-es,”  replied  the  dupe.  “But  I  have  been  tied  to  the 
old  woman  all  ni-ight.” 

“Hear  him,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  to  his  two  friends. 

“  Hear  this  discontented  grumbler.  Isn’t  it  enough  to  make  a 
26 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


40‘i 

piai.  swear  never  to  help  him  in  his  plots  and  schemes  again  ? 
Isn’t  it  an  infernal  shame  ?” 

Tyke  asked  Pluck  whether  it  was  not  an  infernal  shame,  and 
Pluck  asked  Pyke  ;  but  neither  answered. 

“Isn’t  it  the  truth?”  demanded  Verisopht.  “Wasn’t  it  so?” 

“Wasn’t  it  so!”  repeated  Sir  Mulberry.  “How  would  you 
have  had  it?  How  could  we  have  got  a  general  invitation  at 
first  sight — come  when  you  like,  go  when  you  like,  stop  as  long 
as  you  like,  do  what  you  like — if  you,  the  lord,  had  not  made, 
yourself  agreeable  to  the  foolish  mistress  of  the  house?  Do  I 
care  for  this  girl,  except  as  your  friend  ?  Haven’t  I  been 
sounding  your  praises  in  her  ears,  and  bearing  her  pretty  sulks 
and  peevishness  all  night  for  you?  What  sort  of  stuff  do  you 
think  I’m  made  of?  Would  I  do  this  for  every  man  ?  Don’t  I 
deserve  even  gratitude  in  return  ?” 

“You’re  a  deyvlish  good  fellow,”  said  the  poor  young  lord, 
taking  his  friend’s  arm.  “  Upon  my  life,  you’re  a  deyvlish  good 
fellow,  Hawk.” 

“  And  I  have  done  right,  have  I  ?  ”  demanded  Sir  Mulberry. 

“  Quite  ri-ght.” 

“  And  like  a  poor,  silly,  good-natured,  friendly  dog  as  I  am, 
eh  ?” 

“  Ye-es,  ye-es, — like  a  friend,”  replied  the  other. 

“  Well,  then,”  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  “  I’m  satisfied.  And  now 
let’s  go  and  have  our  reverme  on  the  German  baron  and  the 
F renchman,  who  cleaned  you  out  so  liandsomely  last  night.” 

With  these  words  the  fidendly  creature  took  his  companion’s 
arm  and  led  him  away,  turning  half  round  as  he  did  so,  and  be¬ 
stowing  a  wink  and  a  contemptuous  smile  on  JMessrs.  Pyke  and 
Pluck,  who,  cramming  their  handkerchiefs  into  their  mouths  to 
denote  their  silent  enjoyment  of  the  whole  proceedings,  Idllowed 
their  patron  and  his  victim  at  a  little  distance. 


CHAPTER  XXYIII. 


MISS  NICKLEBY,  RENDERED  DESPERATE  BY  THE  PERSECUTION 
OP  SIR  MULBERRY  HAWK,  AND  THE  COMPLICATED  DIFFICUL- 
I'JES  AND  DISTRESSES  WHICH  SURROUND  HER,  APPEALS,  AS 
A  LAST  RESOURCE,  TO  HER  UNCLE  FOR  PROTECTION 

The  ensuing  morning  brought  reflection  with  it,  as  morning 
usually  does ;  but  widely  different  was  the  train  of  thought  it 
awakened  in  the  different  persons  who  had  been  so  unexpectedly 
brought  together  on  the  preceding  evening,  by  the  active  agency 
of  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck. 

The  reflections  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk — if  such  a  term  can  be 
applied  to  the  thoughts  of  the  systematic  and  calculating  man 
of  dissipation,  whose  joys,  regrets,  pains,  and  pleasures,  are  all 
of  self,  and  who  would  seem  to  reiain  nothing  of  the  intellectual 
faculty  but  the  power  to  debase  himself,  and  to  degrade  the  very 
nature  whose  outward  semblance  he  wears — the  reflections  of 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  turned  upon  Kate  Nickleby,  and  were,  in 
brief,  that  she  was  undoubtedly  handsome;  that  her  coyness 
must  be  easily  conqueralfle  by  a  man  of  his  address  and  expe¬ 
rience,  and  that  the  pursuit  was  one  which  could  not  fail  to  re¬ 
dound  to  his  credit,  and  greatly  to  enhance  his  reputation  with 
the  world.  And  lest  this  last  consideration — no  mean  or  secon¬ 
dary  one  with  Sir  Mulberry — should  sound  strangely  in  the  ears 
of  some,  let  it  be  remembered  that  most  men  live  in  a  world  of 
their  own,  and  that  in  that  limited  circle  alone  are  they  am¬ 
bitious  for  distinction  and  applause.  Sir  Mulberry’s  world  was 
])eop]ed  with  profligates,  and  he  acted  accordingly. 

Thus,  cases  of  injustice,  and  oppression,  and  tyranny,  and  tlie 
most  extravagant  bigotry,  are  in  constant  occurrence  among  us 
every  day.  It  is  the  custom  to  trumpet  forth  much  wonder  and 
astonishment  at  the  chief  actors  therein  setting  at  defiance  so 
completely  the  oiniiion  of  the  woi'ld ;  but  there  is  no  greater  fal¬ 
lacy  ;  it  is  precisely  because  they  do  consult  the  opinion  of  their 

(403) 


404 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


ovvn  little  world  tiiat  such  things  take  place  at  all,  and  strike  the 
great  world  dumb  with  amazement. 

The  reflections  of  Mrs,  Nickleby  were  of  the  proudest  and 
most  complacent  kind ;  and  under  the  influence  of  her  very 
agreeable  delusion  she  straightway  sat  down  and  indited  a  long 
letter  to  Kate,  in  which  she  expressed  her  entire  approval  of  the 
admirable  choice  she  had  made,  and  extolled  Sir  MulbeiTy  to 
the  skies ;  asserting,  for  the  more  complete  satisfaction  of  her 
daughter’s  feelings,  that  he  was  precisely  the  individual  whom 
she  (Mrs,  Nickleby)  would  have  chosen  for  her  son-in-law,  if 
she  had  had  the  picking  and  choosing  from  all  mankind.  The 
good  lady  then,  with  the  preliminary  observation  that  she  might 
be  fairly  supposed  not  to  have  lived  in  the  world  so  long  with¬ 
out  knowing  its  ways,  communicated  a  great  many  subtle  pre¬ 
cepts  applicable  to  the  state  of  courtship,  and  confirmed  in  their 
wisdom  by  her  own  personal  experience.  Above  all  things  she 
commended  a  strict  maidenly  reserve,  as  being  not  only  a  very 
laudable  thing  in  itself,  but  as  tending  materially  to  strengthen 
and  increase  a  lover’s  ardor,  “  And  I  never,”  added  Mrs, 
Nickleby,  “was  more  delighted  in  my  life  than  to  observe  last 
night,  my  dear,  that  your  good  sense  had  already  told  you  this.” 
With  which  sentiment,  and  various  hints  of  the  pleasure  she 
derived  from  the  knowledge  that  her  daughter  inherited  so  large 
an  installment  of  her  own  excellent  sense  and  discretion  (to  nearly 
the  full  measure  of  which  she  might  hope,  with  care,  to  succeed 
in  time),  Mrs,  Nickleby  concluded  a  very  long  and  rather  illegi¬ 
ble  letter. 

Poor  Kate  was  well  nigh  distracted  on  the  receipt  of  four 
closely-written  and  closely-crossed  sides  of  congratulation  on  the 
very  subject  which  had  prevented  her  closing  her  eyes  all  night, 
and  kept  her  weeping  and  watching  in  her  chamber ;  still  worse 
and  more  trying  was  the  necessity  of  rendering  herself  agreeable 
to  Mrs.  Wititterly,  who,  being  in  low  spirits  after  the  fatigue  of 
the  preceding  night,  of  course  expected  her  companion  (else 
wherefore  had  she  board  and  salary  ?)  to  be  in  the  best  spirits 
possible.  As  to  Mr.  Wititterly,  he  went  about  all  day  in  a 
tremor  of  delight  at  having  shaken  hands  with  a  lord,  and 
having  actually  asked  him  to  come  and  see  him  in  his  own 
house.  The  lord  himself,  not  being  troubled  to  any  iucon- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


405 


venient  extent  with  the  power  of  thinking,  regaled  himself  with 
the  conversation  of  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck,  who  sharpened 
their  wit  by  a  plentiful  indulgence  in  various  costly  stimulants 
at  his  expense. 

It  was  four  in  the  afternoon — that  is,  the  vulgar  afternoon  of 
the  sun  and  the  clock — and  Mrs.  Wititterly  reclined,  according 
to  custom,  on  the  drawing-room  sofa,  while  Kate  read  aloud  a 
new  novel  in  three  volumes,  entitled  “  The  Lady  Flabella/’ 
which  Alphonse  the  doubtful  had  procured  from  the  library  that 
very  morning.  And  it  was  a  production  admirably  suited  to  a 
lady  laboring  under  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  complaint,  seeing  that 
there  was  not  a  line  in  it,  from  beginning  to  end,  which  could, 
by  the  most  remote  contingency,  awaken  the  smallest  excite¬ 
ment  in  any  person  breathing. 

Kate  read  on. 

“  ‘  Cherizette,’  said  the  Lady  Flabella,  inserting  her  mouse¬ 
like  feet  in  the  blue  satin  slippers,  which  had  unwittingly 
occasioned  the  half-playful,  half-angry  altercation  between  her¬ 
self  and  the  youthful  Colonel  Befillaire,  in  the  Duke  of  Mince- 
fenille’s  salon  de  danse  on  the  previous  night.  ‘  Cherizelte, 
ma  chere,  donnez-moi  de  Veau-de-  Cologne,  sHl  vous  plait,  mon 
enfant. 

]\Iercie — thank  you,’  said  the  Lady  Flabella,  as  the  lively 
but  devoted  Cherizette  plentifully  besprinkled  with  the  fragrant 
compound  the  Lady  Flabella’s  mouchoir  of  finest  cambric,  edged 
with  richest  lace,  and  emblazoned  at  the  four  corners  with  the 
Flabella  crest,  and  gorgeous  heraldic  bearings  of  that  noble 
family;  ‘  Mercie — that  will  do.’ 

“  At  this  instant,  while  the  Lady  Flabella  yet  inhaled  that 
delicious  fragrance  by  holding  the  mouchoir  to  her  exquisite, 
but  thoughtfully-chiseled  nose,  the  door  of  the  boudoir  (art¬ 
fully  concealed  by  rich  hangings  of  silken  damask,  the  hue  of 
Italy’s  firmament)  was  thrown  open,  and  with  noiseless  tread 
two  valcts-de-chambre,  clad  in  sumptuous  liveries  of  peach- 
blossom  and  gold,  advanced  into  the  room,  followed  by  a  page  in 
has  de  soie — silk  stockings — who,  while  they  remained  at  some 
distance  making  the  most  graceful  obeisances,  advanced  to  the 
feet  of  his  lovely  mistress,  and  dropping  on  one  knee,  presented, 
on  a  golden  salver  gorgeously  chased,  a  scented  biUr.l. 


406 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


“The  Lady  Flabella,  with  an  agitation  she  could  not  re¬ 
press,  hastily  tore  olf  the  envelope  and  broke  the  scented  seal. 
It  was  from  Belillaire — the  young,  the  slim,  the  low-voiced — 
her  own  Belillaire.” 

“  Oh,  charming  !”  interrupted  Kate’s  patroness,  who  was 
sometimes  taken  literary.  “  Poetic,  really.  Read  that  descrip¬ 
tion  again.  Miss  Nickleby.” 

Kate  complied. 

“  Sweet,  indeed  !”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  sigh.  “  So 
voluptuous,  is  it  not — so  soft  ?” 

“  Yes,  I  think  it  is,”  replied  Kate,  gently;  “very  soft.” 

“  Close  the  book.  Miss  Nickleby,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly.  “I 
can  hear  nothing  more  to-day ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  disturb  the 
impression  of  that  sweet  description.  Close  the  book.” 

Kate  complied,  not  unwillingly ;  and,  as  she  did  so,  Mrs. 
Wititterly  raising  her  glass  with  a  languid  hand,  remarked,  that 
she  looked  pale. 

“  It  was  the  fright  of  that — that  noise  and  confusion  last 
night,”  said  Kate. 

“  How  very  odd  !”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  look  of 
surprise.  And  certainly,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  it  was 
very  odd  that  any  thing  should  have  disturbed  a  companion. 
A  steam-engine,  or  other  ingenious  piece  of  mechanism  out  of 
order,  would  have  been  nothing  to  it. 

“  How  did  you  come  to  know  Lord  Frederick,  and  those  other 
delightful  creatures,  child?”  asked  Mrs.  Wititterly,  still  eying 
Kate  through  her  glass. 

“  I  met  them  at  my  uncle’s,”  said  Kate,  vexed  to  feel  that  she 
was  coloring  deeply,  but  unable  to  keep  down  the  blood  which 
rushed  to  her  face  whenever  she  thought  of  that  man 

“  Have  you  knowm  them  long  ?” 

“No,”  rty’oined  Kate.  “Not  long.” 

“  I  was  very  glad  of  the  opportunity  which  that  respectable 
person,  your  mother,  gave  us  of  being  knowm  to  them,”  said 
Mrs.  Wititterly,  in  a  lofty  manner.  “  Some  friends  of  ours 
w'ere  on  the  very  point  of  introducing  us,  which  makes  it  quite 
remarkable.” 

This  w'as  said  lest  Miss  Nickleby  should  grow  conceited  on 
the  honor  and  dignity  of  having  known  four  great  people  (for 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


407 


Pyke  and  Plnck  were  included  among  the  deliglitful  creatures) 
whom  Mrs.  Wititterly  did  not  know.  But  as  the  circumstance 
had  made  no  impression  one  way  or  other  upon  Kate’s  mind, 
the  force  of  the  observation  was  quite  lost  upon  her. 

“They  asked  permission  to  call,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly.  “I 
gave  it  them  of  course.” 

“Do  you  expect  them  to-day  ?”  Kate  ventured  to  inquire. 

Mrs.  Wititterly’s  answer  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  a  tremen¬ 
dous  rapping  at  the  street-door,  and,  before  it  had  ceased  to 
vibrate,  there  drove  uj)  a  handsome  cabriolet,  out  of  which  leaped 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  his  friend  Lord  Yerisopht. 

“  They  are  here  now,”  said  Kate,  rising  and  hurrying  away. 

“Miss  Nicklcby  I”  cried  Mrs.  Wititterly,  perfectly  aghast  at 
a  companion’s  attempting  to  quit  the  room,  without  her  per¬ 
mission  first  had  and  obtained.  “Pray  don’t  think  of  going.” 

“You  are  very  good  1”  replied  Kate.  “But — ” 

“  For  goodness’  sake,  don’t  agitate  me  by  making  me  speak 
so  much,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  great  sharpness.  “  Dear 
me,  Miss  Nickleby,  I  beg — ” 

It  was  in  vain  for  Kate  to  protest  that  she  was  unwell,  for 
the  footsteps  of  the  knockers,  whoever  they  were,  were  already 
on  the  stairs.  She  resumed  her  seat  and  had  scarcely  done  so, 
when  the  doubtful  page  darted  into  the  room  and  announced, 
Mr.  Pyke,  and  Mr.  Pluck,  and  Lord  Yerisopht,  and  Sir  Mul 
berry  Hawk,  all  at  one  burst. 

“  The  most  extraordinary  thing  in  the  world,”  said  Mr.  Pluck, 
saluting  both  ladies  with  the  utmost  cordiality;  “the  most  ex¬ 
traordinary  thing.  As  Lord  Frederick  and  Sir  Mulberry  drove 
u]^  to  the  door,  Pyke  and  I  had  at  that  instant  knocked.” 

“That  instant  knocked,”  said  Pyke. 

“  No  matter  how  you  came,  so  tliat  you  are  here,”  said  jMrs. 
W  iiitterly,  who,  by  dint  of  lying  on  the  same  sofa  for  three 
years  and  a  half,  had  got  up  quite  a  little  pantomime  of  graceful 
attitudes,  and  now  threw  herself  into  the  most  striking  of  the 
wliole  series,  to  astonish  the  visitors.  “I  am  delighted,  I  am 
sure.” 

“And  how  is  Miss  Nickleby  ?”  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk, 
accosting  Kate,  in  a  low  voice — not  so  low,  however,  but  that 
it  reached  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Wititterly. 


408 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“Why,  she  complains  of  suffering  from  the  fright  of  last 
night,”  said  the  lady.  “  I  am  sure  I  don’t  wonder  at  it,  for  my 
nerves  are  quite  torn  to  pieces.” 

“And  yet  you  look,”  observed  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  round; 
“  and  yet  you  look — ” 

“Beyond  every  thing,”  said  Mr.  Pyke,  coming  to  his  patron’s 
assistance.  Of  course  Mr.  Pluck  said  the  same. 

“  I  am  afraid  Sir  Mulberry  is  a  flatterer,  my  lord,”  said  Mrs. 
Wititterly,  turning  to  that  young  gentleman,  who  had  been 
sucking  the  head  of  his  cane  in  silence,  and  staring  at  Kate. 

“Oh,  deyvlishl”  replied  Yerisopht.  Having  given  utter¬ 
ance  to  which  remarkable  sentiment,  he  occupied  himself  as 
before. 

“Neither  does  Miss  Nickleby  look  the  worse,”  said  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry,  bending  his  bold  gaze  upon  her.  “  She  was  always 
handsome,  but,  upon  my  soul.  Ma’am,  you  seem  to  have  im¬ 
parted  some  of  your  own  good  looks  to  her  besides.” 

To  judge  from  the  glow  which  suffused  the  poor  girl’s  counte¬ 
nance  after  this  speech,  Mrs.  Wititterly  might,  with  some  show 
of  reason,  have  been  supposed  to  have  imparted  to  it  some  of 
that  artificial  bloom  which  decorated  her  own.  Mrs.  Wititterly 
admitted,  though  not  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world,  that 
Kate  did  look  pretty.  She  began  to  think  too,  that  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  was  not  quite  so  agreeable  a  creature  as  she  had  at  first 
supposed  him  ;  for,  although  a  skillful  flatterer  is  a  most  delightful 
companion  if  you  can  keep  him  all  to  yourself,  his  taste  be¬ 
comes  very  doubtful  when  he  takes  to  complimenting  other 
people. 

“Pyke,”  said  the  watchful  Mr.  Pluck,  observing  the  effect 
which  the  praise  of  Miss  Nickleby  had  produced. 

“Well,  Pluck,”  said  Pyke. 

“  Is  there  any  body,”  demanded  Mr.  Pluck,  mysteriously, 
"any  body  you  know,  that  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  profile  reminds 
you  of?” 

“Reminds  me  ofl”  answered  Pyke.  “Of  course  there  is.” 

“  Who  do  you  mean  ?”  said  Pluck,  in  the  same  mysterious 
manner.  “  The  D.  of  B.  ?” 

“  The  C.  of  B.,”  replied  Pyke,  with  the  faintest  trace  of  a  grin 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


409 


lingering  in  his  countenance.  “The  beautiful  sister  is  the 
countess;  not  the  duchess.” 

“  True,”  said  Pluck,  “  the  C.  of  B.  The  resemblance  is 
wonderful !” 

“Perfectly  startling,”  said  Mr.  Pyke. 

Here  was  a  state  of  things!  Mrs.  Wititterly  was  doclarcil, 
upon  the  testimony  of  two  veracious  and  competent  witnesses, 
to  be  the  very  picture  of  a  countess  I  This  w^as  one  of  the  con¬ 
sequences  of  getting  into  good  society.  Why,  she  might  have 
moved  among  groveling  people  for  twenty  years,  and  never 
heard  of  it.  How  could  she,  indeed  ?  What  did  they  know 
about  countesses  ! 

The  two  gentlemen  having  by  the  greediness  wdth  which  this 
little  bait  was  swallowed,  tested  the  extent  of  Mrs.  Wititterly’s 
appetite  for  adulation,  proceeded  to  administer  that  commodity 
in  very  large  doses,  thus  affording  to  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  an 
opportunity  of  pestering  Miss  Nickleby  with  questions  and 
remarks  to  which  she  wms  absolutely  obliged  to  make  some 
reply.  Meanwhile,  Lord  Verisopht  enjoyed  unmolested  the  full 
flavor  of  the  gold  knob  at  the  top  of  his  cane,  as  he  would  have 
done  to  the  end  of  the  interview  if  Mr.  Wititterly  had  not  come 
home,  and  caused  the  conversation  to  turn  to  his  favorite  topic. 

“  My  lord,”  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  “  I  am  delighed — honored — • 
proud.  Be  seated  again,  my  lord,  pray.  I  am  proud,  indeed — 
most  proud.” 

It  was  to  the  secret  annoyance  of  his  wife  that  Mr.  Wititterly 
said  all  this,  for,  although  she  wms  bursting  with  pride  and 
arrogance,  she  w^ould  have  had  the  illustrious  guests  believe 
that  their  visit  was  quite  a  common  occurrence,  and  that  they 
had  lords  and  baronets  to  see  them  every  day  in  the  week. 
But  INIr.  Wititterly’s  feelings  w'ere  beyond  the  powder  of  sup 
pression. 

“  It  is  an  honor,  indeed  I”  said  Mr.  Wititterly.  “  Julia,  my 
soul,  you  will  suffer  for  this  to-morrow.” 

“  Suffer  1”  cried  Lord  Verisopht. 

“The  reaction,  my  lord,  the  reaction,”  said  Mr.  Wititterly. 
“  This  violent  strain  upon  the  nervous  system  over,  my  lord, 
what  ensues?  A  sinking,  a  depression,  a  lowness,  a  lassitude, 
a  debility.  My  lord,  if  Sir  Tumley  Snuffim  was  to  see  that 


410 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


delicate  creature  at  this  moment,  he  would  not  give  a — a — thin 
for  her  life.”  In  illustration  of  which  remark,  Mr.  Wititterly 
took  a  pinch  of  snuif  from  his  box  and  jerked  it  lightly  into  the 
air  as  an  emblem  of  instability. 

“  Not  said  Mr,  Wititteidy,  looking  about  him  with  a 

serious  countenance.  “  Sir  Tumley  Snuffim  would  not  give 
that  for  Mrs.  Wititterly’s  existence.” 

Mr.  Wititterly  told  this  with  a  kind  of  sober  exultation,  as 
if  it  were  no  trifling  distinction  for  a  man  to  have  a  wife  in  such 
a  desperate  state,  and  Mrs.  Wititterly  sighed  and  looked  on,  as 
if  she  felt  the  honor,  but  had  determined  to  bear  it  as  meekly  as 
might  be. 

“  Mrs.  Wititterly,”  said  her  husband,  “is  Sir  Tumley  Snuffim’s 
favorite  patient.  I  believe  I  may  venture  to  say,  that  Mrs. 
Wititterly  is  the  first  person  who  took  the  new  medicine  which 
is  supposed  to  have  destroyed  a  family  at  Kensington  Gravel 
Pits.  I  believe  she  was.  If  I  am  wrong,  Julia,  my  dear,  you 
will  correct  me.” 

“  I  believe  I  was,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  in  a  faint  voice. 

As  there  appeared  to  be  some  doubt  in  the  mind  of  his 
patron  how  he  could  best  join  in  this  conversation,  the  inde¬ 
fatigable  Mr.  Pyke  threw  himself  into  the  breach,  and,  by  way 
of  saying  something  to  the  point,  inquired — with  reference  to 
the  aforesaid  medicine — whether  it  was  nice. 

“  No,  Sir,  it  was  not.  It  had  not  even  that  recommenda¬ 
tion,”  said  Mr.  W. 

“  Mrs.  Wititterly  is  quite  a  martyr,”  observed  Pyke,  with  a 
complimentary  bow. 

“  I  think  I  am,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  smiling. 

“  I  think  you  are,  my  dear  Julia,”  replied  her  husband,  in  a 
tone  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  was  not  vain,  but  still  must 
insist  upon  their  privileges.  “  If  any  body,  my  lord,”  added 
ISfr.  AVititterly,  wheeling  round  to  the  nobleman,  “  will  produce 
to  me  a  greater  martyr  than  Mrs.  Wititterly,  all  I  can  say  is, 
that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  that  martyr,  whether  male  or 
female — that’s  all,  my  lord.” 

Pyke  and  Pluck  pronqfily  remarked  that  certainly  nothing 
could  be  fairer  than  tliat ;  and  the  call  having  been  by  this 
time  j)rotracted  to  a  very  great  length,  they  obeyed  Sir  Mub 


IIICHOLAS  NICKLEBy. 


411 


berry’s  look,  and  rose  to  go.  This  brought  Sir  IMulberry  him¬ 
self  and  Lord  Verisopht  on  their  legs  also.  Many  protestations 
of  friendship,  and  expressions  anticipative  of  the  pleasure  which 
must  inevitably  flow  from  so  happy  an  acquaintance,  were 
exchanged,  and  the  visitors  departed  with  renewed  assurances 
that  at  all  times  and  seasons  the  mansion  of  the  Wilitterlys 
would  be  honored  by  receiving  them  beneath  its  roof. 

That  th^y  came  at  all  times  and  seasons — that  they  dined 
there  one  day,  supped  the  next,  dined  again  on  the  next,  and 
were  constantly  to  and  fro  on  all — that  they  made  parties  to 
visit  public  places,  and  met  by  accident  at  lounges — that  upon 
all  these  occasions  Miss  Nickleby  was  exposed  to  the  constant 
and  unremitting  persecution  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  who  now 
began  to  feel  his  character,  even  in  the  estimation  of  his  two 
dependents,  involved  in  the  successful  reduction  of  her  pride — • 
that  she  had  no  intervals  of  peace  or  rest,  except  at  those  hours 
w'hen  she  could  sit  in  her  solitary  room  and  weep  over  the  trials 
of  the  day — all  these  were  consequences  naturally  flowing  from 
the  well-laid  plans  of  Sir  Mulberry,  and  their  able  execution  by 
the  auxiliaries,  Pvke  and  Pluck. 

And  thus  for  a  fortnight  matters  went  on.  That  any  but  the 
weakest  and  silliest  of  people  could  have  seen  in  one  interview 
that  Lord  Yerisopht,  though  he  was  a  lord,  and  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk,  though  he  was  a  baronet,  were  not  persons  accustomed 
to  be  the  best  possible  companions,  and  were  certainly  not 
calculated  by  habits,  manners,  tastes,  or  conversation,  to  shine 
with  any  very  great  lustre  in  the  society  of  ladies,  need  scarcely 
be  remarked.  But  with  Mrs.  Wititterly  the  two  titles  were  all 
sufficient ;  coarseness  became  humor,  vulgarity  softened  itseli 
down  into  the  most  charming  eccentricity;  insolence  took  the 
guise  of  an  easy  absence  of  reserve,  attainable  only  by  those 
who  had  had  the  good  fortune  to  mix  wdth  high  folks. 

If  the  mistress  put  such  a  construction  upon  the  behavior  of 
her  new  friends,  what  could  the  companion  urge  against  them 
If  they  accustomed  themselves  to  very  little  restraint  before 
the  lady  of  the  house,  with  how  much  more  freedom  could  they 
address  her  paid  dependent  I  Nor  was  even  this  the  worst. 
As  the  odious  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  attached  himself  to  Kate 
with  less  and  less  of  disguise,  Mrs.  Wititterly  began  to  grow 


412 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


jealous  of  the  superior  attractions  of  Miss  Nickleby.  If  this 
feeling  had  led  to  her  banishment  from  the  drawing-room  when 
such  company  was  there,  Kate  would  have  been  only  too  happy 
and  willing  that  it  should  have  existed,  but  unfortunately  for 
her  she  possessed  that  native  grace  and  true  gentility  of  manner, 
and  those  thousand  nameless  accomplishments  which  give  to 
female  society  its  greatest  charm ;  if  these  be  valuable  any 
where,  they  were  especially  so  where  the  lady  of  the  house  was 
a  mere  animated  doll.  The  consequence  wms,  that  Kate  had 
the  double  mortification  of  being  an  indispensable  part  of  the 
circle  when  Sir  Mulberry  and  his  friends  were  there,  and  of 
being  exposed,  on  that  very  account,  to  all  Mrs.  Wititterly’a 
ill-humors  and  caprices  when  they  were  gone.  She  became 
utterly  and  completely  miserable. 

Mrs.  Wititterly  had  never  thrown  off  the  mask  with  regard 
to  Sir  Mulberry,  but  when  she  was  more  than  usually  out  of 
temper,  attributed  the  circumstance,  as  ladies  sometimes  do,  to 
nervous  indisposition.  However,  as  the  dreadful  idea  that 
Lord  Yerisopht  also  was  somewhat  taken  with  Kate,  and  that 
she,  Mrs.  Wititterly,  was  quite  a  secondary  person,  dawned 
upon  that  lady’s  mind,  and  gradually  developed  itself,  she  be¬ 
came  possessed  with  a  large  quantity  of  highly  proper  and  most 
virtuous  indignation,  and  felt  it  her  duty,  as  a  married  lady  and 
a  moral  member  of  society,  to  mention  the  circumstance  to  “  the 
young  person”  without  delay. 

Accordingly,  Mrs.  Wititterly  broke  ground  next  morning, 
during  a  pause  in  the  novel-reading. 

“Miss  Nickleby,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  “I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  very  gravely.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  do  it,  upon  my  word 
I  am  very  sorry,  but  you  leave  me  no  alternative.  Miss  Nick¬ 
leby.’’  Here  Mrs.  Wititterly  tossed  her  head — not  passionately, 
only  virtuously — and  remarked,  with  some  appearance  of  excite¬ 
ment,  that  she  feared  that  palpitation  of  the  heart  was  coming 
on  again. 

“Your  behavior.  Miss  Nickleby,”  resumed  the  lady,  “is 
very  far  from  pleasing  me — very  far.  I  am  very  anxious  indeed, 
that  you  should  do  well,  but  you  may  depend  upon  it,  Mies 
Nickleby,  you  will  not,  if  you  go  on  as  you  do.” 

“  Ma’am  I”  exclaimed  Kate,  proudly. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


dl3 


“  Don’t  agitate  me  by  speaking  in  that  way,  Miss  Nickleby, 
don’t,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  some  violence,  “  or  jou’ll  com¬ 
pel  me  to  ring  the  bell.” 

Kate  looked  at  her,  but  said  nothing. 

“  You  needn’t  suppose,”  resumed  Mrs.  Wititterly,  “that  your 
looking  at  me  in  that  way.  Miss  Nickleby,  will  prevent  my  say¬ 
ing  what  I  am  going  to  say,  which  I  feel  to  be  a  religious  duty. 
You  needn’t  direct  your  glances  towards  me,”  said  Mrs.  Witit- 
tcrly,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  spite  ;  “  I  am  not  Sir  Mulberry  ; 
no,  nor  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht,  Miss  Nickleby;  nor  am  I 
Mr.  Pyke,  nor  Mr.  Pluck  either.” 

Kate  looked  at  her  again,  but  less  steadily  than  before ;  and 
resting  her  elbow  on  the  table,  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand. 

“  If  such  things  had  been  done  when  I  was  a  young  girl,” 
said  Mrs.  Wititterly  (this,  by  the  way,  must  have  been  some 
little  time  before),  “I  don’t  suppose  any  body  would  have 
believed  it.” 

“I  don’t  think  they  would,”  murmured  Kate.  “I  do  not 
think  any  body  would  believe,  without  actually  knowing  it,  what 
I  seem  doomed  to  undergo  !” 

“  Don’t  talk  to  me  of  being  doomed  to  undergo.  Miss  Nick¬ 
leby,  if  you  please,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  shrillness  of 
tone  quite  surprising  in  so  great  an  invalid.  “  I  will  not  be 
answered.  Miss  Nickleby.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  be  answered, 
nor  will  I  permit  it  for  an  instant.  Do  you  hear  ?”  she  added, 
waiting,  with  some  apparent  inconsistency,  for  an  answer. 

“Ido  hear  you.  Ma’am,”  replied  Kate,  “with  surprise — 
with  greater  surprise  than  I  can  express.” 

“  I  have  always  considered  you  a  particularly  well-behaved 
young  person  for  your  station  in  life,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly; 
“  and  as  you  are  a  person  of  healthy  appearance,  and  neat  in 
your  dress  and  so  forth,  I  have  taken  an  interest  in  you,  as  I  do 
Btill,  considering  that  I  owe  a  sort  of  duty  to  that  respectable 
old  female,  your  mother.  For  these  reasons.  Miss  Nickleby,  I 
must  tell  you  once  for  all,  and  begging  you  to  mind  what  I  say, 
that  I  must  insist  upon  your  immediately  altering  your  very 
forward  behavior  to  the  gentlemen  who  visit  at  this  bouse.  It 


414 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


really  is  not  becoming,”  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  closing  her  cLaste 
eyes  as  she  spoke  :  “it  is  improper — quite  improper.” 

“  Oh  1”  cried  Kate,  looking  upwards  and  clasping  her  hands, 
“  is  not  this,  is  not  this  too  cruel,  too  hard  to  bear  !  Is  it  not 
enough  that  I  should  have  suffered  as  I  have,  night  and  day ; 
that  I  should  almost  have  sunk  in  my  own  estimation  from  very 
ehamo  of  having  been  brought  into  contact  with  such  people ; 
but  must  I  also  be  exposed  to  this  unjust  and  most  unfounded 
charge  !” 

“You  will  have  the  goodness  to  recollect.  Miss  Nickleby,” 
said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  “that  when  you  use  such  terms  as  ‘  unjust,’ 
and  ‘  unfounded,’  you  charge  me,  in  effect,  with  stating  that 
which  is  untrue.” 

“  I  do,”  said  Kate,  with  honest  indignation.  “  Whether  you 
make  this  accusation  of  yourself,  or  at  the  prompting  of  others, 
is  alike  to  me.  I  say  it  is  vilely,  grossly,  willfully  untrue.  Is 
it.  possible  I”  cried  Kate,  “that  any  one  of  my  own  sex  can  have 
sat  by,  and  not  have  seen  the  misery  these  men  have  caused  me  1 
Is  it  possible  that  you.  Ma’am,  can  have  been  present,  and 
failed  to  mark  the  insulting  freedom  that  their  every  look  be¬ 
spoke  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  have  avoided  seeing,  tha!, 
these  libertines,  in  their  utter  disrespect  for  you,  and  utter  dis¬ 
regard  of  all  gentlemanly  behavior  and  almost  of  decency,  have 
had  but  one  object  in  introducing  themselves  here,  and  that  the 
furtherance  of  their  designs  upon  a  friendless,  helpless  girl, 
who,  without  this  humiliating  confession,  might  have  hoped 
to  receive  from  one  so  much  her  senior  something  like  womanly 
aid  and  S3unpathy  ?  I  do  not — I  cannot  believe  it !” 

If  poor  Kate  had  possessed  the  slightest  knowledge  of  the 
v/orld,  she  certainly  would  not  have  ventured,  even  in  the  ex¬ 
citement  into  which  she  had  been  lashed,  upon  such  an  injudi¬ 
cious  speech  as  this.  Its  effect  was  precisely  what  a  more 
experienced  observer  would  have  foreseen.  Mrs.  Wititterly 
received  the  attack  upon  her  veracity  with  exemplary  calmness, 
and  listened  with  the  moat  heroic  fortitude  to  Kate’s  account  of 
her  own  sufferings.  But  allusion  being  made  to  her  being  held 
iu  disregard  by  the  gentlemen,  she  evinced  violent  emotion,  and 
this  blow  was  no  sooner  followed  up  by  the  remark  concerning 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


415 


her  seniority,  than  she  fell  back  upon  the  sofa,  uttering  dismal 
screams. 

“What  is  the  matter!”  cried  Mr.  Wititterly,  bouncing  into 
the  room.  “Heavens,  what  do  I  see !  Julia!  Julia!  lookup, 
my  life,  look  up !” 

But  Julia  looked  down  most  perseveringly,  and  screamed 
still  louder;  so  Mr.  Wititterly  rang  the  bell,  and  danced  in  a 
frenzied  manner  round  the  sofa  on  which  Mrs.  Wititterly  lay ; 
uttering  perpetual  cries  for  Sir  Tumley  SnufiBra,  and  never 
once  leaving  off  to  ask  for  any  explanation  of  the  scene  before 
him. 

“  Run  for  Sir  Tumley,”  cried  Mr.  Wititterly,  menacing  the 
page  with  both  fists.  “I  knew  it.  Miss  Nickleby,”  he  said, 
looking  round  with  an  air  of  melancholy  triumph,  “  that  society 
has  been  too  much  for  her.  This  is  all  soul,  you  know,  every 
bit  of  it.”  With  this  assurance  Mr.  Wititterly  took  up  the 
prostrate  form  of  Mrs.  Wititterly,  and  carried  her  bodily  off  to 
bed. 

Kate  waited  until  Sir  Tumley  Snuffim  had  paid  his  visit  and 
looked  in  with  a  report,  that,  through  the  special  interposition 
of  a  merciful  Providence  (thus  spake  Sir  Tumley),  Mrs.  Witit¬ 
terly  had  gone  to  sleep.  She  then  hastily  attired  herself  for 
walking,  and  leaving  word  that  she  should  return  within  a 
couple  of  hours,  hurried  away  towards  her  uncle’s  house. 

It  had  been  a  good  day  with  Ralph  Nickleby, — quite  a  lucky 
day ;  and  as  he  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  little  back  room  with 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  adding  up  in  his  own  mind  all 
the  suras  that  had  been,  or  ■would  be,  netted  from  the  business 
done  since  morning,  his  mouth  was  drawn  into  a  hard,  stern 
smile ;  while  the  firmness  of  the  lines  and  curves  that  made  it 
up,  as  well  as  the  cunning  glance  of  his  cold,  bright  eye,  seemed 
to  tell,  that  if  any  resolution  or  cunning  would  increase  the 
))rofits,  they  would  not  fail  to  be  excited  for  the  purpose. 

“Yery  good  !”  said  Ralph,  in  allusion,  no  doubt,  to  some 
proceeding  of  the  day.  “He  defies  the  usurer,  does  he?  Well, 
we  shall  see.  ‘  Honesty  is  the  best  policy,’ is  it  ?  We’ll  try 
that,  too.” 

He  stopped,  and  then  walked  on  again. 

“He  is  content,”  said  Ralph,  relaxing  into  a  smile,  “to  set 


416 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


his  known  character  and  conduct  against  the  power  of  money- 
dross,  as  he  calls  it.  Why,  what  a  dull  blockhead  this  fellow 
must  be  1  Dross  too — dross  ! — Who’s  that  ?” 

“Me,”  said  Newman  Noggs,  looking  in.  “Your  niece.” 

“  What  of  her  ?”  asked  Ralph  sharply. 

“  She’s  here.” 

“  Here !” 

Newman  jerked  his  head  towards  his  little  room,  to  signify 
that  she  was  waiting  there. 

“What  does  she  want  ?”  asked  Ralph. 

“I  don’t  know,”  rejoined  Newman.  “Shall  I  ask  ?”  he  added 
quickly. 

“No,”  replied  Ralph.  “Show  her  in — stay.”  He  hastily 
put  away  a  padlocked  cash-box  that  was  on  the  table,  and  sub¬ 
stituted  in  its  stead  an  empty  purse.  “There,”  said  Ralph, 
“nom  she  may  come  in.” 

Newman,  with  a  grim  smile  at  this  manoeuvre,  beckoned  the 
young  lady  to  advance,  and  having  placed  a  chair  for  her,  retired  ; 
looking  stealthily  over  his  shoulder  at  Ralph  as  he  limped 
slowly  out. 

“Well,”  said  Ralph,  roughly  enough;  but  still  with  some¬ 
thing  more  of  kindness  in  his  manner  than  he  would  have  ex¬ 
hibited  towards  any  body  else.  “Well,  my — dear.  What 
now  ?” 

Kate  raised  her  eyes,  which  were  filled  with  tears ;  and  with 
an  effort  to  master  her  emotion  strove  to  speak,  but  in  vain. 
So  drooping  her  head  again,  she  remained  silent.  Her  face 
was  hidden  from  his  view,  but  Ralph  could  see  that  she  was 
weeping. 

“  1  can  guess  the  cause  of  this  !”  thought  Ralph,  after  look¬ 
ing  at  her  for  some  time  in  silence.  “  I  can — I  can  guess  the 
cause.  Well!  well!” — thought  Ralph — for  the  moment  quite 
disconcerted,  as  he  watched  the  anguish  of  his  beautiful  niece. 
“Where  is  the  harm?  Only  a  few  tears;  and  it’s  an  excellent 
lesson  for  her — an  excellent  lesson.” 

“  What  is  the  matter  ?”  asked  Ralph,  drawing  a  chair  opposite, 
and  sitting  down. 

He  was  rather  taken  aback  by  the  sudden  firmness  with  which 
Kate  looked  up  and  answered  him. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


417 


“The  matter  which  brings  me  to  you,  Sir,”  she  said,  “is  one 
which  should  call  the  blood  up  into  your  cheeks,  and  make  you 
burn  to  hear,  as  it  does  me  to  tell.  I  have  been  wronged ;  my 
feelings  have  been  outraged,  insulted,  wounded  past  all  healing, 
and  by  your  friends.” 

“ Friends  1”  cried  Ralph,  sternly,  “/have  no  friends,  girl.” 

“By  the  men  I  saw  here,  then,”  returned  Kate  quickly. 
“If  they  were  no  friends  of  yours,  and  you  knew  what  they 
wen, — oh,  the  more  shame  on  you,  uncle,  for  bringing  me  among 
them.  To  have  subjected  me  to  what  I  was  exposed  to 
here,  through  any  misplaced  confidence  or  imperfect  knowledge 
of  your  guests,  would  have  required  some  strong  excuse;  but  if 
you  did  it — as  I  now  believe  you  did — knowing  them  well,  il 
was  most  dastardly  and  cruel.” 

Ralph  drew  back  in  utter  amazement  at  this  plain  speaking, 
and  regarded  Kate  with  his  sternest  look.  But  she  met  hia 
gaze  proudly  and  firmly,  and  although  her  face  was  very  pale, 
it  looked  more  noble  and  handsome,  lighted  up  as  it  was,  than 
it  had  ever  appeared  before. 

“There  is  some  of  that  boy’s  blood  in  you,  I  see,”  said  Ralph, 
speaking  in  his  harshest  tones,  as  something  in  the  flashing  eye 
reminded  him  of  Nicholas  at  their  last  meeting. 

“I  hope  there  is  I”  replied  Kate.  “I  should  be  proud  to 
know  it.  I  am  young,  uncle,  and  all  the  difficulties  and  miseries 
of  my  situation  have  kept  it  down,  but  I  have  been  roused  to¬ 
day  beyond  all  endurance,  and,  come  what  may,  /  will  not,  as  I 
am  your  brother’s  child,  bear  these  insults  longer.” 

“  What  insults,  girl  ?”  demanded  Ralph,  sharply. 

“  Remember  what  took  place  here,  and  ask  yourself,”  replied 
Kate,  coloring  deeply.  “  Uncle,  you  must — I  am  sure  you  will 
— release  me  from  such  vile  and  degrading  companionship  as  I 
am  exposed  to  now.  I  do  not  mean,”  said  Kate,  hurrying  to 
the  old  man,  and  laying  her  arm  upon  his  shoulder;  “I  do  not 
mean  to  be  angry  and  violent — I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have 
seemed  so,  dear  uncle, — but  you  do  not  know  what  I  have 
suffered,  you  do  not  indeed.  You  cannot  tell  what  the  heart 
of  a  young  girl  is — I  have  no  right  to  expect  you  should; 
but  when  I  fell  you  that  I  am  wretched,  and  that  my  heart  is 
27 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


4ia 

breaking,  I  am  sure  you  will  help  me,  I  am  sure,  1  am  sure 
you  will !” 

Ralph  looked  at  her  for  an  instant ;  then  turned  away  his 
head,  and  beat  his  foot  nervously  upon  the  ground, 

“  I  have  gone  on  day  after  day,”  said  Kate,  bending  over  him, 
and  timidly  placing  her  little  hand  in  his,  “in  the  hope  that  this 
persecution  would  cease ;  I  have  gone  on  day  after  day,  com¬ 
pelled  to  assume  the  appearance  of  clieerfulness,  when  I  was 
most  unhappy,  I  have  had  no  counselor,  no  adviser,  no  one  to 
protect  me.  Mamma  supposes  that  these  are  honorable  men, 
rich  and  distinguished,  and  how  ca)i  I — how  can  I  undeceive 
her — when  she  is  so  happy  in  these  little  delusions,  which  are 
the  only  happiness  she  has?  The  lady  with  whom  you  placed 
me,  is  not  the  person  to  whom  I  could  confide  matters  of  so  much 
delicacy,  and  I  have  come  at  last  to  you,  the  only  friend  I  have 
at  hand — almost  the  only  friend  I  have  at  all — to  entreat  and 
implore  you  to  assist  me.” 

“How  can  I  assist  you,  child?”  said  Ralph,  rising  from  his 
chair,  and  pacing  up  and  down  the  room  in  his  old  attitude, 

“You  have  influence  with  one  of  these  men,  I  know,’’'  re¬ 
joined  Kate,  emphatically.  “Would  not  a  word  from  you  in¬ 
duce  them  to  desist  from  this  unmanly  course  ?” 

“No,”  said  Ralph,  suddenly  turning;  “at  least — that — 1 
can’t  say  it,  if  it  would.” 

“  Can’t  say  it !” 

“  No,”  said  Ralph,  coming  to  a  dead  stop,  and  clasping  his 
hands  more  tightly  behind  him.  “I  can’t  say  it.” 

Kate  fell  back  a  step  or  two,  and  looked  at  him,  as  if  in  doubt 
wdiether  she  had  heard  aright. 

“We  are  connected  in  business,”  said  Ralph,  poising  him¬ 
self  alternately  on  his  toes  and  heels,  and  looking  coolly  in  his 
niece’s  face,  “in  business,  and  I  can’t  afford  to  offend  them. 
What  is  it,  after  all  ?  We  have  all  our  trials,  and  this  is  one  of 
yours.  Some  girls  would  be  proud  to  have  such  gallants  at 
their  feet.” 

“  Proud  I”  cried  Kate. 

“I  don’t  say,”  rejoined  Ralph,  raising  his  fore-finger,  “but 
that  you  do  right  to  despise  them ;  no,  you  show  your  gc  od 
sense  in  that,  as  indeed  I  knew  from  the  first  you  would.  Well 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


419 


In  all  other  respects  you  are  comfortably  bestowed.  It’s  not 
much  to  bear.  If  this  young  lord  does  dog  your  footsteps,  and 
whisper  his  driveling  inanities  in  your  ears,  what  of  it  ?  It’s  a 
dishonorable  passion.  So  be  it ;  it  won’t  last  long.  Some 
other  novelty  will  spring  up  one  day,  and  you  will  be  released. 
In  the  mean  time — ” 

“  In  the  mean  time,”  interrupted  Kate,  with  becoming  pride 
and  indignation,  “I  am  to  be  the  scorn  of  my  own  sex,  and  the 
toy  of  the  other;  justly  condemned  by  all  women  of  right  feel¬ 
ing,  and  despised  by  all  honest  and  honorable  men;  sunken  in 
my  own  esteem,  and  degraded  in  every  eye  that  looks  upon  me 
No,  not  if  I  work  ray  fingers  to  the  bone,  not  if  I  am  driven  to 
the  roughest  and  hardest  labor.  Do  not  mistake  me.  I  will 
not  disgrace  your  recommendation.  I  will  remain  in  the  house 
in  which  it  placed  me,  until  I  am  entitled  to  leave  it  by  the 
terms  of  my  engagement; — though,  mind,  I  see  these  men  no 
more.  When  I  quit  it,  I  will  hide  myself  from  them  and  you, 
and,  striving  to  support  ray  mother  by  hard  service,  I  will  live 
at  least,  in  peace,  and  trust  in  God  to  help  me.” 

With  these  wmrds,  she  waved  her  hand,  and  quitted  the  room, 
leaving  Ralph  Nickleby  motionless  as  a  statue. 

The  surprise  with  which  Kate,  as  she  closed  the  room-door, 
beheld,  close  beside  it,  Newman  Noggs  standing  bolt  upright  in 
a  little  niche  in  the  wall,  like  some  scarecrow  or  Guy  Faux  laid 
up  in  winter  quarters,  almost  occasioned  her  to  call  aloud.  But, 
Newman  laying  his  finger  upon  his  lips,  she  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  refrain. 

“Don’t,”  said  Newsman,  gliding  out  of  his  recess,  and  accom¬ 
panying  her  across  the  hall.  “  Don’t  cry,  don’t  cry.”  Two 
very  large  tears,  by-the-by,  were  running  down  Newman’s  face 
ns  he  spoke. 

“  I  see  how  it  is,”  said  poor  Noggs,  drawing  from  his  pocket 
what  seemed  to  be  a  very  old  duster,  and  wiping  Kate’s  eyes 
with  it,  as  gently  as  if  she  were  an  infant.  “You’re  giving  way 
now.  Yes,  yes,  very  good  ;  that’s  right,  I  like  that.  It  was 
right  noi  to  give  way  before  him.  Yes,  yes  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  1  Oh, 
j'es.  Poor  thing  !” 

With  these  disjointed  exclamations,  Newman  wiped  his  owu 


420 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


eyes  with  the  afore-mentioned  duster,  and,  limping  to  the  street- 
door,  opened  it  to  let  her  out. 

“  Don’t  cry  any  more,”  whispered  Newman.  “  I  shall  see 
you  soon.  Ha !  ha  1  ha  1  And  so  shall  somebody  else  too. 
Yes,  yes.  Ho  1  ho  !” 

“  God  bless  you,”  answered  Kate,  hurrying  out,  ‘‘  God  bless 
you.” 

“  Same  to  you,”  rejoined  Newman,  opening  the  door  again  a 
little  way,  to  say  so.  “  Ha,  ha,  ha  1  Ho  1  ho  1  ho  I” 

And  Newman  Noggs  opened  the  door  once  again  to  nod 
cheerfully,  and  laugh — and  shut  it,  to  shake  his  head  mournfully, 
and  cry. 

Ralph  remained  in  the  same  attitude  till  he  heard  the  noise 
of  the  closing  door,  when  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  after 
a  few  turns  about  the  room — hasty  at  first,  but  gradually  be¬ 
coming  slower,  as  he  relapsed  into  himself — sat  down  before 
his  desk. 

It  is  one  of  those  problems  of  human  nature,  which  may  be 
noted  down,  but  not  solved ; — although  Ralph  felt  no  remorse 
at  that  moment  for  his  conduct  towards  the  innocent,  true¬ 
hearted  girl ;  although  his  libertine  clients  had  done  precisely 
what  he  had  expected,  precisely  what  he  most  wished,  and  pre¬ 
cisely  what  would  tend  most  to  his  advantage,  still  he  hated 
them  for  doing  it,  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  soul. 

“Ughl”  said  Ralph,  scowling  round  and  shaking  his 
clinched  hand  as  the  faces  of  the  two  profligates  rose  up  be¬ 
fore  his  mind ;  “  you  shall  pay  for  this.  Oh  I  you  shall  pay 
for  this  1” 

As  the  usurer  turned  for  consolation  to  his  books  and  papers, 
a  performance  was  going  on  outside  his  office-door,  which  would 
have  occasioned  him  no  small  surprise,  if  he  could  by  any  means 
have  become  acquainted  with  it. 

Newman  Noggs  was  the  sole  actor.  He  stood  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  door,  with  his  face  towards  it;  and  with  the 
sleeves  of  his  coat  turned  back  at  the  wrists,  was  occupied  in 
bestowing  the  most  vigorous,  scientific,  and  straightforward 
blows  upon  the  empty  air. 

At  first  sight,  this  would  have  appeared  merely  a  wise  pre¬ 
caution  in  a  man  of  sedentary  habits,  with  the  view  of  opening 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


421 


the  chest  and  strengthening  the  muscles  of  the  arms.  But  the 
intense  eagerness  and  joy  depicted  in  the  face  of  Newman  Noggs, 
which  was  suffused  with  perspiration;  the  surprising  energy 
with  which  he  directed  a  constant  succession  of  blows  towards 
a  particular  panel  about  five  feet  eight  from  the  ground, 
and  still  worked  away  in  the  most  untiring  and  persevering 
manner,  would  have  sufficiently  explained  to  the  attentive  ob¬ 
server,  that  his  imagination  was  threshing,  to  within  an  inch 
of  his  life,  his  body’s  most  active  employer,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


THE  PROCEEDINGS  OF  NICHOLAS,  AND  CERTAIN  INTERNAL 
DIVISIONS  IN  THE  COMPANY  OF  MR.  VINCENT  CRUMMLES. 

The  unexpected  success  and  favor  with  which  his  experiment 
at  Portsmouth  had  been  received,  induced  Mr.  Crummies  to 
prolong  his  stay  in  that  town  for  a  fortnight  beyond  the  period 
he  had  originally  assigned  for  the  duration  of  his  visit,  during 
which  time  Nicholas  personated  a  vast  variety  of  characters 
with  undiminished  success,  and  attracted  so  many  people  to  the 
theatre,  who  had  never  been  seen  there  before,  that  a  benefit  was 
considered  by  the  manager  a  very  promising  speculation.  Nicho¬ 
las  assenting  to  the  terms  proposed,  the  benefit  was  had,  and 
by  it  he  realized  no  less  a  sum  than  twenty  pounds. 

Possessed  of  this  unexpected  wealth,  his  first  act  was  to  in¬ 
close  to  honest  John  Browdie  the  amount  of  his  friendly  loan, 
which  he  accompanied  with  many  expressions  of  gratitude  and 
esteem,  and  many  cordial  wishes  for  his  matrimonial  happiness. 
To  Newman  Noggs  he  forwarded  one  half  of  the  sum  he  had 
realized,  entreating  him  to  take  an  opportunity  of  handing  it 
to  Kate  in  secret,  and  conveying  to  her  the  warmest  assurances 
of  his  love  and  affection.  lie  made  no  mention  of  the  way  in 
which  he  had  employed  himself;  merely  informing  Newman  that 
a  letter  addressed  to  him  under  his  assumed  name  at  the  Post 
Office,  Portsmouth,  would  readily  find  him,  and  entreating  that 
worthy  friend  to  write  full  particulars  of  the  situation  of  his 
mother  and  sister,  and  an  account  of  all  the  grand  things 
that  Ralph  Nickleby  had  done  for  them  since  his  departure  from' 
London. 

“  You  are  out  of  spirits,”  said  Smike,  on  the  night  after  the 
letter  had  been  dispatched. 

“Not  1 1”  rejoined  Nicholas,  with  assumed  gayety,  for  the 
confession  would  have  made  the  boy  miserable  all  night;  “I  was 
thinking  about  my  sister,  Smike.” 

(422) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


423 


''  Sister  I’ 

“  Aye.” 

“  Ts  she  like  you  ?”  inquired  Smike. 

“Why,  so  they  say,”  replied  Nicholas,  laughing,  “only  a  grea 
deal  handsomer.” 

“  She  must  be  very  beautiful,”  said  Smike,  after  thinking  a 
little  while,  with  his  hands  folded  together,  and  his  eyes  bent 
upon  his  friend. 

“Any  body  who  didn’t  know  you  as  well  as  I  do,  my  dear 
fellow,  would  say  you  were  an  accomplished  courtier,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“  I  don’t  even  know  what  that  is,”  replied  Smike,  shaking  his 
head.  “  Shall  I  ever  see  your  sister?” 

“To  be  sure,”  cried  Nicholas;  “we  shall  all  be  together  one 
of  these  days — when  we  are  rich,  Smike.” 

“  How  is  it  that  you,  who  are  so  kind  and  good  to  me, 
have  nobody  to  be  kind  to  you  ?”  asked  Smike.  “  I  cannot 
make  that  out.” 

“Why,  it  is  a  long  story,”  replied  Nicholas,  “and  one  you 
would  have  some  difficulty  in  comprehending,  I  fear.  I  have 
an  enemy — you  understand  what  that  is  ?” 

“  Oh,  yes,  I  understand  that,”  said  Smike. 

“Well,  it  is  owing  to  him,”  returned  Nicholas.  “He  is 
rich,  and  not  so  easily  punished  as  your  old  enemy,  Mr. 
Squeers.  He  is  my  uncle,  but  he  is  a  villain,  and  has  done  mo 
wrong.  ” 

“  Has  he  though  ?”  asked  Smike,  bending  eagerly  forward 
“  What  is  his  name  ?  Tell  me  his  name.” 

“Ralph — Ralph  Nickleby.” 

“Ralph  Nickleby,”  repeated  Smike.  “Ralph.  I’ll  get  that 
name  by  heart.” 

He  had  muttered  it  over  to  himself  some  twenty  times, 
when  a  loud  knock  at  the  door  disturbed  him  from  his  occupa¬ 
tion.  Before  he  could  open  it,  Mr.  Folair,  the  pantomimist,  thrust 
in  his  head. 

Mr.  Folair’s  head  was  usually  decorated  with  a  very  rouna 
hat,  unusually  high  in  the  crown,  and  curled  up  quite  tight  in 
the  brims.  On  the  present  occasion  he  wore  it  very  much  on 
one  side,  with  the  back  oart  forward  in  consequence  of  its  be 


424 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ing  the  least  rusty;  round  his  neck  he  wore  a  flaming  red 
worsted  comforter,  whereof  the  straggling  ends  peeped  out  be¬ 
neath  his  threadbare  Newmarket  coat,  which  was  very  tight 
and  buttoned  ail  the  way  up.  He  carried  in  his  hand  one  very 
dirty  glove,  and  a  cheap  dress  cane  with  a  glass  handle  ;  in 
short,  his  whole  appearance  was  unusually  dashing,  and  deui'^n- 
strated  a  far  more  scrupulous  attention  to  his  toilet,  than  be 
was  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  upon  it. 

“  Good  evening.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  taking  off  the  tall  hat, 
and  running  bis  fingers  through  his  hair.  “  I  bring  a  commu¬ 
nication.  Hera  1” 

“From  whom,  and  what  about?”  inquired  Nicholas.  "You 
are  unusually  mysterious  to-night.” 

"Cold,  perhaps,”  returned  Mr.  Folair;  “cold,  perhaps. 
That  is  the  fault  of  my  position — not  of  myself,  Mr.  Johnson. 
My  position  as  a  mutual  friend  requires  it.  Sir.”  Mr.  Folair 
paused  with  a  most  impressive  look,  and  diving  into  the  hat 
before  noticed,  drew  from  thence  a  small  piece  of  whitey-brown 
paper  curiously  folded,  whence  he  brought  forth  a  note  which 
it  had  served  to  keep  clean,  and  handing  it  over  to  Nicholas, 
said — 

"Have  the  goodness  to  read  that.  Sir.” 

Nicholas,  in  a  state  of  much  amazement,  took  the  note  and 
broke  the  seal,  glancing  at  Mr.  Folair  as  he  did  so,  who  knitting 
his  brow  and  pursing  up  his  mouth  with  great  dignity,  was 
sitting  with  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  the  ceiling. 

It  was  directed  to  blank  Johnson,  Esq.,  by  favor  of  Augustus 
Folair,  Esq. ;  and  the  astonishment  of  Nicholas  was  in  no  degree 
lessened,  when  he  found  it  to  be  couched  in  the  following  laconic 
terms : 

"Mr.  Lenville  presents  his  kind  regards  to  Mr.  Johnson,  and 
will  feel  obliged  if  he  will  inform  him  at  what  hour  to-morrow 
morning  it  will  be  most  convenient  to  him  to  meet  Mr.  L.  at 
the  Theati’e,  for  the  purpose  of  having  his  nose  pulled  in  the 
presence  of  the  company. 

"Mr.  Lenville  requests  Mr.  Johnson  not  to  neglect  making 
an  appointment,  as  he  has  invited  two  or  three  professioual 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


42C 


friends  to  witness  the  ceremony,  and  cannot  disappoint  them 
upon  any  account  whatever. 

“ PortsinouLh,  Tuesday  nighV 

Indignant  as  he  was  at  this  impertinence,  tiiere  was  some 
thing  so  exquisitely  absurd  in  such  a  cartel  of  defiance,  that 
Nicholas  was  obliged  to  bite  his  lip  and  read  the  note  over  two 
or  three  times  before  he  could  muster  sufficient  gravity  and 
sternness  to  address  the  hostile  messenger,  who  had  not  taken 
his  eyes  from  the  ceiling,  nor  altered  the  expression  of  his  face 
in  the  slightest  degree. 

“Do  you  know  the  contents  of  this  note.  Sir  ?”  he  asked  at 
length. 

“  Yes,”  rejoined  Mr.  Folair,  looking  round  for  an  instant, 
and  immediately  carrying  his  eyes  back  again  to  the  ceiling. 

“  And  how  dare  you  bring  it  here.  Sir  ?”  asked  Nicholas, 
tearing  it  into  very  little  pieces,  and  jerking  it  in  a  shower 
towards  the  messenger.  “  Ilad  you  no  fear  of  being  kicked 
down  stairs.  Sir  ?” 

Mr.  Folair  turned  his  head — now  ornamented  with  several 
fragments  of  the  note — towards  Nicholas,  and  with  the  same 
imperturbable  dignity  briefly  replied  “No.” 

“  Then,”  said  Nicholas,  taking  up  the  tall  hat  and  tossing  it 
towards  the  door,  “you  had  better  follow  that  article  of  your 
dress.  Sir,  or  you  may  find  yourself  'ery  disagreeably  deceived, 
and  that  within  a  dozen  seconds.” 

“I  say,  Johnson,”  remonstrated  Mr.  Folair,  suddenly  losing 
all  his  dignity,  “none  of  that,  you  know.  No  tricks  with  a 
gentleman’s  wardrobe.” 

“Leave  the  room,”  returned  Nicholas.  “How  could  you 
presume  to  come  here  on  such  an  errand,  you  scoundrel  ?” 

“  Pooh  !  pooh  !”  said  Mr.  Folair,  unwinding  his  comforter, 
and  gradually  getting  himself  out  of  it.  “  There — that’s  enough.” 

“  Enough  !”  cried  Nicholas,  advancing  towards  him.  “  Take 
yourself  otf.  Sir.” 

“Pooh  1  pooh  !  I  tell  you,”  returned  Mr.  Folair  waving  his 
hand  in  deprecation  of  any  further  wrath  ;  “  I  wasn’t  in  earnest. 
I  only  brought  it  in  joke.” 

“You  had  better  be  careful  how  you  indulge  tn  such  jokes 


426 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


aerain,”  said  Isicholas,  “  or  you  may  find  an  allusion  to  pulling 
noses  rather  a  dangerous  reminder  for  the  subject  of  your  face¬ 
tiousness.  Was  it  written  in  joke  too,  pray  ?” 

“No,  no,  that’s  the  best  of  it,”  returned  the  actor;  “right 
down  earnest — honor  bright.” 

Nicholas  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the  odd  figure  before 
him,  which,  at  all  times  more  calculated  to  provoke  mirth  than 
anger,  was  especially  so  at  that  moment,  when  with  one  knee 
upon  the  ground  Mr.  Folair  twirled  his  old  hat  round  upon  his 
hand,  and  affected  the  extremest  agony  lest  any  of  the  nap 
should  have  been  knocked  off — an  ornament  which,  it  is  almost 
superfluous  to  say,  it  had  not  boasted  for  many  months. 

“  Come,  Sir,”  said  Nicholas,  laughing  in  spite  of  himself. 
“Have  the  goodness  to  explain.” 

“  Why,  I’ll  tell  you  how  it  is,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  sittting  him¬ 
self  down  in  a  chair  with  great  coolness.  “  Since  you  came 
here,  Lenville  has  done  nothing  but  second  business,  and,  instead 
of  having  a  reception  every  night  as  he  used  to  have,  they  have 
let  him  come  on  as  if  he  was  nobody.” 

“What  do  you  mean  by  a  reception  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“Jupiter!”  exclaimed  Mr.  Folair,  “what  an  unsophisticated 
shepherd  you  are,  Johnson !  Why,  applause  from  the  house 
when  you  first  come  on.  So  he  has  gone  on  night  after  night, 
ne^er  getting  a  hand  and  you  getting  a  couple  of  rounds  at 
least,  and  sometimes  three,  till  at  length  he  got  quite  desperate, 
and  had  half  a  mind  last  night  to  play  Tybalt  \^dth  a  real  sword, 
and  pink  you — not  dangerously,  but  just  enough  to  lay  you  up 
for  a  month  or  two.” 

“Very  considerate,”  remarked  Nicholas. 

“Yes,  I  think  it  was,  under  the  circumstances;  his  profes¬ 
sional  reputation  being  at  stake,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  quite  seri¬ 
ously.  “  But  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  cast  about  for  some 
other  way  of  annoying  you,  and  making  himself  popular  at  the 
same  time — for  that’s  the  point.  Notoriety,  notoriety,  is  the 
thing.  Bless  you,  if  he  had  pinked  you,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  stop¬ 
ping  to  make  a  calculation  in  his  mind,  “  it  would  have  been 
worth — ah,  if  would  have  been  worth  eight  or  ten  shillings  a 
week  to  him.  All  the  town  would  have  come  to  see  the  actor 
who  nearly  killed  a  man  by  mistake;  I  shouldn’t  wonder  if  it 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


m 

had  got  him  an  engagement  in  London.  Ilovyever,  he  was 
obliged  to  try  some  other  mode  of  getting  popular,  and  this 
one  occurred  to  him.  It’s  a  clever  idea,  really.  If  you  had 
shown  the  white  feather,  and  let  him  pull  your  nose,  he’d  have 
got  it  into  the  paper;  if  you  had  sworn  the  peace  against  him, 
it  would  have  been  in  the  paper  too,  and  he’d  have  been  just  as 
much  talked  about  as  you — don’t  you  see  ?” 

“Oh,  certainly,”  rejoined  Nicholas;  “but  suppose  I  were  to 
turn  the  tables,  and  pull  his  nose,  what  then  ?  Would  that 
make  his  fortune  ?” 

“  Why,  I  don’t  think  it  would,”  replied  Mr.  Folair,  scratch¬ 
ing  his  head,  “  because  there  wouldn’t  be  any  romance  about  it, 
and  he  wouldn’t  be  favorably  known.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
though,  he  didn’t  calculate  much  upon  that,  for  you’re  always 
so  mild-spoken,  and  are  so  popular  among  the  women,  that  we 
didn’t  suspect  you  of  showing  fight.  If  you  did,  however,  he 
has  a  way  of  getting  out  of  it  easily,  depend  upon  that.” 

“Has  he?”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “We  will  try,  to-morrow 
morning.  In  the  mean  time,  you  can  give  what  ever  account  of 
our  interview  you  like  best.  Good  night.” 

As  Mr.  Folair  was  pretty  well  known  among  his  fellow-actors 
for  a  man  who  delighted  in  mischief,  and  was  by  no  means  scru- 
pulons,  Nicholas  had  not  much  doubt  but  that  he  had  secretly 
prompted  the  tragedian  in  the  course  he  had  taken,  and,  more¬ 
over,  that  he  would  have  carried  his  mission  with  a  very  high 
hand  if  he  had  not  been  disconcerted  by  the  very  unexpected 
demonstrations  with  which  it  had  been  received.  It  was  not 
Avorth  his  while  to  be  serious  with  him,  hoAvever,  so  he  dismissed 
the  pantomimist,  with  a  gentle  hint  that  if  he  offended  again  it 
would  be  under  the  penalty  of  a  broken  head  ;  and  Mr.  Folair, 
taking  the  caution  in  exceedingly  good  part,  walked  atvay  to 
confer  Avith  his  principal,  and  give  such  an  account  of  his  pro¬ 
ceedings  as  he  might  think  best  calculated  to  carry  on  the  joke. 

lie  had  no  doubt  reported  that  Nicholas  Avas  in  a  state  of 
extreme  bodily  fear  ;  for  Avhen  that  young  gentleman  walked 
with  much  deliberation  down  to  the  theatre  next  morning,  at 
the  usual  hour,  he  found  all  the  company  assembled  in  evident 
expectation,  and  Mr.  Lenville,  Avith  his  severest  stage  face, 
sitting  majestically  on  a  table,  whistling  defiance. 


428 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Now  the  lavlies  were  on  the  side  of  Nicholas,  and  the  gentle¬ 
men  (being  jealous)  were  on  the  side  of  the  disappointed  trage¬ 
dian  ;  so  that  the  latter  formed  a  little  group  about  the  redoubt¬ 
able  Mr.  Lenville,  and  the  former  looked  on  at  a  little  distance 
in  some  trepidation  and  anxiety.  On  Nicholas  stopping  to 
salute  them,  Mr.  Lenville  laughed  a  scornful  laugh,  and  made 
some  general  remark  touching  the  natural  history  of  puppies. 

“  Oh !”  said  Nicholas,  looking  quietly  round,  “  are  you 
there 

“  Slave  1”  returned  Mr.  Lenville,  flourishing  his  right  arm, 
and  approaching  Nicholas  with  a  theatrical  stride.  But  some¬ 
how  he  appeai’ed  just  at  that  moment  a  little  startled,  as  if 
Nicholas  did  not  look  quite  so  frightened  as  he  had  expected, 
and  came  all  at  once  to  an  awkward  halt,  at  which  the  assem¬ 
bled  ladies  burst  into  a  shrill  laugh. 

“  Object  of  my  scorn  and  hatred  I”  said  Mr.  Lenville,  "  I  hold 
ye  in  contempt.” 

Nicholas  laughed  in  very  unexpected  enjoyment  of  this  per¬ 
formance  ;  and  the  ladies,  by  way  of  encouragement,  laughed 
louder  than  before  ;  whereat  Mr.  Lenville  assumed  his  bitterest 
smile,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that  they  were  “  minions.  ” 

"But  they  shall  not  protect  ye  I”  said  the  tragedian,  taking 
an  upward  look  at  Nicholas,  beginning  at  his  boots  and  ending 
at  the  crown  of  his  head,  and  then  a  downward  one,  beginning 
at  the  crown  of  his  head,  and  ending  at  his  boots — which  two 
looks,  as  every  body  knows,  express  defiance  on  the  stage. 
"They  shall  not  protect  ye — boy  I” 

Thus  speaking,  Mr.  Lenville  folded  his  arms,  and  treated 
Nicholas  to  that  expression  of  face  with  which,  in  melo-dramatio 
performances,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  regarding  the  tyrannical 
kings,  when  they  said,  "Away  with  him  to  the  deepest  dungeon 
beneath  the  castle  moat and  which,  accompanied  with  a  little 
Jingling  of  fetters,  had  been  known  to  produce  great  elfects  in 
its  time. 

Whether  it  was  the  absence  of  the  fetters  or  not,  it  made  no 
very  deep  impression  on  Mr.  Lenville’s  adversary,  however,  but 
rather  seemed  to  increase  the  good  humor  expressed  in  his 
countenance ;  in  which  stage  of  the  contest,  one  or  two  gentle¬ 
men  who  had  come  out  expressly  to  witness  the  pulling  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


429 


Nicholas’s  nose,  grew  impatient,  murmuring  that  if  it  were  to 
be  dono  at  all,  it  had  better  be  done  at  once,  and  that  if  Mr. 
Leiiville  didn’t  mean  to  do  it  he  had  better  say  so,  and  not 
keep  them  waiting  there.  Thus  urged,  the  tragedian  adjusted 
the  culf  of  his  right  coat  sleeve  for  the  performance  of  the  ope¬ 
ration,  and  walked  in  a  very  stately  manner  up  to  Nicholas,  who 
Buffered  him  to  approach  to  within  the  requisite  distance,  and 
then,  without  the  smallest  discomposure,  knocked  him  down. 

Before  the  discomfited  tragedian  could  raise  his  head  from 
the  boards,  Mrs.  Lenville  (who,  as  has  been  before  hinted,  was 
in  an  interesting  state)  rushed  from  the  rear  rank  of  ladies,  and 
uttering  a  piercing  scream  threw  herself  upon  the  body. 

“Do  you  see  this,  monster?  Do  you  see  thisT’  cried  Mr. 
Lenville,  sitting  up,  and  pointing  to  his  prostrate  lady,  who 
was  holding  him  very  tight  round  the  waist. 

“Come,”  said  Nicholas,  nodding  his  head,  “apologize  for 
the  insolent  note  you  wrote  to  me  last  night,  and  waste  no  more 
time  in  talking.” 

“Never!”  cried  Mr.  Lenville. 

“Yes — yes — yes — ”  screamed  his  wife,  “For  my  sake — for 
mine,  Lenville — forego  all  idle  forms,  unless  you  would  see  me 
a  blighted  corse  at  your  feet.” 

“  This  is  affecting  !”  said  Mr.  Lenville,  looking  round  him. 
and  drawing  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  “  The  ties 
of  nature  are  strong.  The  weak  husband  and  the  father — the 
father  that  is  yet  to  be — relents.  I  apologize.” 

“Humbly  and  submissively?”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Humbly  and  submissively,”  returned  the  tragedian,  scowling 
upwards.  “But  only  to  save  her, — for  a  time  will  come - ” 

“Very  good,”  said  Nicholas;  “I  hope  Mrs.  Lenville  may 
have  a  good  one ;  and  when  it  does  come,  and  you  are  a  father, 
you  shall  retract  it  if  you  have  the  courage.  There.  Be  care¬ 
ful,  Sir,  to  what  lengths  your  jealousy  carries  you  another  time; 
and  be  careful,  also,  before  you  venture  too  far,  to  ascertain 
your  rival’s  temper.”  With  this  parting  advice  Nicholas  jiicked 
up  Mr.  Lenville’s  ash  stick  which  had  flown  out  of  his  hand, 
and  breaking  it  in  half,  threw  him  the  pieces  and  withdrew, 
bowing  slightly  to  the  spectators  as  he  walked  out. 

I’hc  profoundest  deference  was  paid  to  Nicholas  that  night, 
and  the  people  who  had  been  most  anxious  to  have  his  nose 


430 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


pulled  in  tlie  morning,  embraced  occasions  of  taking  him  aside, 
and  telling  him  with  great  feeling,  how  very  friendly  they  took 
it  that  he  should  have  treated  that  Lenville  so  proper!}',  who 
was  a  most  unbearable  fellow,  and  on  whom  they  had  all,  by  a 
remarkable  coineidence,  at  one  time  or  other,  contemplated  the 
infliction  of  condign  punishment,  which  they  had  only  been  re¬ 
el  rained  from  administering  by  considerations  of  mercy  ;  indeed, 
to  judge  from  the  invariable  termination  of  all  these  stories, 
there  never  was  such  a  charitable  and  kind-hearted  set  of  people 
as  the  male  members  of  Mr.  Crummies’s  company, 

Nicholas  bore  his  triumph,  as  he  had  his  success  in  the  little 
world  of  the  theatre,  with  the  utmost  moderation  and  good 
humor.  The  crest-fallen  Mr.  Lenville  made  an  expiring  effort 
to  obtain  revenge  by  sending  a  boy  into  the  gallery  to  hiss,  but 
he  fell  a  sacrifice  to  popular  indignation,  and  was  promptly 
turned  out  without  having  his  money  back. 

"Well,  Smike,”  said  Nicholas  when  the  first  piece  was  over, 
and  he  had  almost  finished  dressing  to  go  home,  “  is  there  any 
letter  yet?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Smike,  “I  got  this  one  from  the  post-office.” 

“From  Newman  Noggs,”  said  Nicholas,  casting  his  eye  upon 
the  cramped  direction;  “it’s  no  easy  matter  to  make  his  writing 
out.  Let  me  see — let  me  see.” 

By  dint  of  poring  over  the  letter  for  half  an  hour,  he  con¬ 
trived  to  make  himself  master  of  the  contents,  which  were  cer¬ 
tainly  not  of  a  nature  to  set  his  mind  at  ease.  Newman  took 
upon  himself  to  send  back  the  ten  pounds,  observing  that  he 
had  ascertained  that  neither  Mrs.  Nickleby  nor  Kate  was  in 
actual  w'ant  of  money  at  the  moment,  and  that  a  time  might 
shortly  come  when  Nicholas  might  want  it  more.  He  entreated 
him  not  to  be  alarmed  at  what  he  was  about  to  say  ; — there  was 
no  bad  news — they  Avere  in  good  health — but  he  thought  cir¬ 
cumstances  might  occur,  or  were  occurring,  which  would  render 
it  absolutely  necessary  that  Kate  should  have  her  brother’s  pro¬ 
tection,  and  if  so,  Newman  said,  he  would  write  to  him  to  that 
effect,  either  by  the  next  post  or  the  next  but  one. 

Nicholas  read  the  passage  very  often,  and  the  more  he 
thought  of  it  the  more  he  began  to  fear  some  treachery  upon  the 
part  of  Ralph.  Once  or  twice  he  felt  tempted  to  repair  to 
London  at  all  hazards,  without  an  hour’s  delay,  but  a  little  re- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLLBY. 


•13] 


flection  assured  Lim  that  if  such  a  step  were  necessary,  Newman 
would  have  spoken  out  and  told  him  so  at  once. 

“At  all  events,  I  should  prepare  tliem  here  for  the  possibility 
of  my  going  oAvay  suddenly,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “I  should  lose  no 
time  in  doing  that.”  As  the  thought  occurred  to  him,  lie  took 
up  his  hat  and  hurried  to  the  green-room. 

“Well,  Mr.  Johnson,”  said  Mrs.  Crunrmles,  who  was  seated 
there  in  full  regal  costume,  with  the  phenomenon  as  the  IMaiden 
in  her  maternal  arms,  “next  week  for  Hyde,  then  for  Winches¬ 
ter,  then  for - ” 

“I  have  some  reason  to  fear,”  interrupted  Nicholas,  “that 
before  you  leave  here  my  career  with  you  will  have  closed.” 

“Closed!”  cried  Mrs.  Crummies,  raising  her  hands  in  aston¬ 
ishment. 

“Closed!”  cried  Miss  Snevellicci,  trembling  so  much  in  her 
tights  that  she  actually  laid  her  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the 
manageress  for  support. 

“Why,  he  don’t  mean  to  say  he’s  going!”  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Grudden,  making  her  way  towards  Mrs.  Crummies.  “Hoity 
toity  !  nonsense.” 

The  phenomenon,  being  of  an  affectionate  nature,-  and  more¬ 
over  excitable,  raised  a  loud  cry,  and  Miss  Belvawney  and  Muss 
Bravassa  actually  shed  tears.  Even  the  male  performers  stopjied 
in  their  conversation,  and  echoed  the  word  “Going!”  although 
some  among  them  (and  they  had  been  the  loudest  in  their  con¬ 
gratulations  that  day)  winked  at  each  other  as  though  they 
would  not  be  sorry  to  lose  such  a  favored  rival :  an  opinion, 
indeed,  which  the  honest  Mr.  Folair,  who  was  ready  dressed  for 
the  Savage,  openly  stated  in  so  many  words  to  a  demon  with 
whom  he  was  sharing  a  pot  of  porter. 

Nicholas  briefly  said  that  he  feared  it  would  be  so,  although 
he  could  not  yet  speak  with  any  degree  of  certainty  ;  and  getting 
away  as  soon  as  he  could,  went  home  to  con  Newman’s  letter 
once  more,  and  speculate  upon  it  afresh. 

How  trifling  all  that  had  been  occupying  his  time  and  thoughts 
for  many  weeks  seemed  to  him  during  that  sleepless  nigh!", 
and  how  constantly  and  incessantly  present  to  his  imagination 
was  tlie  one  idea  that  Kate  in  the  midst  of  some  great  trouble 
and  distress  might  even  then  be  looking — and  vainly  too — for 
him ! 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


FESTIVITIES  ARE  HELD  IN  HONOR  OP  NICHOLAS,  WHO  SUD¬ 
DENLY  WITHDRAWS  HI5ISELP  FROM  THE  SOCIETY  OP  MR. 

VINCENT  CRUMMLES  AND  HIS  THEATRICAL  COMPANIONS. 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummles  was  no  sooner  acquainted  with  the 
public  announcement  which  Nicholas  had  made  relative  to  the 
probability  of  his  shortly  ceasing  to  be  a  member  of  the  com¬ 
pany,  than  he  evinced  many  tokens  of  grief  and  consternation  ; 
and,  in  the  extremity  of  his  despair,  even  held  out  certain  vague 
promises  of  a  speedy  improvement  not  only  in  the  amount  of  his 
regular  salary,  but  also  in  the  contingent  emoluments  appertain¬ 
ing  to  his  authorship.  Finding  Nicholas  bent  upon  quitting 
the  society — for  he  had  now  determined  that,  even  if  no  further 
tidings  came  from  Newman,  he  would,  at  all  hazards,  ease  his 
mind  by  repairing  to  London  and  ascertaining  the  exact  position 
of  his  sister — Mr.  Crummies  was  fain  to  content  himself  by 
calculating  the  chances  of  his  coming  back  again,  and  taking 
prompt  and  energetic  measures  to  make  the  most  of  him  before 
he  went  away. 

“  Let  me  see,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  taking  oif  his  outlaw’s 
wig,  the  better  to  arrive  at  a  cool-headed  view  of  the  whole 
case.  “Let  me  see.  This  is  Wednesday  night.  We’ll  have 
posters  out  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  announcing  positively 
your  last  appearance  for  to-morrow.” 

“  But  perliaps  it  may  not  be  my  last  appearance,  you  know,” 
said  Nicholas.  “Unless  I  am  summoned  away,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  inconvenience  you  by  leaving  before  the  end  of  the 
week.” 

“  So  much  the  better,”  returned  Mr.  Crummies.  “  We  can 
have  positively  your  last  appearance,  on  Thursday — re-engage¬ 
ment  for  one  night  more,  on  Friday — and,  yielding  to  the  wishes 
of  numerous  influential  patrons,  who  were  disappointed  in  ob- 

(d32) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


433 


tainiiig  seats,  on  Saturday.  That  ought  to  bring  three  very 
decent  houses.” 

“  Then  I  am  to  make  three  last  appearances,  am  I  ?”  inquired 
Nicholas,  smiling. 

“Yes,”  rejoined  the  manager,  scratching  his  head  with  an  air 
of  some  vexation  ;  “three  is  not  enough,  and  it’s  very  bungling 
and  irregular  not  to  have  more,  but  if  we  can’t  help  it  we 
can’t,  so  there’s  no  use  in  talking.  A  novelty  would  be  very 
desirable.  You  couldn’t  sing  a  comic  song  on  the  pony’s  back, 
could  you  ?” 

“No,”  replied  Nicholas,  “I  couldn’t  indeed.” 

“  It  has  drawn  money  before  now,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  with 
a  look  of  disappointment.  “  What  do  you  think  of  a  brilliant 
display  of  fireworks  ?” 

“  That  it  would  be  rather  expensive,”  replied  Nicholas, 
dryly. 

“ Eighteenpence  would  do  it,”  said  Mr.  Crummies.  “You 
on  the  top  of  a  pair  of  steps  with  the  phenomenon  in  an  atti¬ 
tude  ;  ‘  Farewell’  on  a  transparency  behind ;  and  nine  people 
at  the  wings  with  a  squib  in  each  hand — all  the  dozen  and  a 
half  going  off  at  once — it  would  be  very  grand — awful  from  the 
front,  quite  awful.” 

As  Nicholas  appeared  by  no  means  impressed  with  the 
solemnity  of  the  proposed  effect,  but,  on  the  contrary,  received 
the  proposition  in  a  most  irreverent  manner  and  laughed  at  it 
very  heartily,  Mr.  Crummies  abandoned  the  project  in  its  birth, 
and  gloomily  observed  that  they  must  make  up  the  best  bill  they 
could  with  combats  and  hornpipes,  and  so  stick  to  the  legi¬ 
timate  drama. 

For  the  purpose  of  carrying  this  object  into  instant  execution, 
the  manager  at  once  repaired  to  a  small  dressing-room  adjacent, 
where  Mrs.  Crummies  was  then  occupied  in  exchanging  the 
ha))iliraents  of  a  melo-dramatic  empress  for  the  ordinary  attire 
of  matrons  in  the  nineteenth  century.  And  with  the  assistance 
of  this  lady,  and  the  accomplished  Mrs.  Grudden  (who  had  quite 
a  genius  for  making  out  bills,  being  a  great  hand  at  throwing  in 
the  notes  of  admiration,  and  knowing  from  long  experience  ex¬ 
actly  where  the  largest  capitals  ought  to  go),  he  seriously  applied 
himself  to  the  composition  of  the  poster. 

28 


431 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBl 


“  Heigho  !”  sighed  Nicholas,  as  he  threw  himself  back  in  the 
prompter’s  chair,  after  telegraphing  the  needful  directions  to 
Smike,  who  had  been  playing  a  meagre  tailor  in  the  interlude, 
with  one  skirt  to  his  coat,  and  a  little  pocket-handkerchief  with 
a  large  hole  in  it,  and  a  woolen  night-cap,  and  a  red  nose,  and 
other  distinctive  marks  peculiar  to  tailors  on  the  stage.  “Ileigho  i 
I  wish  all  this  were  over.” 

“Over,  Mr.  Johnson!”  repeated  a  female  voice  behind  him, 
in  a  kind  of  plaintive  surprise. 

“It  was  an  ungallant  speech,  certainly,”  said  Nicholas,  looking 
up  to  see  who  the  speaker  was,  and  recognizing  Miss  Snevellicci. 
“I  would  not  have  made  it  if  I  had  known  you  had  been  within 
hearing.” 

“What  a  dear  that  Mr.  Digby  isl”  said  Miss  Snevellicci, 
as  the  tailor  went  off  on  the  opposite  side,  at  the  end  of  the 
piece,  with  great  applause.  (Smike’s  theatrical  name  was 
Digby.) 

“I’ll  tell  him  presently,  for  his  gratification,  that  you  said 
so,”  returned  Nicholas. 

“Oh  you  naughty  thing  1”  rejoined  Miss  Snevellicci.  “I 
don’t  know,  though,  that  I  should  much  mind  his  knowing  my 
opinion  of  him  ;  with  some  other  people,  indeed,  it  might  be — ” 
Here  Miss  Snevellicci  stopped,  as  though  waiting  to  be  ques¬ 
tioned,  but  no  questioning  came,  for  Nicholas  was  thinking 
about  more  serious  matters. 

“How  kind  it  is  of  you,”  resumed  Miss  Snevellicci,  after  a 
short  silence,  “to  sit  waiting  here  for  him  night  after  night, 
night  after  night,  no  matter  how  tired  you  are ;  and  taking  so 
much  pains  with  him,  and  doing  it  all  with  as  much  delight  and 
readiness  as  if  you  w'ere  coining  gold  by  it  1” 

“  He  well  deserves  all  the  kindness  I  can  show  him,  and  a 
great  deal  more,”  said  Nicholas.  “  He  is  the  most  grateful, 
single-hearted,  affectionate  creature,  that  ever  breathed.” 

“So  odd,  too,”  remarked  ^liss  Snevellicci,  “isn’t  he?” 

“  God  help  him,  and  those  who  have  made  him  so,  he  is  in¬ 
deed,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head. 

“He  is  such  a  devilish  close  chap,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  who  had 
come  up  a  little  before,  and  now  joined  in  the  couversatVia, 
“Nobody  can  ever  get  any  thing  out  of  him.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


4S5 


‘*What  should  they  get  out  of  him  ?”  asked  Nicholas,  traming 
round  with  some  abruptness. 

“  Zooks  I  what  a  fire-eater  you  are,  Johnson  !”  returned  Mr. 
Folair,  pulling  up  the  heel  of  his  dancing  shoe.  '•  I’m  only 
talking  of  the  natural  curiosity  of  the  people  here,  to  know 
what  he  has  been  about  all  his  life.” 

“  Poor  fellow  1  it  is  pretty  plain,  I  should  think,  that  he  hag 
not  the  intellect  to  have  been  about  any  thing  of  much  import¬ 
ance  to  them  or  any  body  else,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Aye,”  rejoined  the  actor,  contemplating  the  effect  of  hia 
face  in  a  lamp  reflector,  “  but  that  involves  the  whole  question, 
you  know.” 

“  What  question  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Why,  the  who  he  is  and  what  he  is,  and  how  you  two,  who 
are  so  different,  came  to  be  such  close  companions,”  replied  Mr. 
Folair,  delighted  with  the  opportunity  of  saying  something 
disagreeable.  “That’s  in  every  body’s  mouth.” 

“  The  ‘  every  body’  of  the  theatre,  I  suppose  ?”  said  Nicholas, 
contemptuously. 

“  In  it  and  out  of  it  too,”  replied  the  actor.  “  Why,  you 
know,  Lenville  says — ” 

“  I  thought  I  had  silenced  him  effectually,”  interrupted 
Nicholas,  reddening. 

“  Perhaps  you  have,”  rejoined  the  immovable  Mr.  Folair ; 
if  you  have,  he  said  this  before  he  was  silenced ;  Lenville  says 
that  you’re  a  regular  stick  of  an  actor,  and  that  it’s  only  the 
mystery  about  you  that  has  caused  you  to  go  down  with  the 
people  here,  and  that  Crummies  keeps  it  up  for  his  own  sake  ; 
though  Lenville  says  he  don’t  believe  there’s  any  thing  at  all  In 
it,  except  your  having  got  into  a  scrajae  and  run  away  from 
somewhere,  for  doing  something  or  other.” 

“Oh  I”  said  Nicholas,  forcing  a  smile. 

“That’s  a  part  of  what  he  says,”  added  Mr.  Folair.  “I 
mention  it  as  the  friend  of  both  parties,  and  in  strict  confidence. 
I  don’t  agree  with  him,  you  know.  lie  says  he  takes  Digby  to 
be  more  knave  than  fool ;  and  old  Fluggers,  who  does  the  heavy 
business,  you  know,  he  says  that  when  he  delivered  messages  at 
Covent  Garden  the  season  before  last,  there  used  to  be  a  pick¬ 
pocket  hovering  about  the  coach-stand  who  had  exactly  the 


436 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


face  of  Digby  ;  though,  as  he  very  properly  says,  Digby  may  not 
be  the  same,  but  only  his  brother,  or  some  near  relation.” 

“  Oh  1”  cried  Nicholas  again 

“Yes,”  said  Mr.  Folair,  with  undisturbed  calmness,  “that’s 
what  they  say.  I  thought  I’d  tell  you,  because  really  you 
ought  to  know.  Oh  I  here’s  this  blessed  phenomenon  at  last. 
Ugh,  you  little  imposition,  I  should  like  to — quite  ready,  my 
darling, — humbug. — Ring  up,  Mrs.  G.,  and  let  the  favorite 
wake  ’em.” 

Uttering  in  a  loud  voice  such  of  the  latter  allusions  as  were 
complimentary  to  the  unconscious  phenomenon,  and  giving  the 
rest  in  a  confidential  “  aside”  to  Nicholas,  Mr.  Folair  followed 
the  ascent  of  the  curtain  with  his  eyes,  regarded  with  a  sneer 
the  reception  of  Miss  Crummies  as  the  Maiden,  and,  falling 
back  a  step  or  two  to  advance  with  the  better  effect,  uttered  a 
preliminary  howl,  and  “  went  on”  chattering  his  teeth  and 
brandishing  his  tin  tomahawk  as  the  Indian  Savage. 

“  So  these  are  some  of  the  stories  they  invent  about  ns,  and 
bandy  from  mouth  to  mouth  I”  thought  Nicholas.  “  If  a  man 
would  commit  an  inexpiable  offence  against  any  society,  large 
or  small,  let  him  be  successful.  They  will  forgive  him  any 
crime  but  that.” 

“You  surely  don’t  mind  what  that  malicious  creature  says, 
Mr.  Johnson  ?”  observed  Miss  Snevellicci,  in  her  most  winning 
tones. 

“Not  I,”  replied  Nicholas.  “If  I  were  going  to  remain 
here,  I  might  think  it  worth  my  while  to  embroil  myself.  As 
it  is,  let  them  talk  till  they  are  hoarse.  But  here,”  added 
Nicholas,  as  Smike  approached,  “here  comes  the  subject  of  a 
portion  of  their  good-nature,  so  let  he  and  I  say  good  night 
together.” 

“No,  I  will  not  let  either  of  you  say  any  thing  of  the  kind,” 
returned  Miss  Snevellicci.  “You  must  come  home  and  see 
mamma,  who  only  came  to  Portsmouth  to-day,  and  is  dying  to 
behold  you.  Led,  my  dear,  persuade  Mr.  Johnson.” 

“  Oh,  I’m  sure,”  returned  Miss  Ledrook,  with  considerable 
vivacity,  “  if  you  can’t  persuade  him — ”  Miss  Ledrook  said  no 
more,  but  intimated,  by  a  dexterous  playfulness,  that  if  Miss 
Snevellicci  couldn’t  persuade  him,  nobody  could. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


437 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lillyvick  have  taken  lodgings  in  our  house, 
and  share  our  sitting-room  for  the  present,”  said  Miss  Snevel- 
licci.  Won’t  that  induce  you  ?” 

”  Surely,”  returned  Nicholas,  “  I  can  require  no  possible 
inducement  beyond  your  invitation.” 

“  Oh  no !  I  dare  saj^,”  rejoined  Miss  Snevellicci.  And  INliss 
Ledrook  said,  "Upon  my  word  I”  Upon  which  Miss  Snevellicci 
said  that  Miss  Ledrook  was  a  giddy  thing ;  and  Miss  Ledrook 
said  that  Miss  Snevellicci  needn’t  color  up  quite  so  much ;  and 
Miss  Snevellicci  beat  Miss  Ledrook,  and  Miss  Ledrook  beat 
Miss  Snevellicci. 

"Come,”  said  Miss  Ledrook,  "it’s  high  time  we  were  there, 
or  we  shall  have  poor  Mrs.  Snevellicci  thinking  that  you  have 
run  away  with  her  daughter,  Mr.  J ohnson ;  and  then  we 
should  have  a  pretty  to-do.” 

"My  dear  Led,”  remonstrated  Miss  Snevellicci,  "how  you  do 
talk  1” 

Miss  Ledrook  made  no  answer,  but  taking  Smike’s  arm  in 
hers,  left  her  friend  and  Nicholas  to  follow  at  their  pleasure ; 
■w'hich  it  pleased  them,  or  rather  pleased  Nicholas,  who  had  no 
great  fancy  for  a  tete-a-tete  under  the  circumstances,  to  do  at 
/)nce. 

There  were  not  wanting  matters  of  conversation  when  they 
reached  the  street,  for  it  turned  out  that  Miss  Snevellicci  had  a 
small  basket  to  carry  home,  and  Miss  Ledrook  a  small  band- 
box,  both  containing  such  minor  articles  of  theatrical  costume 
as  the  lady  performers  usually  carried  to  and  fro  every  evening. 
Nicholas  would  insist  upon  carrying  the  basket,  and  Miss 
Snevellicci  would  insist  upon  carrying  it  herself,  which  gave  rise 
to  a  struggle,  in  which  Nicholas  captured  the  basket  and  the 
bandbox  likewise.  Then  Nicholas  said,  that  he  wondered  what 
could  possibly  be  inside  the  basket,  and  attempted  to  peep  in, 
whereat  Miss  Snevellicci  screamed,  and  declared  that  if  she 
thought  he  had  seen,  she  was  sure  she  should  faint  away.  This 
declaration  was  followed  by  a  similar  attempt  on  the  bandbox, 
and  similar  demonstrations  on  the  part  of  Miss  Ledrook,  and 
then  both  ladies  vowed  that  they  wouldn’t  move  a  step  further 
until  Nicholas  had  promised  that  he  wouldn’t  offer  to  peep 
again  At  last  Nicholas  pledged  himself  to  betray  no  further 


438 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


curiosity,  and  they  walked  on  :  both  ladies  giggling  very  much, 
and  decdaring  that  they  never  had  seen  such  a  wicked  creature 
in  all  their  born  days — never. 

Lightening  the  way  with  such  pleasantry  as  this,  they  arrived 
at  the  tailor’s  house  in  no  time  ;  and  here  they  made  quite  a 
little  party,  there  being  present,  besides  Mr.  Lillyvick  and  Mrs.. 
Lillyvick,  not  only  Miss  Snevellicci’s  mamma,  but  her  papa  also. 
And  an  uncommonly  fine  man  Miss  Snevellicci’s  papa  was,  with  a 
hook  nose,  and  a  white  forehead,  and  curly  black  hair,  and  high 
cheek-bones,  and  altogether  quite  a  handsome  face,  only  a  little 
pimply,  as  though  with  drinking.  He  had  a  very  broad  chest, 
had  Miss  Snevellicci’s  papa,  and  he  wore  a  threadbare  blue 
dress  coat  buttoned  with  gilt  buttons  tight  across  it ;  and  he  no 
sooner  saw  Nicholas  come  into  the  room,  than  he  whipped  the 
two  fore-fingers  of  his  right  hand  in  between  the  two  centre  but¬ 
tons,  and  sticking  his  other  arm  gracefully  a-kimbo,  seemed  to 
say,  “Now,  here  I  am,  my  buck,  and  what  have  you  got  to  say 
to  me?” 

Such  was,  and  in  such  an  attitude  sat,  Miss  Snevellicci’s 
papa,  who  had  been  in  the  profession  ever  since  he  had  first 
played  the  ten-year-old  imps  in  the  Christmas  pantomimes; 
who  could  sing  a  little,  dance  a  little,  fence  a  little,  act  a  little, 
and  do  every  thing  a  little,  but  not  much ;  who  had  been  some¬ 
times  in  the  ballet,  and  sometimes  in  the  chorus,  at  every  theatre 
in  London  ;  who  was  always  selected  in  virtue  of  his  figure  to 
play  the  military  visitors  and  the  speechless  noblemen  ;  who 
always  wore  a  smart  dress,  and  came  on  arm-in-arm  with  a 
smart  lady  in  short  petticoats, — and  alvrays  did  it  too  with  such 
an  air  that  people  in  the  pit  had  been  several  times  known  to 
cry  out  “Bravo!”  under  the  impression  that  he  was  somebody. 
Such  was  Miss  Snevellici’s  papa,  upon  whom  some  envious  per¬ 
sons  cast  the  imputation  that  he  occasionally  beat  Miss  Snevel- 
lii.ci’s  mamma,  who  was  still  a  dancer,  with  a  neat  little  figure 
and  some  remains  of  good  looks;  and  who  now  sat,  as  she 
danced, — being  rather  too  old  for  the  full  glare  of  the  foot¬ 
lights, —  in  the  back-ground. 

To  these  good  people  Nicholas  was  presented  with  much 
foi'inality.  The  introduction  being  completed.  Miss  Snevel¬ 
licci’s  papa  (who  was  scented  with  rum  and  water)  said  that  he 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


'189 


was  dtlighted  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  gentleman  so 
highly  talented;  and  furthermore  remarked,  that  there  hadn’t 
been  such  a  hit  made — no,  not  since  the  first  appearance  ot  his 
fJend  jNlr.  GlaTorraelly,  at  the  Coburg. 

“  You  have  seen  him.  Sir  ?”  said  Miss  Suevellicci’s  papa. 

"No,  realiy  1  never  did,”  reidied  Nicholas. 

"Y'ou  never  saw  my  friend  Glavormelly,  Sir  I”  said  Miss 
Snevellicci’s  papa.  “Then  you  have  never  seen  acting  yet 
If  he  had  lived - ” 

“  Oh,  he  is  dead,  is  he  ?”  interrupted  Nicholas. 

“  He  is,”  said  Air.  Snevellicci,  “  but  he  isn’t  in  TVestminster 

Abbey,  more’s  the  shame.  lie  was  a - .  Well,  no  matter. 

n  e  is  gone  to  that  bourn  from  whence  no  traveler  returns.  I 
hope  he  is  appreciated  there.''' 

So  saying,  Aliss  Snevellicci’s  papa  rubbed  the  tip  of  his  nose 
with  a  very  yellow  silk  handkerchief,  and  gave  the  company  to 
understand  that  these  recollections  overcame  him. 

“Well,  Air.  Lillyvick,”  said  Nicholas,  “and  how  are  you?” 

“  Quite  well.  Sir,”  replied  the  collector.  “  There  is  nothing 
like  the  married  state,  Sir,  depend  upon  it.” 

“  Indeed  I”  said  Nicholas,  laughing. 

“All!  nothing  like  it.  Sir,”  replied  Air.  Lillyvick  solemnly 
“  ITow  do  you  think,”  whispered  the  collector,  drawing  him 
aside,  “  How  do  you  think  she  looks  to-night  ?” 

“  As  handsome  as  ever,”  replied  Nicholas,  glancing  at  the 
late  Aliss  Petowker. 

“Why,  there’s  a  air  about  her.  Sir,”  whispered  the  collector, 
“  that  I  never  saw  in  any  body.  Look  at  her  now  she  moves 
to  put  the  kettle  on.  There  1  Isn’t  it  fascination,  Sir  ?” 

“You’re  a  lucky  man,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Ha,  ha,  ha!”  rejoined  the  collector.  “No.  Do  you  think 
[  am  though,  eh  ?  Perhai)S  I  may  be,  perhaps  I  may  be.  I 
say,  I  couldn’t  have  done  much  better  if  I  had  been  a  young 
man,  could  I?  You  couldn’t  have  done  much  better  your¬ 
self,  could  you — eh — could  you?”  AVilh  such  inquiries,  and 
many  more  such.  Air.  Lillyvick  jerked  his  elbow  into  Nicholas’s 
side,  and  chuckled  till  his  face  became  quite  pur})le  in  the 
attempt  to  keep  down  his  satisfaction. 

By  this  time  the  cloth  had  been  laid  under  the  joint  snperin- 


440 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ieudence  of  all  the  ladies,  upon  two  tables  put  together,  one  be¬ 
ing  high  and  narrow,  and  the  other  low  and  broad.  There  were 
oysters  at  the  top,  sausages  at  the  bottom,  a  pair  of  snuffers  in 
the  centre,  and  baked  potatoes  wherever  it  was  most  convenient  to 
put  them.  Two  additional  chairs  were  brought  in  from  the  bed¬ 
room  ;  Miss  Snevellicci  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  Mr, 
Lillyvick  at  the  foot;  and  Nicholas  had  not  only  the  honor  of 
sitting  next  Miss  Snevellicci,  but  of  having  Miss  Snevellicci’s 
mamma  on  his  right  hand,  and  Miss  Snevellicci’s  papa  over  the 
way.  In  short,  he  was  the  hero  of  the  feast;  and  when  the  table 
was  cleared  and  something  warm  introduced.  Miss  Snevellicci’s 
papa  got  up  and  proposed  his  health  in  a  speech  containing  such 
affecting  allusions  to  his  coming  departure,  that  Miss  Snevellicci 
wept,  and  was  compelled  to  retire  into  the  bedroom. 

“Hush!  Don’t  take  any  notice  of  it,”  said  Miss  Lcdrook, 
peeping  in  from  the  bedroom.  “Say,  when  she  comes  back, 
that  she  exerts  herself  too  much.” 

Miss  Ledrook  eked  out  this  speech  with  so  many  mysterious 
nods  and  frowns  before  she  shut  the  door  again,  that  a  profound 
silence  came  upon  all  the  company,  during  which  Miss  Snevel¬ 
licci’s  papa  looked  very  big  indeed — several  sizes  larger  than 
life — at  every  body  in  turn,  but  particularly  at  Nicholas,  and 
kept  on  perpetually  emptying  his  tumbler  and  filling  it  again, 
until  the  ladies  returned  in  a  cluster,  with  Miss  Snevellicci 
among  them. 

“You  needn’t  alarm  yourself  a  bit,  Mr.  Snevellicci,”  said 
Mrs.  Lillyvick.  “  She  is  only  a  little  weak  and  nervous  ;  she 
has  been  so  ever  since  the  morning.” 

“  Oh,”  said  Mr.  Snevellicci,  “that’s  all,  is  it?” 

“Oh  yes,  that’s  all.  Don’t  make  a  fuss  about  it,”  cried  all 
the  ladies  together. 

Now  this  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  reply  suited  to  Mr. 
Snevellicci’s  importance  as  a  man  and  a  father,  so  he  picked  out 
the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Snevellicci,  and  asked  her  what  the  devil 
she  meant  by  talking  to  him  in  that  way. 

“  Dear  me,  my  dear - ”  said  Mrs.  Snevellicci, 

”  Don’t  call  me  your  dear.  Ma’am,”  said  Mr.  Snevellicci,  “  if 
you  please.” 

“Pray,  pa,  don’t,”  interposed  Miss  Snevellicci 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


441 


“  Don’t  what,  my  child  ?” 

“Talk  in  that  way.” 

“Why  not?”  said  Mr.  Snevellicci.  “1  hope  yon  don’t  suppose 
there’s  any  body  here  who  is  to  prevent  my  talking  as  I  like  ?” 

“  Nobody  wants  to,  pa,”  rejoined  his  daughter. 

“Nobody  would  if  they  did  want  to,”  said  Mr.  Snevellicci 
“  I  am  not  ashamed  of  myself.  Snevellicci  is  my  name  ;  I'm  to 
be  found  in  Broad  Court,  Bow  Street,  when  I’m  in  town.  If 
I’m  not  at  home,  let  any  man  ask  for  me  at  the  stage  door. 
Damme,  they  know  me  at  the  stage  door,  I  suppose.  Most 
men  have  seen  my  portrait  at  the  cigar  shop  round  the  corner. 
I’ve  been  mentioned  in  the  newspapers  before  now,  haven’t  I  ? 
Talk  I  I’ll  tell  you  what ;  if  I  found  out  that  any  man  had  been 
tampering  with  the  affections  of  my  daughter,  I  wouldn't  talk. 
I’d  astonish  him  without  talking ; — that’s  my  way.” 

So  saying,  Mr.  Snevellicci  struck  the  palm  of  his  left  hand 
three  smart  blows  with  his  clinched  fist;  pulled  a  phantom 
nose  with  his  right  thumb  and  fore-finger,  and  swallowed  an¬ 
other  glassful  at  a  draught.  “  That’s  my  way,”  repeated  Mr. 
Snevellicci. 

Most  public  characters  have  their  failings ;  and  the  truth  is 
that  Mr.  Snevellicci  was  a  little  addicted  to  drinking;  or,  if  the 
whole  truth  must  be  told,  that  he  was  scarcely  ever  sober.  He 
knew  in  his  cups  three  distinct  stages  of  intoxication, — the  dig¬ 
nified — the  quarrelsome — the  amorous.  When  professionally 
engaged  he  never  got  beyond  the  dignified  ;  in  "private  circles 
he  went  through  all  three,  passing  from  one  to  another  with  a 
rapidity  of  transition  often  rather  perplexing  to  those  who  had 
not  the  honor  of  his  acquaintance. 

Thus  Mr.  Snevellicci  had  no  sooner  swallowed  another  glass- 
full  than  he  smiled  upon  all  present  in  happy  forgetfulness  of 
having  exhibited  symptoms  of  pugnacity,  and  proposed  “  The 
ladies — bless  their  hearts  1”  in  a  most  vivacious  manner. 

“I  love  ’em,”  said  ISIr.  Snevellicci,  looking  round  the  table, 
“I  love  'em,  every  one.” 

“  Not  every  one,”  reasoned  Mr.  Lilly vick,  mildly. 

■“  Yes,  every  one,”  repeated  Mr.  Snevellicci. 

“  That  would  include  the  married  ladies,  you  know,”  said  Mr, 
Lillyvick. 


442 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“1  love  them  too,  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Snevellicci- 

The  collector  looked  into  the  snrronnding  faces  with  an  aspect 
of  grave  astonishment,  seeming  to  say,  “  This  is  a  nice  man  I” 
and  appeared  a  little  surprised  that  Mrs.  Lillyvick’s  manner 
yielded  no  evidences  of  horror  and  indignation. 

"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,”  said  Mr.  Snevellicci.  “  I 
love  them  and  they  love  me.”  And  as  if  this  avowal  were  not 
made  in  sufficient  disregard  and  defiance  of  all  moral  obligations, 
what  did  Mr.  Snevellicci  do  ?  He  winked — winked,  openly  and 
undisguisedly ;  winked  with  his  right  eye — upon  Henrietta 
Lilly  vick ! 

The  collector  fell  back  in  his  chair  in  the  intensity  of  his 
astonishment.  If  any  body  had  winked  at  her  as  Henrietta 
Petowker,  it  would  have  been  indecorous  in  the  last  degree ; 
but  as  Ml'S.  Lillyvick!  While  he  thought  of  it  in  a  cold  per¬ 
spiration,  and  wondered  whether  it  was  possible  that  he  could 
be  dreaming,  Mr.  Snevellicci  repeated  the  wdnk,  and  drinking 
to  Mrs.  Lillyvick  in  dumb  show,  actually  blew  her  a  kiss  1  Mr. 
Lillyvick  left  his  chair,  walked  straight  up  to  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  and  fell  upon  him — literally  fell  upon  him — instanta¬ 
neously.  Mr.  Lillyvick  was  no  light  weight,  and  conse¬ 
quently  when  he  fell  upon  Mr.  Snevellicci,  Mr.  Snevellicci 
fell  under  the  table,  Mr.  Lillyvick  followed  him,  and  the 
ladies  screamed, 

“What  is  the  matter  with  the  men, — are  they  mad  !”  cried 
Nicholas,  divifig  under  the  table,  dragging  up  the  collector  by 
main  force,  and  thrusting  him,  all  doubled  up,  into  a  chair,  as  if 
he  had  been  a  stuffed  figure.  “  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  What 
do  you  want  to  do  ?  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?” 

While  Nicholas  raised  up  the  collector,  Smike  had  performed 
the  same  office  for  Mr.  Snevellicci,  who  now  regarded  his  late 
adversary  in  tipsy  amazement. 

“  Look  here.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  pointing  to  his 
astonished  wife,  “here  is  purity  and  elegance  combined,  whoso 
feelings  have  been  outraged — violated.  Sir  !” 

“Lor’,  what  nonsense  he  talks!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  in 
answer  to  the  inquiring  look  of  Nicholas.  “  Nobody  has  said 
any  thing  to  me.” 

“  Said,  Henrietta  I”  cried  the  collector. 


“  Didn’t  I  see 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBF. 


443 


him — ”  Mr.  Lillyvick  couldn’t  bring  himself  to  utter  the  word, 
but  he  counterfeited  the  motion  of  the  eye. 

“Well  !”  cried  Mrs.  Lillyvick.  “Do  you  suppose  nobody  is 
ever  to  look  at  me  ?  A  pretty  thing  to  be  married  indeed,  if 
that  was  law  !” 

“You  didn’t  mind  it  ?”  cried  the  collector. 

“Mind  it  I”  repeated  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  contemptuously.  “You 
ought  to  go  down  on  you  knees  and  beg  every  body’s  pardon, 
that  you  ought.” 

“  Pardon,  ray  dear,”  said  the  dismayed  collector. 

“Yes,  and  mine  first,”  replied  Mrs.  Lillyvick.  “Do  you 
suppose  I  ain’t  the  best  judge  of  what’s  proper  and  what’s 
improper  ?” 

“To  be  sure,”  cried  all  the  ladies.  “Do  you  suppose  ice 
shouldn’t  be  the  first  to  speak,  if  there  was  any  thing  that 
ought  to  be  taken  notice  of?” 

“  Do  you  suppose  they  dont’t  know.  Sir  ?”  said  Miss  Snevel- 
licci’s  papa,  pulling  up  his  collar,  and  muttering  something 
about  a  punching  of  heads,  and  being  only  withheld  by  conside¬ 
rations  of  age.  With  which  Miss  Snevellicci’s  papa  looked 
steadily  and  sternly  at  Mr.  Lillyvick  for  some  seconds,  and  then 
rising  deliberately  from  his  chair,  kissed  the  ladies  all  round, 
beginning  with  Mrs.  Lillyvick. 

The  unhappy  collector  looked  piteously  at  his  wife,  as  if  to 
see  whether  there  was  any  one  trait  of  Miss  Petowker  left  in 
Mrs.  Lillyvick,  and  finding  too  surely  that  there  was  not,  begged 
pardon  of  all  the  company  with  great  humility,  and  sat  down 
such  a  crest-fallen,  dispirited,  disenchanted  man,  that  despite  all 
his  selfishness  and  dotage,  he  was  quite  an  object  of  compassion. 

Miss  Snevellicci’s  papa  being  greatly  exalted  by  this  triumph, 
end  incontcstible  proof  of  his  popularity  with  the  fair  sex, 
quickly  grew  convivial,  not  to  say  uproarious  ;  volunteering 
more  than  one  song  of  no  inconsiderable  length,  and  regaling  the 
social  circle  between-whiles  with  recollections  of  divers  splendid 
women  who  had  been  supposed  to  entertain  a  passion  for  himself, 
several  of  whom  he  toasted  by  name,  taking  occasion  to  remark 
at  the  same  time  that  if  he  had  been  a  little  more  alive  to  Ills 
own  interest,  he  might  have  been  rolling  at  that  moment  in  his 
eharict-and-four.  These  reminiscences  auneared  to  awaken  ao 


444 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB5r. 


v'ery  torturing  pangs  in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Snevellicci,  who  waa 
sufficiently  occupied  in  descanting  to  Nicholas  upon  the  mani¬ 
fold  accomplishments  and  merits  of  her  daughter.  Nor  was  the 
young  lady  herself  at  all  behind-hand  in  displaying  her  choicest 
allurements  ;  but  these,  heightened  as  they  were  by  the  artifices 
of  Miss  Ledrook,  had  no  effect  whatever  in  increasing  the  atten¬ 
tions  of  Nicholas,  who,  with  the  precedent  of  Miss  Squeers 
still  fresh  in  his  memory,  steadily  resisted  every  fascination,  and 
placed  so  strict  a  guard  upon  his  behavior  that  when  he  had 
taken  his  leave  the  ladies  were  unanimous  in  pronouncing  him 
quite  a  monster  of  insensibility. 

Next  day  the  posters  appeared  in  due  course,  and  the  public 
were  informed,  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  in  letters 
afflicted  with  every  possible  variation  of  spinal  deformity,  how 
that  Mr.  Johnson  would  have  the  honor  of  making  his  last  ap¬ 
pearance  that  evening,  and  how  that  an  early  application  for 
places  was  requested,  in  consequence  of  the  extraordinary  over¬ 
flow  attendant  on  his  performances, — it  being  a  remarkable  fact 
in  theatrical  history,  but  one  long  since  established  beyond  dis¬ 
pute,  that  it  is  a  hopeless  endeavor  to  attract  people  to  a 
theatre  unless  they  can  be  first  brought  to  believe  that  they  will 
never  get  into  it. 

Nicholas  was  somewhat  at  a  loss,  on  entering  the  theatre  at 
night,  to  account  for  the  unusual  perturbation  and  excitement 
visible  in  the  countenances  of  all  the  company,  but  he  was  not 
long  in  doubt  as  to  the  cause,  for  before  he  could  make  any 
inquiry  respecting  it  Mr.  Crummies  approached,  and  in  an  agi¬ 
tated  tone  of  voice,  informed  him  that  there  was  a  London 
manager  in  the  boxes. 

“It’s  the  phenomenon,  depend  upon  it.  Sir,”  said  Crummies, 
dragging  Nicholas  to  the  little  hole  in  the  curtain  that  he  might 
look  through  at  the  London  manager.  “  I  have  not  the  smallest 
doubt  it’s  the  fame  of  the  phenomenon — that’s  the  man  ;  him 
in  the  great-coat  and  no  shirt-collar.  She  shall  have  ten  pound 
a  week,  Johnson  ;  she  shall  not  appear  on  the  London  boards 
for  a  farthing  less.  They  sha’n’t  engage  her  either,  unless  they 
engage  Mrs.  Crummies  too — twenty  pound  a  week  for  the  pair; 
or  I’ll  tell  you  what,  I’ll  throw  in  myself  and  the  two  boys,  and 
they  shall  have  the  family  for  thirty.  I  can’t  say  fairer  than 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


445 


that.  They  must  taVe  us  all,  if  none  of  us  will  go  without  the 
others.  That’s  the  way  some  of  the  London  people  do,  and  it 
always  answers.  Thirty  pound  a  week — it’s  too  cheap,  Johnson. 
It’s  dirt  cheap.” 

Nicholas  replied,  that  it  certainly  was ;  and  Mr.  Vincent 
Crummies  taking  several  huge  pinches  of  snulF  to  compose  his 
feelings,  hurried  away  to  tell  Mrs.  Crummies  that  he  had  quite 
settled  the  only  terms  that  could  be  accepted,  and  had  resolved 
not  to  abate  one  single  farthing. 

When  every  body  was  dressed  and  the  curtain  went  up,  tho 
excitement  occasioned  by  the  presence  of  the  London  manager 
increased  a  thousandfold.  Every  body  happened  to  know  that  the 
London  manager  had  come  down  specially  to  witness  his  or  her 
own  performance,  and  all  were  in  a  flutter  of  anxiety  and  expec¬ 
tation.  Some  of  those  who  were  not  on  in  the  first  scene,  hur¬ 
ried  to  the  wings,  and  there  stretched  their  necks  to  have  a  peep 
at  him ;  others  stole  up  into  the  two  little  private  boxes  over 
the  stage  doors,  and  from  that  position  reconnoitred  the  Lon¬ 
don  manager.  Once  the  London  manager  was  seen  to  smile — 
he  smiled  at  the  comic  countryman’s  pretending  to  catch  a  blue¬ 
bottle,  while  Mrs.  Crummies  was  making  her  greatest  elfect 
”  Very  good,  my  line  fellow,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  shaking  his 
fist  at  the  comic  countryman  when  he  came  off,  “you  leave  this 
company  next  Saturday  n’ght.” 

In  the  same  way,  every  body  who  was  on  the  stage  beheld  no 
audience  but  one  individual;  every  body  played  to  the  Loudon 
manager.  When  Mr.  Lenville  in  a  sudden  burst  of  passion 
called  the  emperor  a  miscreant,  and  then  biting  his  glove,  said, 
“But  I  must  dissemble,”  instead  of  looking  gloomily  at  the 
boards,  and  so  waiting  for  his  cue,  as  is  proper  in  such  cases,  he 
kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  London  manager.  When  Miss  Bra- 
vassa  sang  her  scng  at  her  lover,  who  according  to  custom  stood 
ready  to  shake  hands  with  her  between  the  verses,  they  looked, 
not  at  each  other,  but  at  the  London  manager.  Mr.  Crummies 
died  point  blank  at  him  ;  and  when  the  two  guards  came  in  to 
take  the  body  off  after  a  very  hard  death,  it  was  seen  to  open 
its  eyes  and  glance  at  the  London  manager.  At  length  the 
London  manager  was  discovered  to  be  asleep,  and  shortly  after 
that  ho  woke  up  and  went  away,  whereupon  all  tl  e  company 


446 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


fell  foul  of  the  unhappy  comic  ijountryman,  declaring  that  hia 
buffoonery  was  the  sole  cause ;  and  Mr.  Crummies  said,  that  he 
had  put  up  with  it  a  long  time,  but  that  he  really  couldn’t  stand 
it  any  longer,  and  therefore  would  feel  obliged  by  his  looking 
out  for  another  engagement. 

All  this  was  the  occasion  of  much  amusement  to  Nicholas, 
wdiose  only  feeling  upon  the  subject  was  one  of  sincere  satisfac¬ 
tion  that  the  great  man  went  away  before  he  appeared.  He 
vt^ent  through  his  part  in  the  two  last  pieces  as  briskly  as  he 
could,  and  having  been  received  with  unbounded  favor  and 
unprecedented  applause — so  said  the  bills  for  next  day,  which 
had  been  printed  an  hour  or  tv.’o  before — he  took  Smike’s  arm 
and  walked  home  to  bed. 

With  the  post  next  morning  came  a  letter  from  Newman 
Noggs,  very  inky,  very  short,  very  dirty,  very  small,  and  very 
mysterious,  urging  Nicholas  to  return  to  London  instantly ; 
not  to  lose  an  instant ;  to  be  there  that  night  if  possible. 

“  I  will,”  said  Nicholas.  “  Heaven  knows  I  have  remained 
here  for  the  best,  and  sorely  against  my  own  will ;  but  even 
now  I  may  have  dallied  too  long.  What  can  have  happened  ? 
Smike,  my  good  fellow,  here — take  my  purse.  Put  our  things 
together,  and  pay  what  little  debts  we  owe — quick,  and  we 
shall  be  in  time  for  the  morning  coach.  I  will  only  tell  them 
that  we  are  going,  and  will  return  to  you  immediately.” 

So  saying,  he  took  his  hat,  and  hurrying  away  to  the  lodg¬ 
ings  of  Mr.  Crummies,  applied  his  hand  to  the  knocker  with 
such  hearty  good-will,  that  he  awakened  that  gentleman,  who 
was  still  in  bed,  and  caused  Mr.  Bnlph  the  pilot  to  take  his 
morning’s  pi[)e  very  nearly  out  of  his  mouth  iii  the  extremity 
of  his  surprise. 

The  door  being  opened,  Nicholas  ran  up  stairs  without  any 
ceremony,  and  bursting  into  the  darkened  sitting-room  on  the 
one  pair  front,  found  that  the  two  Master  Crnmmleses  had 
sprung  out  of  the  sofa-bedstead  and  were  putting  on  their 
clothes  with  great  rapidity,  under  the  impression  that  it  was 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  the  next  house  was  on  fire. 

Before  he  could  undeceive  them,  Mr.  Crummies  came  down 
in  a  flannel  gown  and  nightcap ;  and  to  him  Nicholas  briefly 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


447 


explained  that  circumstances  had  occurred  which  rendered  it 
necessary  for  him  to  repair  to  London  immediately, 

“  So  good-by,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “  good-by,  good-by.” 

He  was  half-way  down  stairs  before  Mr.  Crummies  had  suffi¬ 
ciently  recovered  his  surprise  to  gasp  out  something  about  the 
posters. 

“  I  can’t  help  it,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  Set  whatever  I  may 
have  earned  this  week  against  them,  or  if  that  will  not  repay 
you,  say  at  once  what  will.  Quick,  quick.” 

“We’ll  cry  quits  about  that,”  returned  Crummies.  “But 
can’t  we  have  one  last  night  more  ?” 

“Not  an  hour — not  a  minute,”  replied  Nicholas,  impatiently. 

“Won’t  you  stop  to  say  something  to  Mrs.  Crummies?” 
asked  the  manager,  following  him  down  to  the  door. 

“  I  couldn’t  stop  if  it  were  to  prolong  my  life  a  score  of 
years,”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “  Here,  take  my  hand,  and  with  it 
my  hearty  thanks. — Oh  !  that  I  should  have  been  fooling  here  1” 

Accompanying  these  words  with  an  impatient  stamp  upon 
the  ground,  he  tore  himself  from  the  manager’s  detaining 
grasp,  and  darting  rapidly  down  the  street  was  out  of  sight  in 
an  instant. 

“  Dear  me,  dear  me,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  looking  wistfully 
towards  the  point  at  which  he  had  just  disappeared;  “if  he 
only  acted  like  that,  what  a  deal  of  money  he’d  draw  1  He 
should  have  kept  upon  this  circuit ;  he’d  have  been  very  useful 
to  me.  But  he  don’t  know  what’s  good  for  him.  He  is  an 
impetuous  youth.  Young  men  are  rash,  very  rash.” 

Mr.  Crummies  being  in  a  moralizing  mood,  might  possibly 
have  moralized  for  some  minutes  longer  if  he  had  not  mecha¬ 
nically  put  his  hand  towards  his  waistcoat  pocket,  where  he 
was  accustomed  to  keep  his  snuff.  The  absence  of  any  pocket 
at  all  in  the  usual  direction,  suddenly  recalled  to  his  recollection 
the  fact  that  he  had  no  waistcoat  on;  and  this  leading  him  to  a 
coutemplation  of  the  extreme  scantiness  of  his  attire,  he  shut  the 
door  abru])tly,  and  retired  up  stairs  with  great  precipitation. 

Sinikc  had  made  goo.d  speed  while  Nicholas  was  absent,  and 
with  his  help  every  thing  was  soon  ready  for  their  departure. 
They  scarcely  stopped  to  take  a  morsel  of  breakfast,  and  in  less 
than  half  an  hour  arrived  at  the  coach-office  :  quite  out  of  breath 


418 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


with  the  haste  they  had  made  to  reach  it  in  time.  There  were 
yet  a  few  minutes  to  spare,  so,  having  secured  tlie  places, 
Nicholas  hurried  into  a  slopseller’s  hard  by,  and  bought  Smike 
a  great-coat.  It  would  have  been  rather  large  for  a  substantial 
yeoman,  but  the  shopman  averring  (and  with  considerable 
truth)  that  it  was  a  mzzt  uncommon  fit,  Nicholas  would  have 
purchased  it  in  his  impacience  if  it  had  been  twice  the  size. 

As  they  hurried  up  to  the  coach,  which  was  now  in  the  open 
street  and  all  ready  for  starting,  Nicholas  was  not  a  little  asto¬ 
nished  to  find  himself  suddenly  clutched  in  a  close  and  violent 
embrace,  which  nearly  took  him  off  his  legs;  nor  was  his 
amazement  at  all  lessened  by  hearing  the  voice  of  Mr.  Crum¬ 
mies  exclaim,  “  It  is  he — my  friend — my  friend  !” 

“Bless  my  heart,”  cried  Nicholas,  struggling  in  the  mana¬ 
ger’s  arms,  “  what  are  you  about  ?” 

The  manager  made  no  reply,  but  strained  him  to  his  breast 
again,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so,  “  Farewell,  my  noble,  my  lion- 
hearted  boy !” 

In  fact,  Mr.  Crummies,  who  could  never  lose  any  oppor¬ 
tunity  for  professional  display,  had  turned  out  for  the  express 
purpose  of  taking  a  public  farewell  of  Nicholas ;  and  to  render 
it  the  more  imposing,  he  was  now,  to  that  young  gentleman’s 
most  profound  annoyance,  inflicting  upon  him  a  rapid  succes¬ 
sion  of  stage  embraces,  which,  as  every  body  knows,  are  per¬ 
formed  by  the  embracer’s  laying  his  or  her  chin  on  tho  shoulder 
of  the  object  of  affection,  and  looking  over  it.  This  Mr. 
Crummies  did  in  the  highest  style  of  melo-drama,  pouring  forth 
at  the  same  time  all  the  most  di«!tnal  forms  of  farewell  he  could 
think  of,  out  of  the  stock  pieces.  Nor  was  this  all,  for  the 
elder  Master  Crummies  was  going  through  a  similar  ceremony 
with  Smike ;  while  Master  Percy  Crummies,  with  a  very  little 
second-hand  camlet  cloak,  worn  theatricalJy  over  his  left  shoul¬ 
der,  stood  by,  in  the  attitude  of  an  attendant  officer,  waiting  to 
convey  the  two  victims  to  the  scaffold. 

The  lookers-on  laughed  very  heartily,  and  as  it  was  as  well  to 
put  a  good  face  upon  the  matter,  Nicholas  laughed  too  when 
he  had  succeeded  in  disengaging  himself;  and  rescuing  the 
astonished  Smike,  climbed  up  to  the  coach  roof  after  him,  and 
kissed  his  hand  in  honoi  of  the  absent  Mrs.  Crummies  as  they 
rolled  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXT. 


OF  RALPH  NICKLEBY  AND  NEWMAN  NOGGS,  AND  SOME  WISE 

PRECAUTIONS,  THE  SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE  OF  WHICH  WILL 

APPEAR  IN  THE  SEQUEL. 

In  blissful  unconsciousness  that  his  nephew  was  hastening  at 
the  utmost  speed  of  four  good  horses  towards  his  sphere  of 
action,  and  that  every  passing  minute  diminished  the  distance 
between  them,  Ralph  Nickleby  sat  that  morning  occupied  in 
his  customary  avocations,  and  yet  unable  to  prevent  hia 
thoughts  wandering  from  time  to  time  back  to  the  interview 
which  had  taken  place  between  himself  and  his  niece  on  the 
previous  day.  At  such  intervals,  after  a  few  moments  of  ab- 
Btraction,  Ralph  would  mutter  some  peevish  interjection,  and 
apply  himself  with  renewed  steadiness  of  purpose  to  the  ledger 
before  him,  but  again  and  again  the  same  train  of  thought  came 
back  despite  all  his  efforts  to  prevent  it,  confusing  him  in  his 
calculations,  and  utterly  distracting  his  attention  from  the 
hgures  over  which  he  bent.  At  length,  Ralph  laid  down  his  pen, 
and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  as  though  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  allow  the  obtrusive  current  of  reflection  to  take  its 
own  course,  and,  by  giving  it  full  scope,  to  rid  himself  of  it 
effectually. 

“  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  moved  by  a  pretty  face,”  muttered 
Ralph,  sternly.  “  There  is  a  grinning  skull  beneath  it,  and  men 
like  me  who  look  and  work  below  the  surface  see  that,  and  not  its 
delicate  covering.  And  yet  I  almost  like  the  girl,  or  should  if 
she  had  been  less  proudly  and  squeamishly  brought  up.  If  the 
boy  were  drowned  or  hanged,  and  the  mother  dead,  this  house 
should  be  her  home.  I  wish  they  were,  with  all  my  soul.” 

Notwithstanding  the  deadly  hatred  which  Ralph  felt  towards 
Nicholas,  and  the  bitter  contempt  with  which  he  sneered  at 
poor  Mrs.  Nickleby — notwithstanding  the  baseness  with  which 
he  had  behaved,  and  was  then  behaving,  and  would  behave 
50  ^4  4 'll 


460 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Again  if  his  interest  prompted  him,  towards  Kate  herself — sHil 
there  was,  strange  though  it  may  seem,  something  humanizing 
and  even  gentle  in  his  thoughts  at  that  moment.  Tie  thought 
of  what  his  home  might  be  if  Kate  were  there  ;  he  placed  her 
in  the  empty  chair,  looked  upon  her,  heard  her  speak;  he  felt 
again  upon  his  arm  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  trembling  hand  ; 
he  strewed  his  costly  rooms  with  the  hundred  silent  tokens 
of  feminine  presence  and  occupation ;  he  came  back  again  to 
the  cold  fireside  and  the  silent,  dreary  splendor ;  and  in  that 
one  glimpse  of  a  better  nature,  born  as  it  was  in  selfish 
thoughts,  the  rich  man  felt  himself  friendless,  childless,  and  alone. 
Gold,  for  the  instant,  lost  its  lustre  in  his  eyes,  for  there  were 
countless  treasures  of  the  heart  which  it  could  never  purchase, 

A  very  slight  circumstance  was  sufficient  to  banish  such  reflec¬ 
tions  from  the  mind  of  such  a  man.  As  Ralph  looked  vacantly 
out  across  the  yard  towards  the  window  of  the  other  office,  he 
became  suddenly  aware  of  the  earnest  observation  of  Newman 
Noggs,  who,  with  his  red  nose  almost  touching  the  glass, 
feigned  to  be  mending  a  pen  with  a  rusty  fragment  of  a  knife, 
but  was  in  reality  staring  at  his  employer  with  a  countenance 
of  the  closest  and  most  eager  scrutiny. 

Ralph  exchanged  his  dreamy  posture  for  his  accustomed 
business  attitude  :  the  face  of  Newman  disappeared,  and  the  train 
of  thought  took  to  flight,  all  simultaneously  and  in  an  instant. 

After  a  few  minutes,  Ralph  rang  his  bell.  Newman  answered 
the  summons,  and  Ralph  raised  his  eyes  stealthily  to  his  face, 
as  if  he  almost  feared  to  read  there,  a  knowledge  of  his  recent 
thoughts. 

/  There  was  not  the  smallest  speculation,  however,  in  the 
countenance  of  Newman  Noggs.  If  it  be  possible  to  imagine 
a  man,  with  two  eyes  in  his  head,  and  both  wide  open,  looking 
in  no  direction  whatever,  and  seeing  nothing,  Newman  appeared 
to  be  that  man  while  Ralph  Nickleby  regarded  him. 

“  How  now  growled  Ralph. 

“  Oh  1”  said  Newman,  throwing  some  intelligence  into  his 
eyes  all  at  once,  and  dropping  them  on  his  master,  “  I  thought 
you  rang.”  With  which  laconic  remark  Newman  turned  round 
and  hobbled  away. 

“  Stop  I”  said  Ralph. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBy. 


451 


Newman  stopped  ;  not  at  all  disconcerted 

“  I  did  ring.” 

“  I  knew  you  did.” 

“  Then  why  do  you  offer  to  go  if  you  know  that  ?” 

“I  thought  you  rang  to  say  you  didn’t  ring,”  replied  New¬ 
man.  “  You  often  do.” 

“  How  dare  you  pry,  and  peer,  and  stare  at  me,  sirrah  ?”  de¬ 
manded  llalph. 

“  Stare  1”  cried  Newman,  “  at  you !  Ha,  ha  1”  which  was  all 
the  explanation  Newman  deigned  to  offer. 

“  Be  careful.  Sir,”  said  Ralph,  looking  steadily  at  him.  “Let 
me  have  no  drunken  fooling  here.  Do  you  see  this  parcel  ?” 

“  It’s  big  enough,”  rejoined  Newman. 

“  Carry  it  into  the  City;  to  Cross,  in  Broad  Street,  and  leave 
it  there — quick.  Do  you  hear  ?” 

Newman  gave  a  dogged  kind  of  nod  to  express  an  affirmative 
re])ly,  and,  leaving  the  room  for  a  few  seconds,  returned  with 
his  hat.  Having  made  various  ineffective  attempts  to  fit  the 
parcel  (which  was  some  two  feet  square)  into  the  crown  thereof, 
Newman  took  it  under  his  arm,  and  after  putting  on  his  finger¬ 
less  gloves  with  great  precision  and  nicety,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  all  the  time,  he  adjusted  his 
hat  upon  his  head  with  as  much  care,  real  or  pretended,  as  if  it 
were  a  bran-new  one  of  the  most  expensive  quality,  and  at  last 
departed  on  his  errand. 

He  executed  his  commission  with  great  promptitude  and 
dispatch,  only  calling  at  one  public  house  for  half  a  minute, 
and  even  that  might  be  said  to  be  in  his  way,  for  he  went  in  at 
one  door  and  came  out  at  the  other ;  but  as  he  returned 
and  had  got  so  far  homewards  as  the  Strand,  Newman  began 
to  loiter  with  the  uncertain  air  of  a  man  who  has  not  quite 
made  up  his  mind  whether  to  halt  or  go  straight  forwards. 
After  a  very  short  consideration,  the  former  inclination  prevailed, 
and  making  towards  the  point  he  had  had  in  his  mind,  Newman 
knocked  a  modest  double  knock,  or  rather  a  nervous  single  one 
at  Miss  La  Creevy’s  door. 

It  was  opened  by  a  strange  servant,  on  whoa,  the  odd  figure 
of  the  visitor  did  not  appear  to  make  the  most  favorable  im¬ 
pression  possible,  inasmuch  as  she  no  sooner  saw  him  than  she 


452 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.! 


very  nearly  closed  it,  and  placing  herself  in  the  narrow  gap,  in¬ 
quired  what  he  wanted.  But  Newman  merely  uttering  the 
monosyllable  “  Noggs,”  as  if  it  were  some  cabalistic  word,  at 
sound  of  which  bolts  would  fly  back  and  doors  open,  pushed 
briskly  past  and  gained  the  door  of  Miss  La  Creevy’s  sitting 
room,  before  the  astonished  servant  could  offer  any  opposition. 

‘‘  Walk  in,  if  you  please,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  in  reply  to 
the  sound  of  Newman’s  knuckles  ;  and  in  he  walked  accord- 
iiigly. 

“  Bless  me  !”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy,  starting  as  Newman  bolted 
in  ;  “  what  did  you  want,  Sir?” 

“  You  have  forgotten  me,”  said  Newman,  with  an  inclination 
of  the  head.  “  I  wonder  at  that.  That  nobody  should  remember 
me  who  knew  me  in  other  days,  is  natural  enough ;  but  there 
are  few  people  who,  seeing  me  once,  forget  me  noio.'^  He 
glanced,  as  he  spoke,  at  his  shabby  clothes  and  paralytic  limb, 
and  slightly  shook  his  head. 

“  I  did  forget  you,  I  declare,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  rising  to 
receive  Newman,  who  met  her  half-way,  “  and  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself  for  doing  so  ;  for  you  are  a  kind,  good  creature,  Mr. 
Noggs.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  Miss  Nickleby.  Poor 
dear  thing !  I  haven’t  seen  her  for  this  many  a  week.” 

“  How’s  that?”  asked  Newman. 

“  Why,  the  truth  is,  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy, 
“  that  I  have  been  out  on  a  visit — the  first  visit  I  have  made  for 
fifteen  years.” 

“  That  is  a  long  time,”  said  Newman,  sadly. 

“  So  it  is  a  very  long  time  to  look  back  upon  in  years ; 
though,  somehow  or  other,  thank  Heaven,  the  solitary  days  roll 
away  peacefully  and  happily  enough,”  replied  the  miniature- 
painter.  “  I  have  a  brother,  IMr.  Noggs — the  only  relation  I 
have— and  all  that  time  I  never  saw  him  once.  Not  that  we 
ever  quarreled,  but  he  was  apprenticed  down  in  the  country, 
and  he  got  married  there,  and  new  ties  and  affections  springing 
up  about  him,  he  forgot  a  poor  little  woman  like  me,  as  it  was 
very  reasonable  he  should,  you  know.  Don’t  suppose  that  I 
complain  about  that,  because  I  always  said  to  myself,  ‘  It  is 
very  natural ;  poor  dear  John  is  making  his  way  in  the  world, 
and  has  a  wife  to  tell  his  cares  and  troubles  to,  and  children 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


453 


now  to  play  about  him,  so  God  bless  him  and  them,  and  send 
we  may  all  meet  together  one  day  where  we  shall  part  no 
more.’  But  what  do  you  think,  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  the  mini¬ 
ature-painter,  brightening  up  and  clapping  her  hands,  “of  that 
very  same  brother  coming  up  to  Loudon  at  last,  and  never 
resting  till  he  found  me  out;  what  do  you  think  of  his  coming 
here  and  sitting  down  in  that  very  chair,  and  crying  like  a  child 
because  he  was  so  glad  to  see  me — what  do  you  think  of  his  in¬ 
sisting  on  taking  me  down  all  the  way  into  the  country  to  his 
own  house  (quite  a  sumptuous  place,  Mr.  Noggs,  with  a  large 
garden,  and  I  don’t  know  how  many  fields,  and  a  man  in  livery 
waiting  at  table,  and  cows  and  horses  and  pigs,  and  I  don’t  know 
what  besides),  and  making  me  stay  a  whole  month,  and  pressing 
me  to  stop  there  all  my  life — yes,  all  my  life — and  so  did  his  wife, 
and  so  did  the  children — and  there  were  four  of  them,  and  one, 
the  eldest  girl  of  all,  they — they  had  named  her  after  me  eight 
good  years  before,  they  had  indeed  1  I  never  was  so  happy ;  in 
all  my  life  I  never  was  1”  The  worthy  soul  hid  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief,  and  sobbed  aloud ;  for  it  was  the  first  opportunity 
she  had  had  of  unburdening  her  heart,  and  it  would  have  its  way. 

“  But  bless  my  life,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  wiping  her  eyes 
after  a  .short  pause,  and  cramming  her  handkerchief  into  her 
pocket  with  great  bustle  and  dispatch ;  “  what  a  foolish  crea¬ 
ture  I  must  seem  to  you,  Mr.  Noggs!  I  shouldn’t  have  said 
any  thing  about  it,  only  I  wanted  to  explain  to  you  how  it  was 
I  hadn’t  seen  Miss  Nickleby.” 

“  Have  you  seen  the  old  lady  ?”  asked  Newman. 

“You  mean  Mrs.  Nickleby  ?”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “Then 
I  toll  you  what,  Mr.  Noggs,  if  you  want  to  keep  in  the  good 
books  in  that  quarter,  you  had  better  not  call  her  the  old  lady 
any  more,  for  I  suspect  she  wouldn’t  be  best  pleased  to  hear 
you.  Yes,  I  went  there  the  night  before  last,  but  she  was  quite 
on  the  high  ropes  about  something,  and  was  so  grand  and  mys¬ 
terious,  that  I  couldn’t  make  any  thing  of  her ;  so,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  be  grand  too,  and  came 
away  in  state.  I  thought  she  would  have  co  ne  round  again 
before  this,  but  she  hasn’t  been  here.” 

“About  Miss  Nickleby — ”  said  Newman. 

“Why  she  wt,s  here  twice  while  I  was  away,”  returned  Miss 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


La  Creevy.  “I  was  afraid  she  mightn’t  like  to  ha’ve  me  calling 
on  her  among  those  great  folks  in  what's-its-name  Place,  so  T 
thought  Pd  wait  a  day  or  two,  and  if  I  didn’t  see  her,  write.” 

“Ah  1”  exclaimed  Newman,  cracking  his  fingers. 

“  However,  I  want  to  hear  all  the  news  about  them  from  yon,” 
said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “  IIow  is  the  old  rough  and  tough  mou- 
eter  of  Golden  Square?  Well,  of  course;  such  people  always 
are  I  don’t  moan  how  is  he  in  health,  but  how  is  he  going 
on;  how  is  he  behaving  himself?” 

“Damn  himl”  cried  Newman,  dashing  his  cherished  hat  on 
the  floor;  “like  a  false  hound.” 

“Gracious,  Mr.  Noggs,  you  quite  terrify  me!”  exclaimed 
M  iss  La  Creevy,  turning  pale. 

“I  should  have  spoilt  his  features  yesterday  afternoon  if  I 
could  have  afforded  it,”  said  Newman,  moving  restlessly  about, 
and  shaking  his  fist  at  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Canning  over  the 
mantel-piece.  “I  was  very  near  it.  I  was  obliged  to  put  my 
hands  in  my  pockets,  and  keep  ’em  there  very  tight.  I  shall  do 
it  some  day  in  that  little  back-parlor,  I  know  I  shall.  I  should 
have  done  it  before  now,  if  I  hadn’t  been  afraid  of  making  bad 
worse.  I  shall  double-lock  myself  in  with  him  and  have  it  out 
before  I  die,  I’m  quite  certain  of  it.” 

“I  shall  scream  if  you  don’t  compose  yourself  Mi’.  Noggs,” 
said  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  “I’m  sure  I  sha’n’t  be  able  to  help  it.” 

“Never  mind,”  rejoined  Newman,  darting  Anciently  to  and 
fro.  “He’s  coming  up  to-night:  I  wrote  to  tell  him.  He 
little  thinks  I  know ;  he  little  thinks  I  care.  Cunning  scoundrel  1 
he  don’t  think  that.  Not  he,  not  he.  Never  mind.  I’ll  thwart 
him — I,  Newman  Noggs.  Ho,  ho,  the  rascal  1” 

Lashing  himself  up  to  an  extravagant  pitch  of  fury,  Newman 
Noggs  jerked  himself  about  the  room  with  the  most  eccentric 
motion  ever  beheld  in  a  human  being  :  now  sparring  at  the  little 
miniatures  on  the  wall,  and  now  giving  himself  violent  thumps  on 
the  head,  as  if  to  heighten  the  delusion,  until  he  sank  down  in 
his  former  seat,  quite  breathless  and  exhausted. 

“There,”  said  Newman,  picking  up  his  hat;  “that’s  done  me 
good;  Now  I’m  better,  and  I’ll  tell  you  all  about  it.” 

It  took  some  little  time  to  reassure  Miss  La  CreeA'y,  who  had 
been  almost  frightened  out  of  her  senses  by  this  remarkable 


LASniNO  HIMSELF  UP  TO  AN  EXTRAVAGANT  PITCH  OF  FURY,  NEWMAN  NOGGS  JERKED  HIMSELF  ABOUT  THE  ROOM 
wri'll  THE  MOST  ECCENTRIC  MOTION  EVER  BEHELD  IN  A  HUMAN  BEING. 


»  V.N 


■  ■>! 


•i 


\ 

r 


> 


j 


io  'a 

■j 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


465 


(^.rmonstration  ;  but  that  done,  Newman  faithfully  related  all  tha1; 
had  passed  in  the  interview  between  Kate  and  her  uncle,  pre¬ 
facing  his  narrative  with  a  statement  of  his  previous  suspicions 
on  the  subject,  and  his  reasons  for  forming  them  ;  and  concluding 
with  a  communication  of  the  step  he  had  taken  in  secretly 
writing  to  Nicholas. 

Tliough  little  Miss  La  Creevy’s  indignation  wms  not  so  singu¬ 
larly  displayed  as  Newman’s,  it  was  scarcely  inferior  in  violence 
and  intensity.  Indeed  if  Ralph  Nickleby  had  happened  to  make 
his  appearance  in  the  room  at  that  moment,  there  is  some  doubt 
whether  he  would  not  have  found  Miss  La  Creevy  a  more  dan¬ 
gerous  opponent  than  even  Newman  Noggs  himself. 

“God  forgive  me  for  saying  so,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  as  a 
wind-up  to  all  her  expressions  of  anger,  “but  I  really  feel  as  if 
I  could  stick  this  into  him  with  pleasure.” 

It  was  not  a  very  awful  weapon  that  Miss  La  Creevy  held,  it 
being  In  fact  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  black-lead  pencil ; 
but  discovering  her  mistake,  the  little  portrait-painter  exchanged 
it  for  a  mother-of-pearl  fruit  knife,  vvherewdth,  in  proof  of 
her  desperate  thoughts,  she  made  a  lunge  as  she  spoke, 
w'hich  would  have  scarcely  disturbed  the  crumb  of  a  half-quar¬ 
tern  loaf. 

“  She  won’t  stop  where  she  is,  after  to-night,”  said  Newman. 
“That’s  a  comfort.” 

“Stop  I”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy,  “she  should  have  left  there, 
w'eeks  ago.” 

— “If  we  had  known  of  this,”  rejoined  Newman.  “Butwm 
didn’t.  Nobody  could  properly  interfere  but  her  mother  or 
brother.  The  mother’s  w'eak — poor  thing — weak.  The  dear 
young  man  wdll  be  here  to-night.” 

“Heart  alive  !”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy.  “He  will  do  some¬ 
thing  desperate,  Mr.  Noggs,  if  you  tell  him  all  at  once.” 

Newman  left  olf  rubbing  his  hands,  and  assumed  a  thought¬ 
ful  look. 

“  Depend  upon  it,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  earnestly,  “  if  you 
are  not  very  careful  in  breaking  out  the  truth  to  him,  he  will  do 
some  violence  upon  his  uncle  or  one  of  these  men  that  will  bring 
Bome  terrible  calamity  iqiou  his  own  head,  and  grief  and  sorrow 
to  us  all.” 

“  I  never  thought  of  that,”  rejoined  Neivmau,  his  countenance 


466 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


falling  more  and  more.  “I  came  to  ask  you  to  receive  hlfl 
sister  in  case  he  brought  her  here,  but - ” 

“But  this  is  a  matter  of  much  greater  importance,”  inter¬ 
rupted  Miss  La  Creevy ;  “that  you  might  have  been  sure  of 
before  you  came,  but  the  end  of  this,  nobody  can  foresee,  unless 
you  are  very  guarded  and  careful.” 

“What  can  I  do  ?”  cried  Newman,  scratching  his  head  uith 
ail  air  of  great  vexation  and  perplexity.  “If  he  was  to  talk  of 
pistoling  ’em  all,  I  should  be  obliged  to  say,  ‘  Certainly — serve 
’em  right.  ’  ” 

Miss  La  Creevy  could  not  suppress  a  small  shriek  on  hearing 
this,  and  instantly  set  about  extorting  a  solemn  pledge  from 
Newman  that  he  would  use  his  utmost  endeavors  to  pacify  the 
wrath  of  Nicholas ;  which,  after  some  demur,  was  conceded. 
They  then  consulted  together  on  the  safest  and  surest  mode  of 
communicating  to  him  the  circumstances  which  had  rendered 
his  presence  necessary. 

“  He  must  have  time  to  cool  before  he  can  possibly  do  any 
thing,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “  That  is  of  the  greatest  conse¬ 
quence.  He  must  not  be  told  until  late  at  night.” 

“  But  he’ll  be  in  town  between  six  and  seven  this  evening,” 
replied  Newman.  “  I  can’t  keep  it  from  him  when  he  asks  me.” 

“  Then  you  must  go  out,  Mr,  Noggs,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy. 
“You  can  easily  have  been  kept  away  by  business,  and  must 
not  return  till  nearly  midnight.” 

“Then  he’ll  come  straight  here,”  retorted  Newman. 

“Sol  suppose,”  observed  Miss  La  Creevy;  “but  he  won’t 
find  me  at  home,  for  I’ll  go  straight  to  the  City  the  instant  you 
leave  me,  make  up  matters  with  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  take  her 
away  to  the  theatre,  so  that  he  may  not  even  know  where  his 
sister  lives.” 

Upon  further  discussion,  this  appeared  the  safest  and  most 
feasible  mode  of  proceeding  that  could  possibly  be  adopted. 
Therefore  it  was  finally  determined  that  matters  should  be  so 
arranged,  and  Newman,  after  listening  to  many  supplementary 
cautions  and  entreaties,  took  his  leave  of  Miss  La  Creevy  and 
trudged  back  to  Golden  Square  ;  ruminating  as  he  went  upon  a 
vast  number  of  possibilities  and  impossibilities  which  crowded 
upon  his  brain,  and  arose  out  of  the  conversation  that  had  just 
terminated. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


F.ELATING  CHIEFLY  TO  SOME  REMARKABLE  CONVERSATIO.V,  AND 

60JIE  REMARKABLE  PROCEEDINGS  TO  WHICH  IT  GIVES  RISE 

“London  at  last!”  cried  Xicholas,  throwing  back  his  great¬ 
coat  and  rousing  Smike  from  a  long  nap.  “It  seemed  to  me 
as  though  we  should  never  reach  it.” 

“And  yet  you  came  along  at  a  tidy  pace  too,”  observed  the 
coachman,  looking  over  his  shoulder  at  Nicholas  with  no  very 
pleasant  expression  of  countenance. 

“Ay,  I  know  that,”  was  the  reply;  “but  I  have  been  very 
anxious  to  be  at  my  journey’s  end,  and  that  makes  the  way 
seem  long.” 

“Well,”  remarked  the  coachman,  “if  the  way  seemed  long 
with  such  cattle  as  you’ve  sat  behind,  you  must  have  been  most 
uncommon  anxious;”  and  so  saying,  he  let  out  his  whip-lash 
and  touched  up  a  little  boy  on  the  calves  of  his  legs  by  way  of 
emphasis. 

They  rattled  on  through  the  noisy,  bustling,  crowded  streets 
of  London,  now  displaying  long  double  rows  of  brightly-burn¬ 
ing  lamps,  dotted  here  and  there  with  the  chemists’  glaring 
lights,  and  illuminated  besides  with  the  brilliant  flood  that 
streamed  from  the  windows  of  the  shops,  where  sparkling 
jewelry,  silks  and  velvets  of  the  richest  colors,  the  most  invit¬ 
ing  delicacies,  and  mosl  sumptuous  articles  of  luxurious  orna¬ 
ment,  succeeded  each  other  in  rich  and  glittering  profusion 
Streams  of  people  apparently  without  end  poured  on  and  on, 
jostling  each  other  in  the  crowd  and  hurrying  forward,  scarcely 
seeming  to  notice  the  riches  that  surrounded  them  on  every 
side ;  while  vehicles  of  all  shapes  and  makes,  mingled  up 
together  in  one  moving  mass  like  running  water,  leni  their 
ceaseless  roar  to  swell  the  noise  and  tumult. 

As  they  dashed  by  the  quickly-changing  and  ever- varying 
oljjects,  it  was  curious  to  observe  in  what  a  strange  procession 

(457) 


458 


NICHOLAS  NIC  KLEE  Y. 


they  passed  before  the  eye.  Emporiums  of  splendid  dresses, 
the  materials  brought  from  every  quarter  of  the  world ;  tempting 
stores  of  every  thing  to  stimulate  and  pamper  the  sated  appetite 
and  give  new  relish  to  the  oft-repeated  feast",  vessels  of  burnished 
gold  and  silver,  wrought  into  every  exquisite  form  of  vase,  and 
dish,  and  goblet;  guns,  swords,  pistols,  and  patent  engines  of 
destruction ;  screws  and  irons  for  tlie  crooked,  clothes  for  the 
newly-born,  drugs  for  the  sick,  coffins  for  the  dead,  and  church¬ 
yards  for  the  buried — all  these  jumbled  each  with  the  other  and 
flocking  side  by  side,  seemed  to  flit  by  in  motley  dance  like  the 
fantastic  groups  of  the  old  Dutch  painter,  and  with  the  same 
stern  moral  for  the  unheeding,  restless  crowd. 

Nor  were  there  wanting  objects  in  the  crowd  itself  to  give 
new  point  and  purpose  to  the  shifting  scene.  The  rags  of  the 
squalid  ballad-singer  fluttered  in  the  rich  light  that  showed  the 
goldsmith’s  treasures,  pale  and  pinched-up  faces  hovered  about 
the  windows  where  was  tempting  food,  hungry  eyes  wandered 
over  the  profusion  guarded  by  one  thin  sheet  of  brittle  glass — 
an  iron  wall  to  them ;  half-naked  shivering  figures  stopped  to 
gaze  at  Chinese  shawls  and  golden  stuffs  of  India.  There  was 
a  christening  party  at  the  largest  coffin-maker’s,  and  a  funeral 
hatchment  had  stopped  some  great  improvements  in  the  bravest 
mansion.  Life  and  death  went  hand  in  hand ;  wealth  and 
poverty  stood  side  by  side ;  repletion  and  starvation  laid  them 
down  together. 

But  it  was  Loudon ;  and  the  old  country  lady  inside,  who 
had  put  her  head  out  of  the  coach-window  a  mile  or  two  this 
side  Kingston,  and  cried  out  to  the  driver  that  she  was  sure  he 
must  have  passed  it  and  forgotten  to  set  her  down,  was  satisfied 
at  last. 

Nicholas  engaged  beds  for  himself  and  Smike  at  the  inn 
where  the  coach  stopped,  and  repaired,  without  the  delay  of 
another  moment,  to  the  lodgings  of  Newman  Noggs;  for  his 
anxiety  and  impatience  had  increased  with  every  succeeding 
minute,  and  were  almost  beyond  control. 

There  was  a  fire  in  Newman’s  garret,  and  a  candle  had  been 
left  burning;  the  floor  was  cleanly  swept,  the  room  was  as  com¬ 
fortably  arranged  as  such  a  room  could  be,  and  meat  and  drink 
were  placed  in  order  upon  the  table.  Every  thing  bespoke  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


459 


nffectionate  cars  and  attention  of  Newman  Noggs,  but  T^ewman 
himself  was  not  tliere. 

"Do  you  know  what  time  he  will  be  home?”  inquired  Nicho¬ 
las,  tapping  at  the  door  of  Newman’s  front  neighbor. 

“Ah,  Mr.  Johnson  !”  said  Growl,  presenting  himself.  "Wel¬ 
come,  Sir. — How  well  you’re  looking  1  I  never  could  have 
believed - ” 

" Pardon  me,”  interposed  Nicholas.  "My  question — I  am 
extremely  anxious  to  know.” 

"  Why,  he  has  a  troublesome  affair  of  business,”  replied  Growl, 
"and  will  not  be  home  before  twelve  o’clock.  He  was  very 
unwilling  to  go,  I  can  tell  you,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
However,  he  left  word  that  you  were  to  make  yourself  com¬ 
fortable  till  he  came  back,  and  that  I  was  to  entertain  you, 
which  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do.” 

In  proof  of  his  extreme  readiness  to  exert  himself  for  the 
general  entertainment,  Mr.  Growl  drew  a  chair  to  the  table  as 
bespoke,  and  helping  himself  plentifully  to  the  cold  meat,  invited 
Nicholas  and  Smike  to  follow  his  example. 

Disappointed  and  uneasy,  Nicholas  could  touch  no  food,  so, 
after  he  had  seen  Smike  comfortably  established  at  the  table, 
he  walked  out  (despite  a  great  many  dissuasions  uttered  by  Mr. 
Growl  with  his  mouth  full),  and  left  Smike  to  detain  Newman 
in  case  he  returned  first. 

As  Miss  La  Greevy  had  anticipated,  Nicholas  betook  him¬ 
self  straight  to  her  house.  Finding  her  from  home,  he  debated 
within  himself  for  some  time  whether  he  should  go  to  his 
mother’s  residence  and  so  compromise  her  with  Ralph  Nickleby. 
F ully  })ersuaded,  however,  that  Newman  would  not  have  solicited 
him  to  return  unless  there  was  some  strong  reason  which  required 
his  presence  at  home,  he  resolved  to  go  there,  and  hastened 
eastward  with  all  speed. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  would  not  be  at  home,  the  girl  said,  until 
past  twelve,  or  later.  She  believed  Miss  Nickleby  was  well, 
but  she  didn’t  live  at  home  now,  nor  did  she  come  home  except 
very  sehlom.  She  couldn’t  say  where  she  was  stopping,  but  it 
was  not  at  Madame  Mantalini’s — slie  was  sure  of  that. 

With  his  heart  beating  violently,  and  a[)prehending  he  knew 
not  what  disaster,  Nicholas  returned  to  where  he  left  Smike. 


400 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Newman  had  not  been  home.  He  wouldn’t  be,  till  twelve 
o’clock;  there  was  no  chance  of  it.  Was  there  no  possibilhj 
of  sending  to  fetch  him  if  it  were  only  for  an  instant,  or  for- 
warding  to  him  one  line  of  writing  to  which  he  might  return  a 
verbal  reply  ?  That  was  quite  impracticable.  He  was  not  at 
Golden  Square,  and  probably  had  been  sent  to  execute  some 
commission  at  a  distance. 

Nicholas  tried  to  remain  quietly  where  he  was,  but  ho 
felt  so  nervous  and  excited  that  he  could  not  sit  still.  He 
seemed  to  be  losing  time  unless  he  was  moving.  It  was  an  ab¬ 
surd  fancy,  he  knew,  but  he  was  wholly  unable  to  resist  it.  So 
he  took  up  his  hat  and  rambled  out  again. 

He  strolled  westward  this  time,  pacing  the  long  streets  with 
hurried  footsteps,  and  agitated  by  a  thousand  misgivings  and 
apprehensions  which  he  could  not  overcome.  He  passed  into 
Hyde  Park,  now  silent  and  deserted,  and  increased  his  rate  of 
walking  as  if  in  the  hope  of  leaving  his  thoughts  behind. 
They  crowded  upon  him  more  thickly,  however,  now  there  were 
no  passing  objects  to  attract  his  attention  ;  and  the  one  idea 
was  always  uppermost,  that  some  stroke  of  ill-fortune  must 
have  occurred  so  calamitous  in  its  nature  that  all  were  fearful 
of  disclosing  it  to  him.  The  old  question  arose  again  and 
again — What  could  it  be  ?  Nicholas  walked  till  he  was  weary, 
but  was  not  one  bit  the  wiser ;  and  indeed  he  came  out  of  the 
Park  at  last  a  great  deal  more  confused  and  perplexed  than 
when  he  went  in. 

He  had  taken  searcely  any  thing  to  eat  or  drink  since  early 
in  the  morning,  and  felt  quite  worn  out  and  exhausted.  As  he 
returned  languidly  towards  the  point  from  which  he  had  started, 
along  one  of  the  thoroughfares  which  lie  between  Park  Lane 
and  Bond  Street,  he  passed  a  handsome  hotel,  before  which  he 
slopped  mechanically. 

"  An  expensive  place,  I  dare  say,”  thought  Nicholas;  “but  a 
pint  of  wine  and  a  biscuit  are  no  great  debauch  wherever  they 
are  had.  And  yet  I  don’t  know.” 

He  walked  on  a  few  steps,  but  looking  wistfully  down  the 
long  vista  of  gas-lamps  before  him,  and  thinking  how  long  it 
would  take  to  reach  the  end  of  it — and  being  besides  in  that 
kind  of  mood  in  which  a  man  is  most  disposed  to  yield  to  his 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


461 


fiTRt  impulse — and  being,  besides,  strongly  attracted  to  tlie 
hotel,  in  part  by  curiosity,  and  in  part  by  some  odd  mixture  of 
feelings  which  he  would  have  been  troubled  to  define — Nicholas 
turned  back  again,  and  walked  into  the  cotiee-rooin. 

It  was  very  handsomely  furnished.  The  walls  were  ornamented 
with  the  choicest  specimens  of  French  paper,  enriched  with  a 
gilded  cornice  of  elegant  design.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a 
rich  ('arpet ;  and  two  superb  mirrors,  one  above  the  chimney- 
piece  and  one  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  reaching  from 
floor  to  ceiling,  multiplied  the  other  beauties  and  added  new 
ones  of  their  own  to  enhance  the  general  effect.  There  was 
a  rather  noisy  party  of  four  gentlemen  in  a  box  by  the  fire-place, 
and  only  two  other  persons  present — both  elderly  gentlemen, 
and  both  alone. 

Observing  all  this  in  the  first  comprehensive  glance  with  which 
a  stranger  surveys  a  place  that  is  new  to  him,  Nicholas  sat  him¬ 
self  down  in  the  box  next  to  the  noisy  party,  with  his  back  to¬ 
wards  them,  and  postponing  his  order  for  a  pint  of  claret  until 
such  time  as  the  waiter  and  one  of  the  elderly  gentlemen 
should  have  settled  a  disputed  question  relative  to  the  price  of 
an  item  in  the  bill  of  fare,  took  up  a  newspaper  and  began  to 
read. 

He  had  not  read  twenty  lines,  and  was  in  truth  half  dozing, 
when  he  was  startled  by  the  mention  of  his  sister’s  name. 
“  Little  Kate  Nickleby”  were  the  words  that  caught  his  ear. 
He  raised  his  head  in  amazement,  and  as  he  did  so,  saw  by  the 
reflection  in  the  opposite  glass,  that  two  of  the  party  behind 
him  had  risen  and  were  standing  before  the  fire,  “  It  must  have 
come  from  one  of  them,”  thought  Nicholas.  He  waited  to 
hear  more  with  a  countenance  of  some  indignation,  for  the 
tone  of  speech  had  been  any  thing  but  respectful,  and  the  ap¬ 
pearance  of  the  individual  whom  he  presumed  to  have  been 
the  s^jcaker  was  coarse  and  swaggering. 

This  person — so  Nicholas  observed  in  the  same  glance  at  the 
mirror  which  had  enabled  him  to  see  his  face — was  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  conversing  with  a  ‘younger  man,  who 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  company,  wore  his  hat,  and  was  ad¬ 
justing  his  shirt  collar  by  the  aid  of  the  glass.  They  spoke 
In  whispers,  now  and  then  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh,  but 


4G2 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Nicholas  could  catch  no  repetition  of  the  words,  nor  any  thing 
sounding  at  all  like  the  words,  which  had  attracted  his  attcu* 
tioa. 

At  length  the  two  resumed  their  seats,  and  more  wine  being 
ordered,  the  party  grew  louder  in  their  mirth.  Still  there  was 
no  reference  made  to  any  body  with  whom  he  was  acquainted, 
and  Nicnolas  became  persuaded  that  his  excited  fancy  had 
ciilier  imagined  the  sounds  altogether,  or  converted  some  other 
words  into  the  name  which  had  been  so  much  in  his  thoughts. 

“  It  is'  remarkable  too,”  thought  Nicholas :  if  it  had  been 
‘  Kate,’  or  ‘  Kate  Nickleby,’  I  should  not  have  been  so  much 
surprised ;  but  Mittle  Kate  Nickleby  1’  ” 

The  wine  coming  at  the  moment  prevented  his  finishing  the 
sentence.  He  swallowed  a  glassful  and  took  up  the  paper 
again.  At  that  instant - 

“  Little  Kate  Nickleby  I”  cried  a  voice  behind  him. 

“I  was  right,”  muttered  Nicholas  as  the  paper  fell  from  his 
hand.  “And  it  was  the  m.an  I  supposed,” 

“  As  there  was  a  proper  objection  to  drinking  her  in  heel¬ 
taps,”  said  the  voice,  “  we’ll  give  her  the  first  glass  in  the  new 
magnum.  Little  Kate  Nickleby  1” 

“  Little  Kate  Nickleby,”  cried  the  other  three.  And  the 
glasses  were  set  down  empty. 

Keenly  alive  to  the  tone  and  manner  of  this  slight  and  care¬ 
less  mention  of  his  sister’s  name  in  a  public  place,  Nicholas 
fired  at  once ;  but  he  kept  himself  quiet  by  a  great  effort,  and 
did  not  even  turn  his  head. 

“  The  jade  I”  said  the  same  voice  which  had  spoken  before. 
“  She’s  a  true  Nickleby — a  worthy  imitator  of  her  old  uncle 
Ralph — she  hangs  back  to  be  more  sought  after — so  does  he ; 
nothing  to  be  got  out  of  Ralph  unless  you  follow  him  up,  and 
then  the  money  comes  doubly  welcome,  and  the  bargain  doubly 
hard,  for  you’re  impatient  and  he  isn’t.  Oh  1  infernal  cunning.” 

‘•'Infernal  cunning,”  echoed  two  voices. 

Nicholas  was  in  a  perfect  agony  as  the  two  elderly  gentlemen 
opposite,  rose  one  after  the  other  and  went  away,  lest  they 
should  be  the  means  of  his  losing  one  word  of  what  was  said. 
Rut  the  conversation  was  suspended  as  they  withdrew,  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


403 


resumed  with  even  greater  freedom  when  they  had  left  the 
room. 

“I  am  afraid,”  said  the  younger  gentleman,  “that  the  old 
woman  has  grown  jea-a-lous,  and  locked  her  up.  Upon  my 
soul  it  looks  like  it.” 

•‘If  they  quarrel  and  little  Nicklehy  goes  home  to  her  mother, 
so  much  the  better,”  said  the  first.  “  I  can  do  any  thing  with 
the  old  lady.  She’ll  believe  any  thing  I  tell  her.” 

“  Egad,  that’s  true,”  returned  the  other  voice.  “Ila,  ha,  ha  I 
Poor  deyvle  I” 

The  laugh  was  taken  up  by  the  two  voices  which  always  came 
in  together,  and  became  general  at  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  expense. 
Nicholas  turned  burning  hot  with  rage,  but  he  commanded  him¬ 
self  for  the  moment,  and  waited  to  hear  more. 

What  he  heard  need  not  be  repeated  here.  Suffice  it  that  a? 
the  wine  went  round  he  heard  enough  to  acquaint  him  with  the 
characters  and  designs  of  those  whose  conversation  he  over¬ 
heard  ;  to  possess  him  with  the  full  extent  of  Ralph’s  villany, 
and  the  real  reason  of  his  own  presence  being  required  in 
London.  He  heard  all  this  and  more.  He  heard  his  sister’s 
sufferings  derided,  and  her  virtuous  conduct  jeered  at  and 
brutally  misconstrued  ;  he  heard  her  name  bandied  from  mouth, 
to  mouth,  and  herself  made  the  subject  of  coarse  and  insolent 
wagers,  free  speech,  and  licentious  jesting. 

The  man  who  had  spoken  first,  led  the  conversation  and 
indeed  almost  engrossed  it,  being  only  stimulated  from  time  to 
time  by  some  sliglit  observation  from  one  or  other  of  his  com¬ 
panions.  To  him  then  Nicholas  addressed  himself,  when  he 
was  sufficiently  composed  to  stand  before  the  party,  and  force 
the  words  from  his  parched  and  scorching  throat. 

“Let  me  have  a  word  with  you.  Sir,”  said  Nicholas. 

“With  me.  Sir?”  retorted  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  eying  him 
in  disdainful  surprise. 

“I  said  with  you,”  replied  Nicholas,  speaking  with  great 
difficulty,  for  his  passion  choked  him. 

“A  mysterious  stranger,  upon  my  soul  I”  exclaimed  Sir  Mui- 
f)erry,  raising  his  wine-glass  to  his  lips,  and  looking  round  upon 
his  friends 


m 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Will  you  step  apart  with  me  for  a  few  minutes,  or  do  you 
refuse  ?  ”  said  Nicholas,  sternly. 

Sir  Mulberry  merely  paused  in  the  act  of  drinking,  and  bade 
him  either  name  his  business  or  leave  the  table. 

Nicholas  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket,  and  threw  it  before 
him. 

“  There,  Sir,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “  my  business  you  will  guess.” 

A  momentary  expression  of  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with 
some  confusion,  appeared  iu  the  face  of  Sir  Mulberry  as  he 
read  the  name  ;  but  he  subdued  it  in  an  instant,  and  tossing  the 
card  to  Lord  Verisopht,  who  sat  opposite,  drew  a  tooth -pick 
from  a  glass  before  liim,  and  very  leisurely  applied  it  to  his 
mouth. 

“  Your  name  and  address  ?”  said  Nicholas,  turning  paler  as  his 
passion  kindled. 

“  I  shall  give  you  neither,”  replied  Sir  Mulberry. 

“  If  there  is  a  gentleman  in  tliis  party,”  said  Nicholas,  look¬ 
ing  round  and  scarcely  able  to  make  his  white  lips  form  the 
words,  “  he  will  acquaint  me  with  the  name  and  residence  of 
this  man.” 

There  v'as  a  dead  silence. 

“  I  am  the  brother  of  the  young  lady  who  has  been  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  conversation  here,”  said  Nicholas.  “I  denounce  this 
person  as  a  liar,  and  impeach  him  as  a  coward.  If  he  has  a 
friend  here,  he  will  save  him  the  disgrace  of  the  paltry  attempt 
to  conceal  his  name — an  utterly  useless  one — for  I  will  find  it 
out,  nor  leave  him  until  I  have.” 

Sir  Mulberry  looked  at  him  contemptuously,  and,  addressing 
his  companions,  said — 

“  Let  the  fellow  talk,  I  have  nothing  serious  to  say  to  boys  of 
his  station  ;  and  his  pretty  sister  shall  save  him  a  broken  head, 
if  he  talks  till  midnight.” 

“  You  are  a  base  and  spiritless  scoundrel  !”  said  Nicholas, 
“  and  shall  be  proclaimed  so  to  the  world.  I  will  know  you ; 
I  will  follow  you  home  if  you  walk  the  streets  till  morning.” 

Sir  Mulberry’s  hand  involuntarily  closed  upon  the  decanter, 
and  he  seemed  for  an  instant  about  to  launch  it  at  the  head 
of  his  challenger.  But  he  only  filled  his  glass,  and  laughed  in 
derision. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


4R5 


Nicholas  sat  himself  down,  directly  opposite  to  the  party, 
and,  summoning  the  waiter,  paid  his  bill. 

“  Do  you  know  that  person’s  name  ?”  he  inquired  of  the  nan 
in  an  audible  voice ;  pointing  out  Sir  Mulberry  as  he  put  the 
question. 

Sir  Mulberry  laughed  again,  and  the  two  voices  which  had 
always  spoken  together,  echoed  the  laugh  ;  but  rather  feebly. 

“ That  gentleman.  Sir?”  replied  the  waiter,  who,  no  doubt, 
knew  his  cue,  and  answered  with  just  as  little  respect,  and  just 
as  much  imi>ertinence  as  he  could  safely  show:  “no.  Sir,  I  do 
not.  Sir.” 

“  Here,  you.  Sir,”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  as  the  man  was  reti¬ 
ring  ;  “  do  you  know  that  person’s  name  ?” 

“Name,  Sir?  No,  Sir.” 

“Then  you’ll  find  it  there,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  throwing  Ni¬ 
cholas’s  card  towards  him  ;  “  and  when  you  have  made  yourself 
master  of  it,  put  that  piece  of  pasteboard  in  the  fire— do  you 
hear  me  ?” 

The  man  grinned,  and  looking  doubtfully  at  Nicholas,  com 
promised  the  matter  by  sticking  the  card  in  the  chimney-glass. 
Having  done  this,  he  retired. 

Nicholas  folded  his  arms,  and,  biting  his  lip,  sat  perfectly 
quiet ;  sufficiently  expressing  by  his  manner,  however,  a  firm 
determination  to  carry  his  threat  of  following  Sir  Mulberry 
home,  into  steady  execution. 

It  was  evident  from  the  tone  in  which  the  younger  member 
of  the  party  appeared  to  remonstrate  with  his  friend,  that  he 
objected  to  this  course  of  proceeding,  and  urged  him  to  comply 
with  the  request  which  Nicholas  had  made.  Sir  Mulberry, 
however,  who  was  not  quite  sober,  and  who  was  in  a  sullen  and 
dogged  state  of  obstinacy,  soon  silenced  the  rejirosentations  of 
his  weak  young  friend,  and  further  seemed — as  if  to  save  him¬ 
self  from  a  repetition  of  them — to  insist  on  being  left  alone. 
However  this  might  have  been,  the  young  gentleman  and  the 
two  who  had  always  spoken  together,  actually  rose  to  go  after 
a  short  interval,  and  presently  retired,  leaving  their  friend  alone 
with  Nicliolas. 

It  will  be  very  readily  supposed  that  to  one  in  the  condition 
of  Kicholas,  the  minutes  appeared  to  move  with  leaden  wings 
30 


466 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


indeed,  and  that  their  progress  did  not  seem  the  more  rapid  from 
the  monotonous  ticking  of  a  French  clock,  or  the  shrill  sound 
of  its  little  bell  which  told  the  quarters.  But  there  he  sat;  and 
in  his  old  seat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  reclined  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk,  with  his  legs  upon  the  cushion,  and  his  hand¬ 
kerchief  thrown  negligently  over  his  knees :  finishing  his  mag¬ 
num  of  claret  with  the  utmost  coolness  and  indifference. 

Thus  they  remained  in  perfect  silence  for  upwards  of  an  hour 
— Nicholas  would  have  thought  for  three  hours  at  least,  but 
that  the  little  bell  had  only  gone  four  times.  Twice  or  thrice 
he  looked  angrily  and  impatiently  round ;  but  there  was  Sir 
Mulberry  in  the  same  attitude,  putting  his  glass  to  his  lips  from 
time  to  time,  and  looking  vacantly  at  the  wall,  as  if  he  were 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  presence  of  any  living  person. 

At  length  he  yawned,  stretched  himself,  and  rose ;  walked 
coolly  to  the  glass,  and  having  surveyed  himself  therein,  turned 
round  and  honored  Nicholas  with  a  long  and  contemptuous 
stare.  Nicholas  stared  again  with  right  good  will;  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled  slightly,  rang  the  bell,  and 
ordered  the  waiter  to  help  him  on  with  his  great-coat. 

The  man  did  so,  and  held  the  door  open. 

“  Don’t  wait,”  said  Sir  Mulberry  ;  and  they  were  alone  again. 

Sir  Mulberry  took  several  turns  up  and  down  the  room, 
whistling  carelessly  all  the  time :  stopped  to  finish  the  last  glass 
of  claret  which  he  had  poured  out  a  few  minutes  before,  walked 
again,  put  on  his  hat,  adjusted  it  by  the  glass,  drew  on  his  gloves, 
and,  at  last,  walked  slowly  out.  Nicholas,  who  had  been  fum¬ 
ing  and  chafing  until  he  was  nearly  wild,  darted  from  his  seat, 
and  followed  him — so  closely,  that  before  the  door  had  swung 
upon  its  hinges  after  Sir  Mulberry’s  passing  out,  they  stood 
side  by  side  in  the  street  together. 

There  was  a  private  cabriolet  in  waiting ;  the  groom  opened 
the  api’on,  and  jumped  out  to  the  horse’s  head. 

“Will  you  make  yourself  known  to  me?”  asked  Nicholas,  in 
a  suppressed  voice. 

“No,”  replied  the  other  fiercely,  and  confirming  the  refusal 
with  an  oath.  “No.” 

“  If  you  trust  to  your  horse’s  speed,  you  will  find  yourself 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


467 


mistaken,”  said  Nicholas.  “I  will  accompany  you.  By  Hea¬ 
ven  I  will,  if  I  hanj^  on  to  the  foot-board.” 

“  You  shall  be  horsewhipped  if  you  do,”  returned  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry. 

“  You  are  a  villain,”  said  Nicholas. 

“You  are  an  errand-boy,  for  aught  I  know,”  said  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  Hawk. 

“  I  am  the  son  of  a  country  gentleman,”  returned  Nicholas, 
“your  equal  in  birtli  and  education  and  your  superior  I  trust 
in  every  thing  besides.  I  tell  you  again.  Miss  Nickleby  is  my 
sister.  Will  you  or  will  you  not  answer  for  your  unmanly  and 
brutal  conduct  ?” 

“  To  a  proper  champion — yes.  To  you — no,”  returned  .Sir 
Mulberry,  taking  the  reins  in  his  hand.  “  Stand  out  of  the 
way,  dog.  William,  let  go  her  head.” 

“You  had  better  not,”  cried  Nicholas,  springing  on  the  step 
as  Sir  Mulberry  jumped  in,  and  catching  at  the  reins.  “  He  has 
no  command  over  the  horse,  mind.  You  shall  not  go — you 
shall  not,  I  swear — till  you  have  told  me  who  you  are.” 

The  groom  hesitated,  for  the  mare,  who  was  a  high-spirited 
animal  and  thorough-bred,  plunged  so  violently  that  he  could 
scarcely  hold  her. 

“Leave  go,  I  tell  you  1”  thundered  his  master. 

The  man  obeyed.  The  animal  reared  and  plunged  as  though 
it  would  dash  the  carriage  into  a  thousand  pieces,  but  Nicho¬ 
las,  blind  to  all  sense  of  danger,  and  conscious  of  nothing  but 
his  fury,  still  maintained  his  place  and  his  hold  upon  the  reins. 

“Will  you  unclasp  your  hand  ?” 

“  Will  you  tell  me  who  you  are  ?” 

“  No  !” 

“No  !” 

In  less  time  than  the  quickest  tongue  could  tell  it,  these 
words  were  exchanged,  and  Sir  Mulberry  shortening  his  whip, 
api)lied  it  furiously  to  the  head  and  shoulders  of  Nicholas.  It 
was  broken  in  the  struggle  ;  Nicholas  gained  the  heavy  handle, 
and  with  it  laid  open  one  side  of  his  antagonist’s  face  from  the 
eye  to  the  lip.  He  saw  the  gash  ;  knew  that  the  mare  had  dart¬ 
ed  otf  at  a  wild,  mad  gallop  ;  a  hundred  lights  danced  in  hie 
eyes,  and  he  felt  himself  flung  violently  upon  the  ground. 


468 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


He  was  giddy  and  sick,  but  staggered  to  his  feet  directly, 
roused  by  the  loud  shouts  of  the  men  who  were  tearing  up  the 
street,  and  screaming  to  those  ahead  to  clear  the  way.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  torrent  of  people  rushing  quickly  by — look¬ 
ing  up,  could  discern  the  cabriolet  whirled  along  the  foot  pave¬ 
ment  with  frightful  rapidity — then  heard  a  loud  cry,  the  smashing 
of  some  heavy  body,  and  the  breaking  of  glass — and  then  the 
crowd  closed  in  in  the  distance,  and  he  could  see  or  hear  no 
more. 

The  general  attention  had  been  entirely  directed  from  him¬ 
self  to  the  person  in  the  carriage,  and  he  was  quite  alone. 
Rightly  judging  that  under  such  circumstances  it  would  be 
madness  to  follow,  he  turned  down  a  by-street  in  search  of  the 
nearest  coach-stand,  finding  after  a  minute  or  two  that  he  was 
reeling  like  a  drunken  man,  and  aware  for  the  first  time  of  a 
stream  of  blood  that  was  trickling  down  his  face  and  breast. 


CHAPTER  XXX III. 


IN  WHICH  Mil.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  IS  RELIEVED,  BY  A  VERY  EXPE¬ 
DITIOUS  PROCESS,  FROM  ALL  COMMERCE  WITH  HIS  RELATIONS. 

Smike  and  Xewman  Noggs,  who  in  his  impatience  had  re¬ 
turned  home  long  before  the  time  agreed  upon,  sat  before  the 
fire,  listening  anxiously  to  every  footstep  on  the  stairs,  and  the 
slightest  sound  that  stirred  within  the  house,  for  the  approach 
of  Nicholas.  Time  had  worn  on,  and  it  was  growing  late.  Ho 
had  promised  to  be  back  in  an  hour ;  and  his  prolonged  ab¬ 
sence  began  to  excite  considerable  alarm  in  the  minds  of  both, 
as  was  abundantly  testified  by  the  blank  looks  they  cast  upon 
each  other  at  every  new  disappointment. 

At  length  a  coach  was  heard  to  stop,  and  Newman  ran  out 
to  light  Nicholas  up  the  stairs.  Beholding  him  in  the  trim  de¬ 
scribed  at  the  conclusion  of  the  last  chapter,  he  stood  aghast 
in  wonder  and  consternation. 

“  Don’t  be  alarmed,”  said  Nicholas,  hurrying  him  back  into 
the  room,  “  There  is  no  harm  done,  beyond  what  a  basin  of 
water  can  repair.” 

“No  harm!”  cried  Newman,  passing  his  hands  hastily  over 
the  back  and  arms  of  Nicholas,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he 
had  broken  no  bones.  “  What  have  you  been  doing  ?” 

“  I  know  all,”  interrupted  Nicholas;  “I  have  heard  a  part 
and  guessed  the  rest.  But  before  I  remove  one  jot  of  these 
stains,  I  must  hear  the  whole  from  you.  You  see  I  am  col¬ 
lected,  ]\ly  resolution  is  taken.  Now,  my  good  friend,  speak 
out;  for  the  time  for  any  palliation  or  concealment  is  past,  and 
nothing  will  avail  Ralph  Nickleby  now.” 

“  Your  dress  is  torn  in  several  places;  you  walk  lame,  and  I 
am  sure  are  sulferiug  pain,”  said  Newman,  “Let  me  see  to 
your  hurts  first,” 

“  I  have  no  hurts  to  see  to,  beyond  a  little  soreness  and  stifif- 
oess  that  will  soou  pass  off,”  said  Nicholas,  seating  himself  with 

(469) 


m 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


some  difficulty.  “  But  if  I  had  fractured  every  limb,  and  bUII 
preserved  my  senses,  you  should  not  bandage  one  till  you  had 
told  me  what  I  have  the  right  to  know.  Come,”  said  Nicholas, 
giving  his  hand  to  Noggs.  “  You  had  a  sister  of  your  own, 
you  told  me  once,  who  died  before  you  fell  into  misfortune. 
Now  think  of  her,  and  tell  me,  Newman.” 

“Yes,  I  will,  I  will,”  said  Noggs  “I’ll  tell  you  the  whole 
truth.” 

Newman  did  so.  Nicholas  nodded  his  head  from  time  to 
time,  as  it  corroborated  the  particulars  he  had  already  gleaned ; 
but  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  fire,  aud  did  not  look  round 
once. 

His  recital  ended,  Newman  insisted  upon  his  young  friend’s 
stripping  off  his  coat,  and  allowing  whatever  injuries  he  had 
received  to  be  properly  tended.  Nicholas,  after  some  opposi¬ 
tion,  at  length  consented,  aud  while  some  pretty  severe  bruises 
on  his  arms  and  shoulders  were  being  rubbed  with  oil  and  vine¬ 
gar,  and  various  other  efficacious  remedies  which  Newman  bor¬ 
rowed  from  the  different  lodgers,  related  in  what  manner  they 
had  been  received.  The  recital  made  a  strong  impression  ou 
the  warm  imagination  of  Newman;  for  when  Nicholas  came  to 
the  violent  part  of  ihe  quarrel,  he  rubbed  so  hard,  as  to  occa¬ 
sion  him  the  most  exquisite  pain,  which  he  would  not  have  ex¬ 
hibited,  however,  for  the  world,  it  being  perfectly  clear  that,  for 
the  moment,  Newman  was  operating  on  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk, 
and  had  quite  lost  sight  of  his  real  patient. 

This  martyrdom  over,  Nicholas  arranged  with  Newman  that 
while  he  was  otherwise  occupied  next  morning,  arrangements 
should  be  made  for  his  mother’s  immediately  quitting  her  pi'esent 
residence,  and  also  for  dispatching  Miss  La  Creevy  to  break 
the  intelligence  to  her.  lie  then  wrapped  himself  in  Smike’s 
great-coat,  and  repaired  to  the  inn  where  they  were  to  pass  the 
night,  and  where  (after  writing  a  few  lines  to  Ralph,  the  de¬ 
livery  of  which  was  to  be  intrusted  to  Newman  next  day,)  he 
endeavored  to  obtain  the  repose  of  which  he  stood  so  much  in 
need. 

Drunken  men,  they  say,  may  roll  down  precipices,  and  be 
quite  unconscious  of  any  serious  personal  inconvenience  when 
their  reason  returns.  The  remark  may  possibly  apply  to  inju- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


47] 


ries  received  in  other  kinds  of  violent  excitement ;  certain  it  is, 
that  although  Nicholas  experienced  some  pain  on  first  awaken¬ 
ing  next  morning,  he  sprung  out  of  bed  as  the  clock  struck  seven, 
with  very  little  difficulty,  and  was  soon  as  much  on  the  alert 
as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 

Merely  looking  into  Smike’s  room,  and  telling  him  that  New¬ 
man  Noggs  would  call  for  him  very  shortly,  Nicholas  descended 
into  the  street,  and  calling  a  hackney  coach,  bade  the  man 
drive  to  Mrs.  Wititterly’s,  according  to  the  direction  which 
Newman  had  given  him  on  the  previous  night. 

It  wanted  a  quarter  to  eight  when  they  reached  Cadogan 
Place.  Nicholas  began  to  fear  that  no  one  might  be  stirring 
at  that  early  hour,  when  he  was  relieved  by  the  sight  of  a 
female  servant,  employed  in  cleaning  the  door-steps.  By  this 
functionary  he  was  referred  to  the  doubtful  page,  who  appeared 
with  disheveled  hair  and  a  very  warm  and  glossy  face,  as  of  a 
page  who  had  just  got  out  of  bed. 

By  this  young  gentleman  he  was  informed  that  Miss  Nickleby 
was  then  taking  her  morning’s  walk  in  the  gardens  before  the 
house.  On  the  question  being  propounded  whether  he  could  go 
and  find  her,  the  page  desponded  and  thought  not ;  but  being 
stimulated  with  a  shilling,  the  page  grew  sanguine  and  thought 
he  could. 

“  Say  to  Miss  Nickleby  that  her  brother  is  here,  and  in  great 
haste  to  see  her,”  said  Nicholas. 

The  plated  buttons  disappeared  with  an  alacrity  most  un¬ 
usual  to  them,  and  Nicholas  paced  the  room  in  a  state  of  feverish 
agitation  which  made  the  delay  even  of  a  minute  insupportable. 
He  soon  heard  a  light  footstep  which  he  well  knew,  and  before 
he  could  advance  to  meet  her,  Kate  had  fallen  on  his  neck  and 
Durst  into  tears. 

“  iNIydarling  girl,”  said  Nicholas  as  he  embraced  her.  “  ITow 
pale  you  are  !” 

“I  liave  been  so  unhappy  here,  dear  brother,”  sobbed  poor 
Kate  ;  “  so  very,  very  miserable.  Bo  not  leave  me  here,  dear 
■Nicholas,  or  I  shall  die  of  a  broken  heart.” 

•‘1  will  leave  }'ou  nowhere,”  answered  Nicholas — “never 
again,  Kate,”  he  cried,  moved  in  spite  of  himself  as  he  folded 
her  to  his  heart  “tell  me  that  I  acted  for  the  best.  Tell  ma 


472 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


that  we  parted  because  I  feared  to  bring  misfortune  on  your 
head  ;  that  it  was  a  trial  to  me  no  less  than  to  yourself,  and  that 
if  I  did  wrong  it  was  in  ignorance  of  the  world  and  unknow¬ 
ingly.” 

“  Why  should  I  tell  you  what  we  know  so  well  ?”  returned 
Kate,  soothingly.  “Nicholas — dear  Nicholas — how  can  you 
give  way  thus  ?” 

“  It  is  such  bitcef  reproach  to  me  to  know  what  you  have  un¬ 
dergone,”  returned  her  brother;  “to  see  you  so  much  altered, 
and  yet  so  kind  and  patient — God  I”  cried  Nicholas,  clinching 
his  fist  and  suddenly  changing  his  tone  and  manner,  “it  sets  my 
whole  blood  on  fire  again.  You  must  leave  here  with  me  directly ; 
you  should  not  have  slept  here  last  night,  but  that  I  knew  all 
this  too  late.  To  whom  can  I  speak,  before  we  drive  away  ?” 

This  question  was  most  opportunely  put,  for  at  that  instant 
Mr.  Wititterly  walked  in,  and  to  him  Kate  introduced  her 
brother,  who  at  once  announced  his  purpose,  and  the  impossi¬ 
bility  of  deferring  it. 

“  The  quarter’s  notice,”  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  with  the  gravity 
of  a  man  on  the  right  side,  “  is  not  yet  half  expired.  There¬ 
fore — ” 

“  Therefore,”  interposed  Nicholas,  “  the  quarter’s  salary  must 
be  lost.  Sir.  You  will  excuse  this  extreme  haste,  but  circum¬ 
stances  require  that  I  should  immediately  remove  my  sister,  and 
I  have  not  a  moment’s  time  to  lose.  Whatever  she  brought 
here  I  will  send  for,  if  you  will  allow  me,  in  the  course  of  the 
day.” 

Mr.  Wititterly  bowed,  but  offered  no  opposition  to  Kate’s 
immediate  departure  ;  with  which,  indeed,  he  was  rather  grati¬ 
fied  than  otherwise.  Sir  Tumley  SnufQm  having  given  it  as  bin 
opinion,  that  she  rather  disagreed  with  Mrs.  Wititterly ’s  consti¬ 
tution. 

“  With  regard  to  the  trifle  of  salary  that  is  due,”  said  Mr. 
Wititterly,  “  I  will — ”  here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  violent  fit 
of  coughing — “  I  will — owe  it  to  Miss  Nickleby.” 

Mr.  Wititterly,  it  should  be  observed,  was  accustomed  to  owa 
small  accounts,  and  to  leave  them  owing.  All  men  have  some 
little  pleasant  way  of  their  own  ;  and  this  was  Mr.  Wititterly ’s. 

“  If  you  please  ”  said  Nicholas.  And  once  more  offering  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


473 


hurried  apology  for  so  sudden  a  departure,  he  hurried  Kate  into 
the  vehicle,  and  bade  the  man  drive  with  all  speed  into  the  City. 

To  the  City  they  went  accordingly,  with  all  the  speed  the 
hackney  coach  could  make ;  and  as  the  horses  happened  to  live 
at  Whitechapel  and  to  be  in  the  habit  of  taking  their  breakfast 
there,  when  they  breakfasted  at  all,  they  performed  the  journey 
with  greater  expedition  than  could  reasonably  have  been  ex¬ 
pected. 

Nicholas  sent  Kate  up  stairs,  a  few  minutes  before  him,  that 
his  unlooked-for  appearance  might  not  alarm  his  mother,  and 
when  the  way  had  been  paved,  presented  himself  with  much  duty 
and  affection.  Newman  had  not  been  idle,  for  there  was  a  little 
cart  at  the  door,  and  the  effects  were  hurrying  out  already. 

Now,  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  be  told 
any  thing  in  a  hurry,  or  rather  to  comprehend  any  thing  of  pecu¬ 
liar  delicacy  or  importance  on  a  short  notice.  Wherefore, 
although  the  good  lady  had  been  subjected  to  a  full  hour’s  prepa¬ 
ration  by  little  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  was  now  addressed  in  most 
lucid  terms  both  by  Nicholas  and  his  sister,  she  was  in  a  state 
of  singular  bewilderment  and  confusion,  and  couM  by  no  means 
be  made  to  comprehend  the  necessity  of  such  hurried  proceedings. 

“Why  don’t  you  ask  your  uncle,  my  dear  Nicholas,  what  he 
can  possibly  mean  by  it  ?”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 

“  My  dear  mother,”  returned  Nicholas,  “the  time  for  talking 
has  gone  by.  There  is  but  one  step  to  take,  and  that  is  to  cast 
him  off  with  the  scorn  and  indignation  he  deserves.  Your  own 
honor  and  good  name  demand  that,  after  the  discovery  of  his  vile 
proceedings,  you  should  not  be  beholden  to  him  one  hour,  even 
for  the  shelter  of  these  bare  walls.” 

“To  be  sure,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  crying  bitterly,  “he  is  a 
brute,  a  monster;  and  the  walls  are  very  bare,  and  want  paint¬ 
ing  too,  and  I  have  had  this  ceiling  white- washed  at  the  expense 
of  eighteen  pence,  which  is  a  very  distressing  thing,  considering 
that  it  is  so  much  gone  into  your  uncle’s  pocket.  I  never  could 
have  believed  it— never.’’ 

“  Nor  I,  nor  any  body  else,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Lord  bless  iny  life  !”  e.xclaiined  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  To 
think  that  Sir  INIulberry  Hawk  should  be  such  an  abandoned 
wretch  as  Miss  La  Creevy  says  he  is,  Nicholas,  my  dear  ;  when 


474 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


I  WaS  congratulating  myself  every  day  on  his  being  an  admirer 
of  our  dear  Kate’s,  and  thinking  what  a  thing  it  would  be  for  the 
family  if  he  was  to  become  connected  with  us,  and  use  his  inter¬ 
est  to  get  you  some  profitable  government  place.  There  are 
very  good  places  to  be  got  about  the  court,  I  know;  for  the 
brother  of  a  friend  of  ours  (Miss  Cropley,  at  Exeter,  my  deat 
Kate,  you  recollect),  he  had  one,  and  I  know  that  it  was  the 
chief  part  of  his  duty  to  wear  silk  stockings,  and  a  bag  wig  like 
a  black  watch-pocket ;  and  to  think  that  it  should  come  to  this 
after  all — oh,  dear,  dear,  it’s  enough  to  kill  one,  that  it  is!'’ 
With  which  expressions  of  sorrow,  Mrs.  Nickleby  gave  fresh 
vent  to  her  grief,  and  wept  piteously. 

As  Nicholas  and  his  sister  were  by  this  time  compelled  to 
superintend  the  removal  of  the  few  articles  of  furniture.  Miss 
La  Creevy  devoted  herself  to  the  consolation  of  the  matron, 
and  observed  with  great  kindness  of  manner  that  she  must  really 
make  an  effort,  and  cheer  up. 

"  Oh  I  dare  say.  Miss  La  Creevy,”  returned  Mrs.  Nic- 
fdeby,  with  a  petulance  not  unnatural  in  her  unhappy  circum¬ 
stances,  “it’s  very  easy  to  say  cheer  up,  but  if  you  had  had 

as  many  occasions  to  cheer  up  as  I  have  had - and  there,” 

said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  stopping  short,  “think  of  Mr.  Pyke  and 
Mr.  Pluck,  two  of  the  most  perfect  gentlemen  that  ever  lived, 
what  am  I  to  say  to  them — what  can  I  say  to  them  ?  Why,  if 
I  was  to  say  to  them,  ‘  I’m  told  your  friend  Sir  Mulberry  is  a 
base  wretch,’  they’d  laugh  at  me.” 

“They  will  laugh  no  more  at  us,  I  take  it,”  said  Nicholas, 
advancing.  “  Come,  mother,  there  is  a  coach  at  the  door,  and 
until  Monday,  at  all  events,  we  will  return  to  our  old  quarters.” 

— “  Where  every  thing  is  ready,  and  a  hearty  welcome  into 
the  bargain,”  added  Miss  La  Creevy.  “Now,  let  me  go  with 
you  down  stairs.” 

But  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  not  to  be  so  easily  moved,  for  first 
she  insisted  on  going  up  stairs  to  see  that  nothing  had  been  left, 
and  then  on  going  down  stairs  to  see  that  every  thing  had  been 
taken  away ;  and  when  she  was  getting  into  the  coach  she  had 
a  vision  of  a  forgotten  coffee-pot  on  the  back-kitchen  hob,  and 
after  she  was  shut  in,  a  dismal  recollection  of  a  green  umbrella 
behind  some  unknown  door.  At  last,  Nicholas,  in  a  condition 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


475 


of  absolute  despair,  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  away,  and 
in  the  unexpected  jerk  of  a  sudden  starting,  Mrs.  Nickleby  lost 
a  shilling  among  the  straw,  which  fortunately  confined  her 
attention  to  the  coach  until  it  was  too  late  to  remember  any 
thing  else. 

Having  seen  every  thing  safely  out,  discharged  the  servant, 
and  locked  the  door,  Nicholas  jumped  into  a  cabriolet  and  drove 
to  a  by-place  near  Golden  Square,  where  he  had  appointed  to 
meet  Noggs  ;  and  so  quickly  had  every  thing  been  done,  that 
it  was  barely  half  past  nine  when  he  reached  the  place  of 
meeting. 

“  Here  is  the  letter  for  Ralph,”  said  Nicholas,  “  and  here  the 
key.  When  you  come  to  me  this  evening,  not  a  word  of  last 
night.  Ill  news  travels  fast,  and  they  will  know  it  soon  enough. 
Have  you  heard  if  he  was  much  hurt?” 

Newman  shook  his  head. 

“  I  will  ascertain  that  myself  without  loss  of  time,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“  You  had  better  take  some  rest,”  returned  Newman.  “  You 
are  fevered  and  ill.” 

Nicliolas  waved  his  hand  carelessly,  and  concealing  the  in¬ 
disposition  he  really  felt,  now  that  the  excitement  which  had 
sustained  liim  was  ovei’,  took  a  hurried  farewell  of  Newman 
Noggs,  and  left  him. 

Newman  was  not  three  minutes’  walk  from  Gohlen  Square, 
but  in  the  course  of  that  three  minutes  he  took  the  letter  out 
of  his  hat  and  ])ut  it  in  again  twenty  times  at  least.  First 
the  front,  then  the  back,  then  the  sides,  then  the  superscription, 
then  tlie  seal,  were  objects  of  Newman’s  admiration.  Then  he 
held  it  at  arm’s  length  as  if  to  take  in  the  whole  at  one  deli¬ 
cious  survey,  and  then  he  rubbed  his  hands  in  a  perfect  ecstasy 
with  his  commission. 

He  reached  the  office,  hung  his  hat  on  its  accustomed  peg, 
laid  the  letter  and  key  upon  the  desk,  and  waited  impatiently 
until  Ralph  Nickleby  should  appear.  After  a  few  minutes,  the 
well-known  creaking  of  his  boots  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  and 
then  the  bell  rung. 

“  lias  the  post  come  in  ?” 

“  No.” 


476 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Any  other  letters  ?” 

“  One.”  Newman  eyed  him  closely,  and  laid  it  on  the  desk. 

“  AVhat’s  this  ?”  asked  Ralph,  taking  up  the  key. 

“  Left  with  the  letter  ; — a  boy  brought  them— quarter  of  an 
hour  ago,  or  less.” 

Ralph  glanced  at  the  direction,  opened  the  letter,  and  read 
as  follows  : — 

“  You  are  kuown  to  me  now.  There  are  no  reproaches  I 
could  heap  upon  your  head  which  would  carry  with  them  one 
thousandth  part  of  the  groveling  shame  that  this  assurance  will 
awaken  even  in  your  breast. 

“  Your  brother’s  widow  and  her  orphan  child  spurn  the 
shelter  of  your  roof,  and  shun  you  with  disgust  and  loathing. 
Your  kindrerl  renounce  you,  for  they  know  no  shame  but  the 
lies  of  blood  which  bind  them  in  name  with  you. 

“You  are  an  old  man,  and  I  leave  you  to  the  grave.  May 
every  recollection  of  your  life  cling  to  your  false  heart,  and  cast 
their  darkness  on  your  death-bed.” 

Ralph  Nickleby  read  this  letter  twice,  and  frowning  heavily, 
fell  into  a  fit  of  musing  ;  the  paper  fluttered  from  his  hand  and 
dropped  upon  the  floor,  but  he  clasped  his  fingers,  as  if  he  held 
it  still. 

Suddenly,  he  started  from  his  seat,  and  thrusting  it  all 
crumpled  into  his  pocket,  turned  furiously  to  Newman  Noggs 
as  though  to  ask  him  why  he  lingered.  But  Newman  stood 
unmoved,  with  his  back  towards  him,  following  up,  with  the 
worn  and  blackened  stump  of  an  old  pen,  some  figures  in  an 
Interest-table  which  was  pasted  against  the  wall,  and  apparently 
quite  abstracted  from  every  other  object. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


WHEREIN  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  IS  VISITED  BY  PERSONS  WITH 

WHOM  THE  READER  HAS  BEEN  ALREADY  MADE  ACQUAINTED 

“What  a  demnition  long  time  you  have  kept  me  ringing  at 
this  confounded  old  cracked  tea-kettle  of  a  bell,  every  tinkle  of 
which  is  enough  to  throw  a  strong  man  into  blue  convulsions, 
upon  my  life  and  soul,  oh  demmit,” — said  Mr.  Mantalini  to 
Newman  Noggs,  scraping  his  boots,  as  he  spoke,  on  Ralph 
Nickleby’s  scraper. 

“I  didn’t  hear  the  bell  more  than  once,”  replied  Newman. 

“Then  you  are  most  immensely  and  outrageously  deaf,”  said 
Mr.  Mantalini,  “as  deaf  as  a  demnition  post.” 

Mr,  Mantalini  had  got  by  this  time  into  the  passage,  and 
was  making  his  way  to  the  door  of  Ralph’s  office  with  very 
little  ceremony,  when  Newman  interposed  his  body;  and  hint¬ 
ing  that  Mr.  Nickleby  was  unwilling  to  be  disturbed,  inquired 
whether  the  client’s  business  was  of  a  pressing  nature. 

“It  is  most  dernnebly  particular,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini.  “It 
is  to  melt  some  scraps  of  dirty  paper  into  bright,  shining,  chink¬ 
ing,  tinkling,  demd  mint  sauce.” 

Newman  uttered  a  significant  grunt,  and  taking  Mr.  Manta- 
lini’s  proffered  card,  limped  with  it  into  his  master’s  office.  As 
he  thrust  his  head  into  the  door,  he  saw  that  Ralph  had 
resumed  the  thoughtful  posture  into  which  he  had  fallen  after 
perusing  his  nephew’s  letter,  and  that  he  seemed  to  have  been 
reading  it  again,  as  he  once  more  held  it  open  in  his  hand. 
The  glance  was  but  momentary,  for  Ralph,  being  disturbed, 
turned  to  demand  the  cause  of  the  interruption. 

As  Newman  stated  it,  the  cause  himself  swaggered  into  the 
room,  and  grasping  Ralph’s  horny  hand  with  uncommon  affec¬ 
tion,  vowed  that  he  had  never  seen  him  looking  so  well  in  all 
his  life. 

“There  is  quite  a  bloom  upon  your  demd  countenance,’*  said 


478 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Mr.  Mantalini,  seating  himself  unbidden,  and  arranging  his 
hair  and  whiskers.  “You  look  quite  juvenile  and  jolly, 
deinniit  1” 

“We  are  alone,”  returned  Ralph,  tartly.  “What  do  you 
want  with  me?” 

“Good!”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  displaying  his  teeth.  “What 
did  I  want!  Yes.  Ha,  ha!  Very  good.  What  did  I  want! 
Ha,  ha!  Ohdem!” 

“What  do  you  want,  man?”  demanded  Ralph,  sternly. 

“Demnition  discount,”  returned  Mr.  Mantalini,  with  a  grin, 
and  shaking  his  head  waggishly. 

“  Money  is  scarce,”  said  Ralph. 

“Demd  scarce,  or  I  shouldn’t  want  it,”  interrupted  Mr. 
Mantalini. 

“The  times  are  bad,  and  one  scarcely  knows  whom  to  trust,” 
continued  Ralph.  “I  don’t  want  to  do  business  just  now:  in 
fact,  I  would  rather  not;  but  as  you  are  a  friend — how  many 
bills  have  you  there  ?” 

“Two,”  returned  Mr.  Mantalini. 

“What  is  the  gross  amount?” 

“  Demd  trifling — five-and-seventy.” 

“And  the  dates  ?” 

“Two  months,  and  four.” 

‘  I’ll  do  them  for  you — mind,  for  you;  I  wouldn’t  for  many 
people — for  flve-and-twenty  pounds,”  said  Ralph,  deliberately. 

“Oh  demmit!”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  whose  face  lengthened 
considerably  at  this  handsome  proposal. 

“AVhy,  that  leaves  you  fifty,”  retorted  Ralph.  “What  would 
you  have?  Let  me  see  the  names.” 

“You  are  so  demd  hard,  Nickleby,”  remonstrated  Mr.  Man¬ 
talini. 

“Let  me  see  the  names,”  replied  Ralph,  impatiently  extend¬ 
ing  his  hand  for  the  bills.  “Well!  They  are  not  sure,  but 
they  are  safe  enough.  Do  you  consent  to  the  terms,  and  will 
you  take  the  money?  I  don’t  Avant  you  to  do  so.  I  would 
rather  you  didn’t.” 

“Demmit,  Nickleby,  can’t  you - ”  began  Mr,  Mantalini. 

“No,”  replied  Ralph,  interrupting  him,  “I  can’t.  Will  you 
Lake  the  money- — down,  mind;  no  delay,  no  going  into  the  City 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


479 


and  pi’ctending  to  negotiate  with  some  other  party  who  has  no 
existence  and  never  had.  Is  it  a  bargain,  or  is  it  not?” 

Ralph  pushed  some  papers  from  him  as  he  spoke,  and  care¬ 
lessly  rattled  his  cash-box,  as  though  by  mere  accident.  Tbe 
sound  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Mantalini.  lie  closed  the  bargain 
directly  it  reached  liis  ears,  and  Ralph  told  the  money  out  upon 
the  table. 

He  had  scarcely  done  so,  end  Mr.  Mantalini  had  not  yet 
gathered  it  all  up,  when  a  ring  was  heard  at  the  bell,  and  imme¬ 
diately  afterwards  Newman  ushered  in  no  less  a  person  than 
Madame  Mantalini,  at  sight  of  whom  Mr.  Mantalini  evinced 
considerable  discomposure,  and  swept  the  cash  into  his  pocket 
with  remarkable  alacrity. 

“Oh,  you  are  here,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  tossing  her 
head. 

“Yes,  my  life  and  soul,  I  am,”  replied  her  husband,  dropping 
on  his  knees,  and  pouncing  with  kitten-like  playfulness  upon  a 
stray  sovereign.  “I  am  here,  my  soul’s  delight,  upon  Tom 
Tidler’s  ground,  picking  up  the  demnition  gold  and  silver.” 

“  I  am  ashamed  of  you,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  with  much 
indignation. 

“Ashamed — of  me,  my  joy?  It  knows  it  is  talking  demd 
charming  sweetness,  but  naughty  fibs,”  returned  Mr.  Mantalini. 
“It  knows  it  is  not  ashamed  of  its  own  popolorum  tibby.” 

M^hatever  were  the  circumstances  which  had  led  to  such  a 
result,  it  certainly  appeared  as  though  the  popolorum  tibby 
had  rather  miscalculated,  for  the  nonce,  the  extent  of  his  lady’s 
etl'ection.  Madame  Mantalini  only  looked  scornful  in  reply; 
and,  turning  to  Ralph,  begged  him  to  excuse  her  intrusion. 

“Which  is  entirely  attributable,”  said  Madame,  “to  the  gross 
misconduct  and  most  improper  behavior  of  Mr.  Mantalini.” 

“Of  me,  my  essential  juice  of  pine-apple!” 

“Of  you,”  returned  his  wife.  “But  I  will  not  allow  it.  1 
will  not  submit  to  be  ruined  by  the  extravagance  and  jirofli- 
gacy  of  any  man.  I  call  Mr.  Nickleby  to  witness  the  course 
1  intend  to  pursue  with  you.” 

“  Bray  don’t  call  me  to  witness  any  thing.  Ma’am,”  said 
Ralph.  “  Settle  it  between  yourselves,  settle  it  between  your¬ 
selves.” 


31 


480 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


No,  but  I  must  beg  you  as  a  favor,”  said  Madame  Manta- 
Uni,  “  to  hear  me  give  him  notice  of  what  it  is  my  fixed  inten¬ 
tion  to  do — my  fixed  intention,  Sir,”  repeated  Madame  Manta- 
lini,  darting  an  angry  look  at  her  husband. 

“  Will  she  call  me,  ‘  Sir’  I”  cried  Mantalini.  “  Me  who  dote 
upon  her  with  the  demdest  ardor  I  She,  who  coils  her  fascina¬ 
tions  round  me  like  a  pure  and  angelic  rattle-snake !  It  will  be 
all  up  with  my  feelings ;  she  will  throw  me  into  a  demd  state.” 

“  Don’t  talk  of  feelings.  Sir,”  rejoined  Madame  Mantalini, 
seating  herself,  and  turning  her  back  upon  him.  “You  don’t 
jonsider  mine.” 

“  I  do  not  consider  yours,  my  soul !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Man- 
tali  iii. 

“  No,”  replied  his  wife. 

And  notwithstanding  various  blandishments  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Mantalini,  Madame  Mantalini  still  said  no,  and  said  it  too 
with  such  determined  and  resolute  ill  temper,  that  Mr.  Man- 
talini  was  clearly  taken  aback. 

“  His  extravagance,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Madame  Mantalini, 
addressing  herself  to  Ralph,  who  leant  against  his  easy-chair 
with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  regarded  the  amiable  couple 
with  a  smile  of  the  supremest  and  most  unmitigated  con¬ 
tempt, — “  His  extravagance  is  beyond  all  bounds.” 

“I  should  scarcely  have  supposed  it,”  answered  Ralph,  sar¬ 
castically. 

“  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Nickleby,  however,  that  it  is,”  returned 
Madame  Mantalini.  “  It  makes  me  miserable ;  I  am  under 
constant  apprehensions,  and  in  constant  difficulty.  And  even 
this,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  wiping  her  eyes,  “is  not  the 
worst.  He  took  some  papers  of  value  out  of  my  desk  this 
morning  without  asking  my  permission.” 

Mr.  Mantalini  groaned  slightly,  and  buttoned  his  trowsers 
pocket. 

“I  am  obliged,”  continued  Madame  Mantalini,  “since  our 
late  misfortunes,  to  pay  Miss  Knag  a  great  deal  of  money  for 
having  her  name  in  the  business,  and  I  really  cannot  afford  to 
encourage  him  in  all  his  wastefulness.  As  I  have  no  doubt 
that  he  came  straight  here,  Mr.  Nickleby,  to  convert  the  papers 
I  have  spoken  of,  into  mone}'^,  and  as  you  have  assisted  ns  very 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


481 


often  before,  and  are  very  mucli  connected  with  us  in  these  kind 
of  matters,  I  wish  you  to  know  the  determination  at  which  hia 
conduct  has  compelled  me  to  arrive.” 

Mr.  Mantaliui  groaned  once  m.ore  from  behind  his  wife’s 
bonnet,  and  fitting  a  sovereign  into  one  of  his  eyes,  winked  with 
the  other  at  Ralph.  Having  achieved  this  performance  with 
great  dexterity,  he  whipped  the  coin  into  his  pocket,  and 
groaned  again  with  increased  penitence. 

“  I  have  made  up  my  mind,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  as 
tokens  of  impatience  manifested  themselves  in  Ralph’s  counte- 
nance,  “  to  allowance  him.” 

“  To  do  what,  my  joy  ?”  inquired  Mr.  Mantalini,  who  did 
not  seem  to  have  caught  the  words. 

“  To  put  him,”  said  Madame  Mantalini,  looking  at  Ralph, 
and  prudently  abstaining  from  the  slightest  glance  at  her  hus¬ 
band,  lest  his  many  graces  should  induce  her  to  falter  in  her 
resolution,  “  to  put  him  upon  a  fixed  allowance ;  and  I  say  that 
if  he  has  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year  for  his  clothes 
and  pocket-money,  he  may  consider  himself  a  very  foi'tunate 
man.” 

Mr.  Mantalini  waited  with  much  decorum  to  hear  the  amount 
of  the  proposed  stipend,  but  when  it  reached  his  ears,  he  cast 
his  hat  and  cane  upon  the  floor,  and  drawing  out  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  dismal  moan. 

“  Demnition  1”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  suddenly  skipping  out 
of  his  chair,  and  as  suddenly  skipping  into  it  again,  to  the  great 
discomposure  of  his  lady’s  nerves.  “  But  no.  It  is  a  demd 
horrid  dream.  It  is  not  reality.  No.” 

Comforting  himself  with  this  assurance,  Mr.  Mantalini  closed 
his  eyes  and  waited  patiently  till  such  time  as  he  should 
wake  up. 

“  A  very  judicious  arrangement,”  observed  Ralph  with  a 
sneer,  “  if  your  husband  will  keep  within  it.  Ma’am — as  no 
doubt  he  will.” 

“  Demmit !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Mantalini,  opening  his  eyes  at 
tne  sound  of  Ralph’s  voice,  “  it  is  a  horrid  reality.  She  is  sit¬ 
ting  there  before  me.  There  is  the  graceful  outline  of  her 
form ;  it  cannot  be  mistaken — there  is  nothing  like  it.  The 
two  countesses  had  no  outlines  at  all,  and  the  dowager’s  was  u 


432 


•NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


<lemd  outline.  Why  is  she  so  excruciatingly  beautiful  that  1 
cannot  be  angry  with  her  even  now  1” 

“You  have  brought  it  upon  yourself,  Alfred,”  returned 
Madame  Mantalini — still  reproachfully,  but  in  a  softened  tone. 

“  I  am  a  demd  villain  !”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  smiting  him¬ 
self  on  the  head.  “  I  will  fill  my  pockets  with  change  for  a 
sovereign  in  half-pence,  and  drown  myself  in  the  Thames ;  but 
I  will  not  be  angry  with  her  even  then,  for  I  vdll  put  a  note  in 
the  twopenny-post  as  I  go  along,  to  tell  her  where  the  body  is. 
She  will  be  a  lovely  widow.  I  shall  be  a  body.  Some  hand¬ 
some  women  will  cry;  she  will  laugh  demnebly.” 

“  Alfred,  you  cruel,  cruel  creature,”  said  Madame  Mantalini, 
sobbing  at  the  dreadful  picture. 

“  She  calls  me  cruel — me — me — who  for  her  sake  will  become 
a  demd  damp,  moist,  unpleasant  body  1”  exclaimed  Mr.  Man¬ 
talini. 

“  You  know  it  almost  breaks  my  heart,  even  to  hear  you 
talk  of  such  a  thing,”  replied  Madame  Mantalini. 

“  Can  I  live  to  be  mistrusted  ?”  cried  her  husband.  “  Have 
I  cut  my  heart  into  a  derad  extraordinary  number  of  little  pieces, 
and  given  them  all  away  one  after  another  to  the  same  little 
engrossing  demnition  captivator,  and  can  I  live  to  be  suspected 
by  her  1  Demmit,  no,  I  can’t.” 

“  Ask  Mr.  Nickleby  whether  the  sum  I  have  mentioned  is 
not  a  proper  one,”  reasoned  Madame  Mantalini. 

“  I  don’t  want  any  sum,”  replied  her  disconsolate  husband; 
“  I  shall  require  no  demd  allowance — I  will  be  a  body.” 

On  this  repetition  of  Mr.  Mantalini’s  fatal  threat,  Madame 
Mantalini  wrung  her  hands  and  implored  the  interference  of 
llalph  Nickleby;  and  after  a  great  quantity  of  tears  and  talk¬ 
ing,  and  several  attempts  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mantalini  to  reach 
the  door,  preparatory  to  straightway  committing  violence  upon 
himself,  that  gentleman  was  prevailed  upon,  with  difficulty,  to 
promise  that  he  wouldn’t  be  a  body.  This  great  point  attained, 
Madame  IMantalini  argued  the  question  of  the  allowance,  and 
Mr.  Mantalini  did  the  same,  taking  occasion  to  show  that  he 
could  live  with  uncommon  satisfaction  upon  bread  and  water 
and  go  clad  in  rags,  but  that  he  could  not  support  existence 
with  the  additional  burden  of  being  mistrusted  by  the  object  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


483 


his  most  devoted  and  disinterested  affection.  This  brought 
fresh  tears  into  Madame  Mantalini’s  eyes,  which  having  just 
leguu  to  open  to  some  few  of  the  demerits  of  Mr.  Mantalini, 
vere  only  open  a  very  little  way,  and  could  be  easily  closed 
again.  The  result  was,  that  without  quite  giving  up  the 
allowance  question,  Madame  Mantalini  postponed  its  further 
consideration  ;  and  Ralph  saw  clearly  enough  that  Mr.  Man¬ 
talini  had  gained  a  fresh  lease  of  his  easy  life,  and  that,  for 
some  time  longer  at  all  events,  his  degradation  and  downfall 
were  postponed. 

“But  it  will  come  soon  enough,”  thought  Ralph;  “all  love 
— bah  1  that  I  should  use  the  cant  of  boys  and  girls — is  fleeting 
enough  ;  though  that  which  has  its  sole  root  in  the  admiration 
of  a  whiskered  face  like  that  of  yonder  baboon,  perhaps  lasts  the 
longest,  as  it  originates  in  the  greater  blindness  and  is  fed  by 
vanity.  Meantime  the  fools  bring  grist  to  my  mill,  so  let  them 
live  out  their  day,  and  the  longer  it  is,  the  better  ” 

These  agreeable  reflections  occurred  to  Ralph  Nickleby,  as 
sundry  small  caresses  and  endearments,  supposed  to  be  unseen, 
were  exchanged  between  the  objects  of  his  thoughts. 

“  If  you  have  nothing  more  to  say,  ray  dear,  to  Mr.  Nickleby,” 
said  Madame  Mantalini,  “  we  will  take  our  leaves.  I  am  sure 
we  have  detained  him  much  too  long  already.” 

Mr.  Mantalini  answered,  in  the  first  instance,  by  tapping 
Madame  Mantalini  several  times  on  the  nose,  and  then,  by  re¬ 
marking  in  words  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

“Demmit!  I  have,  though,”  he  added  almost  immediately, 
drawing  Ralph  into  a  corner.  “  Here’s  an  affair  about  your 
friend  Sir  Mulberry.  Such  a  demd  extraordinary  out-of-the- 
way  kind  of  thing  as  never  was — eh  ?” 

“What  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  Ralph. 

“  Don’t  you  know,  demmit  ?”  asked  Mr.  Mantalini. 

“I  see  by  the  pai)er  that  he  was  thrown  from  his  cabriolet  last 
night  and  severely  injured,  and  that  his  life  is  in  some  dangei,” 
answered  Ralph  with  great  composure;  “but  I  see  nothing  ex¬ 
traordinary  in  that — accidents  are  not  miraculous  events,  when 
men  live  hard  and  drive  after  dinner.” 

“Whew!”  cried  iSIr.  Mantalini.  in  a  long  shrill  whistle. 
“  Then  don’t  you  know  how  it  was?” 


484 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  N'ot  unless  it  was  as  I  have  just  supposed,”  replied  Ralph, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  carelessly,  as  if  to  give  his  questioner 
to  understand  that  he  had  no  curiosity  upon  the  subject. 

“  Demmit,  you  amaze  me,”  cried  Mantalini. 

Ralph  shrugged  his  shoulders  again,  as  if  it  were  no  great 
feat  to  amaze  Mr.  Mantalini,  and  cast  a  wistful  glance  at  the 
face  of  Newman  Noggs,  which  had  several  times  appeared 
behind  a  couple  of  pains  of  glass  in  the  room  door;  it  being  a 
a  part  of  Newman’s  duty,  when  unimportant  people  called,  to 
make  various  feints  of  supposing  that  the  bell  had  rung  for  him 
to  show  tliem  out,  by  way  of  a  gentle  hint  to  such  visitors  that 
it  was  time  to  go. 

“  Don’t  you  know,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  taking  Ralph  by  the 
button,  “  that  it  wasn’t  an  accident  at  all,  but  a  demd  furious 
manslaughtering  attack  made  upon  him  by  your  nephew  ?” 

“  What !”  snarled  Ralph,  clinching  his  fists  and  turning  a 
livid  white. 

“Demmit,  Nickleby,  you’re  as  great  a  tiger  as  he  is,”  said 
Mantalini,  alarmed  at  these  demonstrations. 

“  Go  on,”  cried  Ralph,  savagely.  “  Tell  me  what  you  mean. 
What  is  tliis  story  ?  Who  told  you  ?  Speak,”  growled  Ralph. 
“Do  you  hear  me ?” 

“  ’Gad,  Nickleby,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  retreating  towards  his 
wife,  “  what  a  demneble  fierce  old  evil  genius  you  are  1  You’re 
enough  to  frighten  my  life  and  soul  out  of  her  little  delicious 
wits — flying  all  at  once  into  such  a  blazing,  ravaging,  raging 
passion  as  never  was,  demmit.” 

“Pshaw,”  rejoined  Ralph,  forcing  a  smile  ‘It  is  but  man 
nor.” 

“  It  is  a  demd  uncomfortable  and  private- madhouse-sort  of 
manner,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  picking  up  his  cane. 

Ralph  affected  to  smile,  and  once  more  inquired  from  whom 
Mr.  Mantalini  had  derived  his  information. 

“  From  Pyke ;  and  a  demd,  fine,  pleasant,  gentlemanly  dog  if 
is,”  replied  Mantalini.  “Demnition  pleasant,  and  a  tip-top 
sawyer.” 

“  And  wdiat  said  he  ?”  asked  Ralph  knitting  his  brows. 

“  That  it  happened  this  way — that  your  nephew  met  him  at 
a  coffee-house  fell  upon  him  with  the  most  demneble  ferocity, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


485 


followed  him  to  liis  cab,  swore  he  would  ride  home  with  liim  if 
he  rode  home  upon  the  horse’s  back  or  hooked  himself  on  to 
the  horse’s  tail  ;  smashed  his  couiitenauce,  which  is  a  demd  fine 
countenance  in  its  natural  state ;  frightened  the  horse,  pitched 
out  Sir  Mulberry  and  himself,  and - ” 

“  And  was  killed  ?”  interposed  Ralph  with  gleaming  eyes. 
“  Was  he  ?  Is  he  dead  ?” 

Mantalini  shook  his  head. 

"  Ugh,”  said  Ralph,  turning  away,  “then  he  has  done  nothing 
— stay,”  he  added,  looking  round  again.  “  He  broke  a  leg  or 
an  arm,  or  put  his  shoulder  out,  or  fractured  his  collar-bone,  or 
ground  a  rib  or  two  ?  Ills  neck  was  saved  for  the  halter,  but 
he  got  some  painful  and  slow-healing  injury  for  his  trouble — 
did  he  ?  You  must  have  heard  that,  at  least.” 

“ No,”  rejoined  Mantalini,  shaking  his  head  again.  “Unless 
he  was  dashed  into  such  little  pieces  that  they  blew  away, 
he  wasn’t  hurt,  for  he  went  olf  as  quiet  and  comfortable  as — as 
— as  demnition,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  rather  at  a  loss  for  a 
simile. 

“  And  what,”  said  Ralph,  hesitating  a  little,  “  what  was  the 
cause  of  quarrel  ?” 

“You  are  the  demdest  knowing  hand,”  replied  Mr.  Manta¬ 
lini,  in  an  admiring  tone,  “the  cunningest,  rummest,  superla- 
tivest  old  fox — oh  dem — to  pretend  now  not  to  know  that  it  was 
the  little  bright-eyed  niece — the  softest,  sweetest,  prettiest - ” 

“  Alfred  1”  interposed  Madame  Mantalini. 

“  She  is  always  right,”  rejoined  Mr.  Mantalini  soothingly, 
“  and  when  she  says  it  is  time  to  go,  it  is  time,  and  go  she  shall ; 
and  when  she  walks  along  the  streets  with  her  own  tulip,  the 
women  shall  say  with  envy,  she  has  got  a  demd  fine  husband, 
and  the  men  shall  say  with  rapture,  he  has  got  a  demd  fine  wife, 
and  they  shall  both  be  right  and  neither  wrong,  upon  my  life 
and  soul — oh  demmit  1” 

With  which  remarks,  and  many  more  no  less  intellectual  and 
to  the  purpose,  Mr.  Mantalini  kissed  the  fingers  of  his  gloves  to 
Ralph  Nickleby,  and  drawing  his  lady’s  arm  through  his,  led 
her  mincingly  away. 

“  So,  so,”  muttered  Ralph,  dropping  into  his  chair;  “this 
devil  is  loose  again,  and  thwarting  me  as  he  was  born  to  do,  at 


480 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


every  tnrn.  He  told  me  once  there  should  be  a  day  of  reckon¬ 
ing  between  us,  sooner  or  later.  I’ll  make  him  a  true  prophet, 
for  it  shall  surely  come.” 

“  Are  you  at  home  ?”  asked  Newman,  suddenly  popping  in 
his  head.  • 

“No,”  replied  Ralph  with  equal  abruptness. 

Newman  withdrew  his  head,  but  thrust  it  in  again. 

“  You’re  quite  sure  you’re  not  at  home,  are  you  ?”  said  New¬ 
man, 

“  What  does  the  idiot  mean  ?”  cried  Ralph,  testily. 

“  He  has  been  waiting  nearly  ever  since  they  first  came  in.  and 
may  have  heard  your  voice — that’s  all,”  said  Newman,  rubbing 
his  hands. 

“  Who  has  ?”  demanded  Ralph,  wrought  by  the  intelligence 
he  had  just  heard,  and  his  clerk’s  provoking  coolness,  to  au  in¬ 
tense  pitch  of  irritation. 

The  necessity  of  a  reply  was  superseded  by  the  unlooked-for 
entrance  of  a  third  party — the  individual  in  question — who, 
bringing  his  one  eye  (for  he  had  but  one)  to  bear  on  Ralph 
Nickleby,  made  a  great  many  shambling  bows,  and  sat  himself 
down  in  an  arm-chair,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  his  short 
black  trowsers  drawn  up  so  high  in  the  legs  by  the  exertion  of 
seating  himself,  that  they  scarcely  reached  below  the  tops  of  his 
Wellington  boots. 

“  Why  this  is  a  surprise,”  said  Ralph,  bending  his  gaze  upon 
the  visitor,  and  half  smiling  as  he  scrutinized  him  attentively ; 
“  I  should  know  your  face,  Mr.  Squeers.” 

“  Ah  1”  replied  that  worthy,  “  and  you’d  have  know’d  it  better, 
Sir,  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  all  that  I’ve  been  a-going  through. 
Just  lift  that  little  boy  off  the  tall  stool  in  the  back  office,  and 
tell  him  to  come  in  here,  will  you,  my  man  ?”  said  Squeers,  ad¬ 
dressing  himself  to  Newman.  “  Oh,  he’s  lifted  his-self  off.  My 
son.  Sir,  little  Wackford.  What  do  you  think  of  him.  Sir,  for 
a  specimen  of  the  Dotheboys  Hall  feeding  ?  Ain’t  he  fit  to  bust 
out  of  his  clothes,  and  start  the  seams,  and  make  the  very  but¬ 
tons  fly  off  with  his  fatness  ?  Here’s  flesh  !”  cried  Squeers,  turn¬ 
ing  the  boy  about,  and  indenting  the  plumpest  parts  of  his  figure 
with  divers  pokes  and  punches,  to  the  great  discomposure  of  his 
son  and  heir.  “  Here’s  firmness,  here’s  solidness  !  Why  you  can 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


487 


hardly  get  up  enough  of  him  between  your  finger  and  thumb  to 
pinch  him  anywheres.” 

In  however  good  condition  Master  Squeers  might  have  been, 
he  certainly  did  not  present  this  remarkable  compactness  of  per¬ 
son,  for  on  his  father’s  closing  his  finger  and  thumb  in  illustration 
of  his  remark,  he  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  rubbed  the  place  lu 
the  most  natural  manner  possible. 

“Well,”  remarked  Squeers,  a  little  disconcerted,  “  I  had  him 
there  ;  but  that’s  because  we  breakfasted  early  this  morning,  and 
he  hasn’t  had  his  lunch  yet.  Why  you  couldn’t  shut  a  bit  of 
him  in  a  door,  when  he’s  had  his  dinner.  Look  at  them  tears. 
Sir,”  said  Squeers,  with  a  triumphant  air,  as  Master  ^Yackford 
wiped  his  eyes  with  the  cuff  of  his  jacket,  “there’s  oiliness  I” 

“He  looks  well,  indeed,”  returned  Halph,  wbo  for  some  pur¬ 
poses  of  his  own  seemed  desirous  to  conciliate  the  schoolmaster. 
“  But  how  is  Mrs.  Squeers,  and  how  are  you  ?” 

“  Mrs.  Squeers,  Sir,”  replied  the  proprietor  of  Dotheboys, 
“  is  as  she  always  is — a  mother  to  tliem  lads,  and  a  blessing,  and 
a  comfort,  and  a  joy  to  all  them  as  knows  her.  One  of  our  boys — 
gorging  his-self  with  vittles,  and  then  turning  ill ;  that’s  their  way 
— got  a  abscess  on  him  last  week.  To  see  how  she  operated  upon 
him  with  a  pen-knife  1  Oh  Lor’ 1”  said  Squeers,  heaving  a  sigh, 
and  nodding  his  head  a  great  many  timc-s,  “  what  a  member  of 
society  that  woman  is  1” 

Mr.  Squeers  indulged  in  a  retrospective  look  for  some  quarter 
of  a  minute,  as  if  this  allusion  to  his  lady’s  excellencies  had  natu¬ 
rally  led  his  mind  to  the  peaceful  village  of  Dotheboys  near  Greta 
Bridge  in  Yorkshire,  and  then  looked  at  Ralph,  as  if  waiting 
for  him  to  say  something. 

“  Have  you  quite  recovered  that  scoundrel’s  attack  ?”  asked 
Ralph. 

“  I’ve  only  just  done  it,  if  I’ve  done  it  now,”  replied  Squeers. 
“I  was  one  blessed  bruise.  Sir,”  said  Squeers,  touching  first  the 
roots  of  his  hair,  and  then  the  toes  of  his  boots,  “  from  here  to 
there.  Vinegar  and  brown  paper,  vinegar  and  brown  paper, 
from  morning  to  night.  I  suppose  there  was  a  matter  of  half  a 
ream  of  brown  paper  stuck  upon  me  from  first  to  last.  As  1 
laid  all  of  a  heap  in  our  kitchen,  plastered  all  over,  you  might 
have  thought  1  was  a  large  brown  paper  parcel,  chock  full  of 


488 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


nothing  but  groans.  Did  I  groan  loud,  Wackford,  oi  did  I 
groan  soft  asked  Mr.  Squeers,  appealing  to  his  son. 

“Loud,”  replied  Wackford. 

“Was  the  boys  sorry  to  see  me  in  such  a  dreadful  condition, 
Wackford,  or  was  they  glad  ?”  asked  Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  senti¬ 
mental  manner. 

“  Gl— ” 

“  Eh  ?”  cried  Squeers,  turning  sharp  round. 

“  Sorry,”  rejoined  his  son. 

“  Oh  I”  said  Squeers,  catching  him  a  smart  box  on  the  ear. 
“  Then  take  your  hands  out  of  your  pockets,  and  don’t  stammer 
when  you’re  asked  a  question.  Hold  your  noise.  Sir,  in  a  gen¬ 
tleman’s  office,  or  I’ll  run  away  from  my  family  and  never  come 
lack  any  more  ;  and  then  what  wmuld  become  of  all  them  pre¬ 
cious  and  forlorn  lads  as  would  be  let  loose  on  the  world,  with¬ 
out  their  best  friend  at  their  elb*ers  1” 

“Were  you  obliged  to  have  medical  attendance  ?”  inquired 
Ralph. 

“Ay,  was  I,”  rejoined  Squeers,  “and  a  precious  bill  the 
medical  attendant  brought  in  too  :  but  I  paid  it  though.” 

Ralph  elevated  his  eyebrows  in  a  manner  which  might  be 
expressive  of  either  sympathy  or  astonishment — just  as  the 
beholder  was  pleased  to  take  it. 

“Yes,  I  paid  it,  every  farthing,”  replied  Squeers,  who  seemed 
to  know  the  man  he  had  to  deal  with,  too  well  to  suppose  that 
any  blinking  of  the  question  would  induce  him  to  subscribe 
towards  the  expenses;  “I  wasn’t  out  of  pocket  by  it  after  all, 
either.” 

“No!”  said  Ralph. 

“Not  a  halfpenny,”  replied  Squeers.  “The  fact  is,  that  we 
have  only  one  extra  with  our  boys,  and  that  is  for  doctors  when 
required — and  not  then,  unless  we’re  sure  of  our  customers. 
Do  you  see  ?” 

“  I  understand,”  said  Ralph. 

“Very  good,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “Then  after  my  bill  was 
run  up,  we  picked  out  five  little  boys  (sons  of  small  tradesmen, 
as  was  sure  pay)  that  had  never  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and  we 
sent  one  to  a  cottage  where  they’d  got  it,  and  he  took  it,  and 
then  we  put  the  four  others  to  sleep  with  him,  and  they  took  it, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


489 


and  then  the  doctor  came  and  attended  ’em  once  all  round,  and 
we  divided  my  total  among  ’em,  and  added  it  on  to  their  little 
bills,  and  the  parents  paid  it.  Ha  I  ha  I  ha  I” 

“  And  a  good  plan  too,”  said  Ralph,  eying  the  schoolmaster 
stealthily. 

“  I  believe  you,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “  We  always  do  it.  Why, 
when  Mrs.  Squeers  was  brought  to  bed  with  little  Wackford 
here,  we  ran  the  hooping-cough  through  half-a-dozen  boys,  and 
charged  her  expenses  among  ’em,  monthly  nurse  included.  Ila, 
ha,  ha  1” 

Ralph  never  laughed,  but  on  this  occasion  he  produced  the 
nearest  approach  to  it  that  he  could,  and  waiting  until  Mr. 
Squeers  had  enjoyed  the  professional  joke  to  his  heart’s  content, 
inquired  what  had  brought  him  to  town. 

”  Some  bothering  law  business,”  replied  Squeers,  scratching 
his  head,  “  connected  with  an  action,  for  what  they  call  neglect 
of  a  boy.  I  don’t  know  what  they  would  have.  He  had  as 
good  grazing,  that  boy  had,  as  there  is  about  us.” 

Ralph  looked  as  if  he  did  not  quite  understand  the  observa¬ 
tion. 

”  Grazing,”  said  Squeers,  raising  his  voice,  under  the  impres¬ 
sion  that  as  Ralph  failed  to  comprehend  him,  he  must  be  deaf. 
“  When  a  boy  gets  weak  and  ill  and  don’t  relish  his  meals, 
we  give  him  a  change  of  diet — turn  him  out  for  an  hour  or  so 
every  day  into  a  neighbor’s  turnip  field,  jr  sometimes,  if  it’s  a 
delicate  case,  a  turnip  field  and  a  piece  of  carrots  alternately, 
and  let  him  eat  as  many  as  he  likes.  There  ain’t  better  land  in 
the  county  than  this  perwerse  lad  grazed  on,  and  yet  he  goes 
and  catches  cold  and  indigestion  and  wdiat  not,  and  then  his 
friends  brings  a  law-suit  against  me.  Now,  you’d  hardly  sup¬ 
pose,”  added  Squeers,  moving  in  his  chair  with  the  impatience 
of  an  ill-used  man,  “that  people’s  ingratitude  would  carry  them 
quite  as  far  as  that;  would  you  ?” 

“  A  hard  case,  indeed,”  observed  Ralph. 

“You  don’t  say  more  than  the  truth  when  you  say  that.” 
replied  Squeers. •  “I  don’t  suppose  there’s  a  man  going,  as 
po.ssesse&  the  fondness  for  youth  that  1  do.  There’s  youth  to 
the  amount  of  eight  hundred  pound  a  year  at  Dotheboys  Hall 
at  this  present  time.  I’d  take  sixteen  hundred  pound  wortli 


490 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


if  I  could  get  ’em,  and  be  as  fond  of  every  individual  twenty 
pound  among  ’em  as  nothing  should  equal  it  I” 

“Are  you  stopping  at  your  old  quarters  ?”  asked  Ral[»h. 

“Yes,  we  are  at  the  Saracen,”  replied  Squeers,  “and  as  it 
don’t  want  very  long  to  the  end  of  the  half-year,  we  shall  con- 
tinney  to  stop  there  till  I’ve  collected  the  money,  and  some  new 
boys  too,  I  hope.  I’ve  brought  little  Wackford  up,  on  purpose 
to  show  to  parents  and  guardians.  I  shall  put  him  in  the 
advertisement  this  time.  Look  at  that  boy — himself  a  pupil — 
why  he’s  a  miracle  of  high  feeding,  that  boy  is.” 

“I  should  like  to  have  a  word  with  you,”  said  Ralph,  who 
had  both  spoken  and  listened  mechanically  for  some  time,,  and 
seemed  to  have  been  thinking. 

“  As  many  words  as  you  like.  Sir,”  rejoined  Squeers.  “  Wack- 
ford,  you  go  and  play  in  the  back  office,  and  don’t  move  about 
too  much  or  you’ll  get  thin,  and  that  won’t  do.  You  haven’t 
got  such  a  thing  as  twopence,  Mr.  Nickleby,  have  you  ?”  said 
Squeers,  rattling  a  bunch  of  keys  in  his  coat-pocket,  and  mut¬ 
tering  something  about  its  being  all  silver. 

“  I — think  I  have,”  said  Ralph,  very  slowly,  and  producing, 
after  much  rummaging  in  an  old  drawer,  a  penny,  a  halfpenny, 
and  two  farthings. 

“Thankee,”  said  Squeers,  bestowing  it  upon  his  son.  “Here, 
you  go  and  buy  a  tart — Mr.  Nickleby’s  man  will  show  you 
where — and  mind  you  buy  a  rich  one.  Pastry,”  added  Squeers, 
closing  the  door  on  Master  Wackford,  “  makes  his  flesh  shine  a 
good  deal,  and  parents  thinks  that’s  a  healthy  sign.” 

With  which  explanation,  and  a  peculiarly  knowing  look  to 
eke  it  out,  Mr.  Squeers  moved  his  chair  so  as  to  bring  himself 
opposite  to  Ralph  Nickleby  at  no  great  distance  off :  and 
having  planted  it  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  sat  down. 

“Attend  to  me,”  said  Ralph,  bending  forward  a  little. 

Squeers  nodded. 

“I  am  not  to  suppose,”  said  Ralph,  “that  you  are  dolt 
enough  to  forgive  or  forget  very  readily  the  violence  that  was 
committed  upon  you,  or  the  exposure  which  accompanied  it?” 

“  Devil  a  bit,”  rejjlied  Squeers,  tartly. 

“  Or  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  repaying  it  with  interest,  if 
you  could  get  one  ?”  said  Ralph, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


491 


“Show  me  one  and  try,”  rejoined  Squeers. 

“  Some  such  object  it  was  that  induced  you  to  call  on  me 
said  Ralph,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  schoolmaster’s  face. 

“N — n — no,  I  don’t  know  that,”  replied  Squeers.  “I 
thought  that  if  it  was  in  your  power  to  make  me,  besides  the 
trille  of  money  you  sent,  any  compensation - ” 

“  Ah  1”  cried  Ralph,  interrupting  him.  “You  needn’t 
go  on.” 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  Ralph  appeared  absorbed 
in  contemplation,  he  again  broke  silence,  by  asking — 

“  Who  is  this  boy  that  he  took  with  him  ?” 

Squeers  stated  his  name. 

“Was  he  young  or  old,  healthy  or  sickly,  tractable  or  rebel¬ 
lious  ?  Speak  out,  man,”  retorted  Ralph,  quickly. 

“Why,  he  wasn’t  young,”  answered  Squeers;  “that  is,  not 
young  for  a  boy,  you  know.” 

“  That  is,  that  he  was  not  a  boy  at  all,  I  suppose  ?”  inter¬ 
rupted  Ralph. 

“  Well,”  returned  Squeers,  briskly,  as  if  he  felt  relieved  by 
the  suggestion,  “he  might  have  been  nigh  twenty.  He  wouldn’t 
seem  so  old  though  to  them  as  did’nt  know  him,  for  he  was  a 
little  wanting  here,”  touching  his  forehead,  “  nobody  at  home, 
you  know,  if  you  knocked  ever  so  often.” 

“And  you  did  knock  pretty  often,  I  dare  say?”  muttered 
Ralph. 

“Pretty  well,”  returned  Squeers,  with  a  grin. 

“  When  you  wrote  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  this  trifle 
of  money,  as  you  call  it,”  said  Ralph,  “you  told  me  his  friends 
had  deserted  him  long  ago,  and  that  you  had  not  the  faintest 
clue  or  trace  to  tell  you  who  he  was.  Is  that  the  truth  ?” 

“It  is;  worse  luck  1”  replied  Squeers,  becoming  more  and 
more  easy  and  familiar  in  his  manner,  as  Ralph  pursued  his 
iiujuiries  with  the  less  reserve.  “  It’s  fourteen  year  ago,  by  the 
entry  in  my  book,  since  a  strange  man  brought  him  to  my  place 
one  autumn  night,  and  left  him  there,  paying  live  ])Ound  five, 
for  his  first  quarter  in  advance.  He  might  lave  been  five  or  six 
year  old  at  that  time — not  more.” 

“  What  more  do  you  know  about  him  ?”  demanded  Ralph. 

“Devilish  little,  I  am  sorry  to  say,”  replied  Squeers.  “The 


492 


NICHOLAS  NICRLEBY. 


money  was  paid  for  some  six  or  eight  year,  and  then  it  stopped, 
lie  had  given  an  address  in  London,  had  this  chap ;  but  when 
it  came  to  the  point,  of  course  nobody  knowed  any  thing  about 
him.  So  I  kept  the  lad  out  of — out  of — ” 

“  Charity  V'  suggested  Ralph,  dryly. 

“  Charity,  to  be  sure,”  returned  Squeers,  rubbing  his  knees, 
“  and  when  he  begins  to  be  useful  in  a  certain  sort  of  a  way,  this 
young  scoundrel  of  a  Nickleby  comes  and  carries  him  off.  But 
the  most  vexatious  and  aggravating  part  of  the  whole  affair  is,” 
said  Squeers,  dropping  his  voice,  and  drawing  his  chair  still 
closer  to  Ralph,  “  that  some  questions  have  been  asked  about 
him  at  last — not  of  me,  but  in  a  round-about  kind  of  way  of 
people  in  our  village.  So,  that  just  when  I  might  have  had 
all  arrears  paid  up,  perhaps,  and  perhaps — who  knows  ?  such 
things  have  happened  in  our  business  before — a  present  besides, 
for  putting  him  out  to  a  farmer  or  sending  him  to  sea,  so  that 
he  might  never  turn  up  to  disgrace  his  parents,  supposing  him 
to  be  a  natural  boy,  as  many  of  our  boys  are — damme,  if  that 
villain  of  a  Nickleby  don’t  collar  him  in  open  day,  and  commit 
as  good  as  highway  robbery  upon  my  pocket.” 

“We  will  both  cry  quits  with  him  before  long,”  said  Ralph, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  Yorkshire  schoolmaster. 

“  Quits  1”  echoed  Squeers.  “  Ah  !  and  I  should  like  to  leave 
a  small  balance  in  his  favor,  to  be  settled  when  he  can.  I  only 
wish  Mrs.  Squeers  could  catch  hold  of  him.  Bless  her  heart! 
She’d  murder  him,  Mr.  Nickleby — she  would,  as  soon  as  eat  her 
dinner.” 

“  We  will  talk  of  this  again,”  said  Ralph.  “I  must  have 
time  to  think  of  it.  To  wound  him  through  his  own  affections 
or  fancies - .  If  I  can  strike  him  through  this  boy - ” 

“  Strike  him  how  you  like.  Sir,”  interrupted  Squeers,  “  only 
hit  him  hard  enough,  that’s  all — and  with  that.  I’ll  say  good 
morning.  Here  I — just  chuck  that  little  boy’s  hat  off  that 
corner-peg,  and  lift  him  off  the  stool,  will  you  ?” 

Bawling  these  requests  to  Newman  Noggs,  Mr.  Squeers  be¬ 
took  himself  to  the  little  back  office,  and  fitted  on  his  child’s 
hat  with  parental  anxiety,  while  Newman,  with  his  pen  behind 
his  ear,  sat  stiff  and  immovable  on  his  stool,  regarding  the  father 
and  son  by  turns,  with  a  broad  stare. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


493 


“  He’s  a  fine  boy,  ain’t  he  ?”  said  Squeers,  throwing  his  head 
a  little  on  one  side,  and  falling  back  to  the  desk,  the  better  to 
estimate  the  proportions  of  little  Wackford. 

“Very,”  said  Newman. 

“  Pretty  well  swelled  out,  ain’t  he  ?”  pursued  Squeers.  “  lie 
has  the  fatness  of  twenty  boys,  he  has.” 

“  Ah  !”  replied  Newman,  suddenly  thrusting  his  face  into  that 
of  Squeers,  “  he  has  ; — the  fatness  of  twenty  ! — more.  lie’s 
got  it  all.  God  help  the  others.  Ha  1  ha  I  Oh,  Lord  !” 

Having  uttered  these  fragmentary  observations,  Newman 
dropped  upon  his  desk  and  began  to  write  with  most  marvelous 
rapidity. 

“Why,  what  does  the  man  mean?”  cried  Squeers,  coloring. 
“  Is  he  drunk  ?” 

Newman  made  no  reply. 

“  Is  he  mad  ?”  said  Squeers. 

But  still  Newman  betrayed  no  consciousness  of  any  presence 
save  his  own  ;  so  Mr.  Squeers  comforted  himself  by  saying  that 
he  was  both  drunk  and  mad ;  and,  with  this  parting  observa¬ 
tion,  he  led  his  hopeful  son  away. 

In  exact  proportion  as  Ralph  Nickleby  became  conscious  of 
a  struggling  and  lingering  regard  for  Kate,  had  his  detestation 
of  Nicholas  augmented.  It  might  be,  that  to  atone  for  the 
weakness  of  inclining  to  any  one  person,  he  held  it  necessary  to 
hate  some  other  more  intensely  than  before  ;  but  such  had  been 
the  course  of  his  feelings.  And  now,  to  be  defied  and  spurned, 
to  be  held  up  to  her  in  the  worst  and  most  repulsive  colors,  to 
know  that  she  was  taught  to  hate  and  despise  him  ;  to  feel  that 
there  was  infection  in  his  touch  and  taint  in  his  companionship 
. — to  know  all  this,  and  to  know  that  the  mover  of  it  all,  was 
that  same  boyish,  poor  relation  who  had  twitted  him  in  their 
very  first  interview,  and  openly  bearded  and  braved  him  since, 
wrought  his  quiet  and  stealthy  malignity  to  such  a  pitch, 
that  tliere  was  scarcely  any  thing  he  would  not  have  hazarded 
to  gratify  it,  if  he  could  have  seen  his  way  to  some  immediate 
retaliation. 

But  fortunately  for  Nicholas,  Ralph  Nickleby  did  not;  and 
although  he  cast  about  all  that  day,  and  kept  a  corner  of  his 
brain  working  on  the  one  anxious  subject  through  all  the 


494 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


round  of  schemes  and  business  that  came  with  it.  nig;ht  found 
him  at  last  still  harping  on  the  same  theme,  and  still  pursu¬ 
ing  the  same  un profitable  reflections. 

“When  my  brother  was  such  as  he,”  said  Kalph,  “the  first 
comparisons  were  dra.vn  between  us — always  in  my  disfavor. 
He  was  open,  liberal,  gallant,  gay;  I  a  crafty  hunks  of  cold 
and  stagnant  blood,  with  no  passion  but  love  of  saving,  and 
no  spirit  beyond  a  thirst  for  gain.  .1  recollected  it  well  when 
[  first  saw  this  whipster;  but  I  remember  it  better  now.” 

He  had  been  occupied  in  tearing  Nicholas’s  letter  into  atoms, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  scattered  it  in  a  tiny  shower  about  him. 

“Recollections  like  these,”  pursued  Ralph,  with  a  bitter 
smile,  “flock  upon  me — when  I  resign  myself  to  them — in 
crowds,  and  from  countless  quarters.  As  a  portion  of  the 
world  affect  to  despise  the  power  of  money,  I  must  try  and 
show  them  what  it  is.” 

And  being  by  this  time  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  for 
slumber,  Ralph  Nickleby  went  to  bed. 


CniPTER  XXXV. 


SMIKE  EECOxMES  KNOWN  TO  MRS.  NICKLEBY  AND  KATE.  NICirOKAS 

ALSO  MEETS  WITH  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES,  AND  BRIGHTER  DAYS 

SEEM  TO  DAWN  UPON  THE  FAMILY. 

Having  established  his  motlier  and  sister  in  the  apartments 
of  the  kind-hearted  miniature-painter,  and  ascertained  that  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk  was  in  no  danger  of  losing  his  life,  Nicholas 
turned  his  thoughts  to  poor  Smike,  who,  after  breakfasting  with 
Newman  Noggs,  had  remained  in  a  disconsolate  state  at  that 
worthy  creature’s  lodgings,  waiting  with  much  anxiety  for 
further  intelligence  of  his  protector. 

“As  he  will  be  one  of  our  own  little  household,  wherever  we 
live,  or  whatever  fortune  is  in  reserve  for  us,”  thought  Nicholas, 
“I  must  present  the  poor  fellow  in  due  form.  They  will  be 
kind  to  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  if  not  (on  that  account  solely) 
to  the  full  extent  I  could  wish,  they  will  stretch  a  point,  I  am 
sure,  for  mine.” 

Nicholas  said  “they,”  but  his  misgivings  were  confined  to 
one  person.  He  was  sure  of  Kate,  but  he  knew  his  mother’s 
peculiarities,  and  was  not  quite  so  certain  that  Smike  would  find 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“However,”  thought  Nicholas,  as  he  departed  on  his  bene¬ 
volent  errand;  “she  cannot  fail  to  become  attached  to  him 
when  she  knows  what  a  devoted  creature  he  is,  and  as  she  must 
quickly  make  the  discovery,  his  probation  will  be  a  short  one.” 

“I  was  afraid,”  said  Smike,  overjoyed  to  see  his  friend  again, 
“that  you  had  fallen  into  some  fresh  trouble;  the  time  seemed 
BO  long  at  last,  that  I  almost  feared  you  were  lost.” 

“  Lost !”  replied  Nicholas  gayly.  “You  will  not  be  rid  of 
me  so  easily,  I  promise  you.  I  shall  rise  to  the  surface  many 
thousand  times  yet,  and  the  harder  the  thrust  that  pushes  me 
down,  the  more  quickly  I  shall  rebound,  Smike.  But  come;  my 
errand  here  is  to  take  you  home.” 

32 


(495j 


496 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


"Home!”  faltered  Smike,  drawing  timidly  back 

"Ay,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  taking  his  arm.  "Why  not?” 

"I  had  such  hopes  once,”  said  Smike;  "day  and  night,  day 
and  night,  for  many  years.  I  longed  for  home  till  I  was  weary, 
and  pined  away  with  grief,  but  now - ” 

"And  what  now?”  asked  Nicholas,  looking  kindly  in  his  face. 
"What  now,  old  friend?” 

"I  could  not  part  from  you  to  go  to  any  home  on  earth,” 
replied  Smike,  pressing  his  hand;  "except  one,  except  one.  I 
shall  never  be  an  old  man ;  and  if  your  hand  placed  me  in  the 
grave,  and  I  could  think  before  I  died  that  you  would  come  and 
look  upon  it  sometimes  with  one  of  your  kind  smiles,  and  in  the 
summer  weather,  when  every  thing  was  alive — not  dead  like  me 
— I  could  go  to  that  home  almost  without  a  tear.” 

"Why  do  you  talk  thus,  poor  boy,  if  your  life  is  a  happy  one 
with  me?”  said  Nicholas. 

"Because/ should  change;  not  those  about  me.  And  if  they 
forgot  me,  I  should  never  know  it,”  replied  Smike.  "  In  the 
church-yard  we  are  all  alike,  but  here  there  are  none  like  me, 
I  am  a  poor  creature,  but  I  know  that  well.” 

"You  are  a  foolish,  silly  creature,”  said  Nicholas  cheerfully 
"If  that  is  what  you  mean,  I  grant  you  that.  Why,  here’s  a 
dismal  face  for  ladies’  company — my  pretty  sister  too,  whom 
you  have  so  often  asked  me  about.  Is  this  your  Yorkshire 
gallantry?  For  shame!  for  shame!” 

Smike  brightened  up,  and  smiled. 

"When  I  talk  of  homes,”  pursued  Nicholas,  "I  talk  of  mine 
— which  is  yours  of  course.  If  it  were  defined  by  any  particular 
four  walls  and  a  roof,  God  knows  I  should  be  sufficiently  puzzled 
to  say  whereabouts  it  lay;  but  that  is  not  what  I  mean.  When 
I  speak  of  home,  I  speak  of  the  place  where — in  default  of  a 
better — those  I  love  are  gathered  together;  and  if  that  place 
were  a  gipsy’s  tent  or  a  barn,  I  should  call  it  by  the  same  good 
name'notwithstanding.  And  now  for  what  is  my  present  home, 
which,  however  alarming  your  expectations  may  be,  will  neither 
terrify  you  by  its  extent  nor  its  magnificence.” 

So  saying,  Nicholas  took  his  companion  by  the  arm,  and  say¬ 
ing  a  great  deal  more  to -the  same  purpose,  and  pointing  out 


NICHOLAS  NICKLKBY. 


497 


various  things  to  amuse  and  interest  him  as  they  went  along, 
led  the  way  to  Miss  La  Creevy’s  house. 

“And  this,  Kate,”  said  Nicholas,  entering  the  room  wl'.ere 
his  sister  sat  alone,  “  is  the  faithful  friend  and  affectionate  fellow- 
traveler  wh^om  I  prepared  you  to  receive.” 

Poor  Smike  was  bashful  and  awkward  and  frightened  enough 
at  first,  but  Kate  advanced  towards  him  so  kindly,  and  said  in 
such  a  sweet  voice,  how  anxious  she  had  been  to  see  him  after 
all  her  brother  had  told  her,  and  how  much  she  had  to  thank 
him  for  having  comforted  Nicholas  so  greatly  in  their  very  try¬ 
ing  reverses,  that  he  began  to  be  very  doubtful  whether  he  should 
shed  tears  or  not,  and  became  still  more  flurried.  However,  he 
managed  to  say,  in  a  broken  voice,  that  Nicholas  was  his  only 
friend,  and  that  he  would  lay  down  his  life  to  help  him ;  and 
Kate,  although  she  was  so  kind  and  considerate,  seemed  to  be 
so  wholly  unconscious  of  his  distress  and  embarrassment,  that 
he  recovered  almost  immediately  and  felt  quite  at  home. 

Then  Miss  La  Creevy  came  in,  and  to  her  Smike  had  to  be 
presented  also.  And  Miss  La  Creevy  was  very  kind  too,  and 
wonderfully  talkative  ; — not  to  Smike,  for  that  would  have  made 
him  uneasy  at  first,  but  to  Nicholas  and  his  sister.  Then,  after 
a  time,  she  would  speak  to  Smike  himself  now  and  then,  ask¬ 
ing  him  whether  he  was  a  judge  of  likenesses,  and  whether  he 
thought  that  picture  in  the  corner  was  like  herself,  and  whether  he 
didn’t  think  it  would  have  looked  better  if  she  had  made  her¬ 
self  ten  years  younger,  and  whether  he  didn’t  think,  as  a  matter 
of  general  observation,  that  young  ladies  looked  better,  not  only 
in  pictures,  but  out  of  them  too,  than  old  ones  ;  with  many  more 
small  jokes  and  facetious  remarks,  which  were  delivered  with 
such  good  Jiumor  and  merriment  that  Smike  thought  within  hini- 
celf  she  was  the  nicest  lady  he  had  ever  seen  ;  even  nicer  than 
Mrs.  Grudden,  of  Mr.  Yincent  Crumrales’s  theatre,  and  she  was 
a  nice  lady  too,  and  talked,  prehaps  more,  but  certainly  louder 
than  Miss  La  Creevy. 

At  length  the  door  opened  again,  and  a  lady  in  mourning 
came  in;  and  Nicholas  kissing  the  lady  in  mourning  affection¬ 
ately,  and  calling  her  his  mother,  led  her  towards  the  chair 
fi'om  which  Smike  had  risen  when  she  entered  the  room. 

“  You  are  always  kind-hearted,  and  anxious  to  help  the  op- 


498 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEEY. 


pressed,  my  dear  mother,”  said  Nicholas,  “so  you  will  be  favor¬ 
ably  disposed  towards  him,  I  know.” 

“  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Nicholas,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  look¬ 
ing  very  hard  at  her  new  friend,  and  bending  to  him  with  some¬ 
thing  more  of  majesty  than  the  occasion  seemed  to  require, — “I 
am  sure  any  friend  of  yours  has,  as  indeed  he  naturally  ought  to 
have,  and  must  have,  of  course,  you  know — a  great  claim  upon 
me,  and  of  course,  it  is  a  very  great  pleasure  to  me  to  be  intro¬ 
duced  to  any  body  you  take  an  interest  in — there  can  be  no 
doubt  about  that ;  none  at  all ;  not  the  least  in  the  world,”  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  At  the  same  time  I  must  say,  Nicholas,  my 
dear,  as  I  used  to  say  to  your  poor  dear  papa,  when  he  would 
bring  gentlemen  home  to  dinner,  and  there  was  nothing  in  the 
house,  that  if  he  had  come  the  day  before  yesterday — no,  I  don’t 
mean  the  day  before  yesterday  now ;  I  should  have  said,  per¬ 
haps,  the  year  before  last — we  should  have  been  better  able  to 
entertain  him.” 

With  which  remarks  Mrs.  Nickleby  turned  to  her  daughter, 
and  inquired,  in  an  audible  whisper,  whether  the  gentleman  was 
going  to  stop  all  night. 

“  Because  if  he  is,  Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “  I 
don’t  see  that  it’s  possible  for  him  to  sleep  anywhere,  and  that’s 
the  truth.” 

Kate  stepped  gracefully  forward,  and  without  any  show  of 
annoyance  or  irritation,  breathed  a  few  words  into  her  mother’s 
ear. 

“La,  Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  shrinking  back, 
“  how  you  do  tickle  one  1  Of  course,  I  understand  that,  my  love, 
without  your  telling  me  ;  and  I  said  the  same  to  Nicholas,  and 
I  am  very  much  pleased.  You  didn’t  tell  me,  Nicholas,  my 
dear,”  added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  turning  round  with  an  air  of  less 
reserve  than  she  had  before  assumed,  “what  your  friend’s  name 
is.” 

“llis  name,  mother,”  replied  Nicholas,  “is  Smike.” 

The  effect  of  this  communication  was  by  no  means  antici¬ 
pated  ;  but  the  name  was  no  sooner  pronounced,  than  Mrs. 
Nickleby  dropped  upon  a  chair,  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  crying. 

“What  is  the  matter?”  exclaimed  Nicholas,  running  to  sup¬ 
port  her. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


499 


“It’d  SO  like  Pyke,”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “so  exactly  like 
Pyke,  that’s  all.  Ohl  don’t  speak  to  me — I  shall  be  better 
presently.” 

And  after  exhibiting  every  symptom  of  slow  suffocation,  in 
all  its  stages,  and  drinking  about  a  tea-sjmonful  of  water  from 
a  full  tumbler,  and  spilling  the  remainder,  Mrs.  Nickleby  was 
better,  and  remarked,  with  a  feeble  smile,  that  she  was  very 
foolish,  she  knew. 

“  It’s  a  weakness  in  our  family,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “so,  of 
course,  I  can’t  be  blamed  for  it.  Your  grandmamma,  Kate, 
was  exaetly  the  same — precisely.  The  least  exeitement,  the 
slightest  surprise,  she  fainted  away  directly.  I  have  heard  her 
say,  often  and  often,  that  when  she  was  a  young  lady,  and  be¬ 
fore  she  was  married,  she  was  turning  a  corner  into  Oxford- 
street  one  day,  when  she  ran  against  her  own  hair-dresser,  who, 
it  seems,  was  escaping  from  a  bear; — the  mere  suddenness  of 
the  encounter  made  her  faint  away  directly.  Wait,  though,” 
.added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  pausing  to  consider.  “  Let  me  be  sure  I’m 
right.  Was  it  her  hair-dresser  who  had  escaped  from  a  bear, 
or  was  it  a  bear  who  had  escaped  from  her  hair-dresser’s  ?  ] 

declare  I  can’t  remember  just  now,  but  the  hair-dresser  was  a 
very  handsome  man,  I  know,  and  quite  a  gentleman  in  his  man¬ 
ners  ;  so  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  point  of  the  story.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  having  fallen  imperceptibly  into  one  of  her 
retrospective  moods,  improved  in  temper  from  that  moment, 
and  glided,  by  an  easy  change  of  the  conversation  occasionally, 
into  various  other  anecdotes,  no  less  remarkable  for  their  strict 
application  to  the  subject  in  hand. 

“Mr.  Smike  is  from  Yorkshire,  Nicholas,  my  dear  ?”  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  after  dinner,  and  when  she  had  been  silent  for 
some  time. 

“  Certainly,  mother,”  replied  Nicholas.  “  1  see  you  have  not 
forgotten  his  melancholy  history.” 

“Oh  dear,  no,”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Ah!  melancholy, 
indeed.  You  don’t  happen,  Mr.  Smike,  ever  to  have  dined 
with  the  Grimbles  of  Grimble  Hall,  somewhere  in  the  North 
Pviding,  do  you  ?”  said  the  good  lady  addressing  herself  to  him 
“A  very  proud  man,  Sir  Thomas  Grimble,  with  six  grown-up 
and  uiost  lovely  daughters,  and  the  finest  park  in  the  county.” 


500 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  My  dear  mother,”  reasoned  Nicholas,  “  do  you  suppose 
that  the  unfortunate  outcast  of  a  Yorkshire  school  was  likely  to 
receive  many  cards  of  invitation  from  the  nobility  and  gentry  iu 
the  neighborhood  ?” 

“  Really,  my  dear,  I  don’t  know  why  it  should  be  so  very  ex¬ 
traordinary,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  I  know  that  when  I  wag 
at  school,  I  always  went  at  least  twice  every  half-year  to  the 
Hawkinses  at  Taunton  Yale,  and  they  are  much  richer  than  the 
Grirables,  and  connected  with  them  in  marriage  ;  so  you  see  it’s 
not  so  very  unlikely,  after  all.” 

Having  put  down  Nicholas  in  this  triumphant  manner,  Mrs. 
Nickleby  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  forgetfulness  of  Smike’s 
real  name,  and  an  irresistible  tendency  to  call  him  Mr.  Slam- 
mons  ;  which  circumstance  she  attributed  to  the  remarkable  simi¬ 
larity  of  the  two  names  in  point  of  sound,  both  beginning  with 
an  S,  and  moreover  being  spelt  with  an  M.  But,  whatever 
doubt  there  might  be  on  this  point,  there  was  none  as  to  his 
being  a  most  excellent  listener ;  which  circumstance  had  con¬ 
siderable  influence  in  placing  them  on  the  very  best  terras,  and 
in  inducing  Mrs.  Nickleby  to  express  the  highest  opinion  of  his 
general  deportment  and  disposition. 

Thus  the  little  circle  remained  on  the  most  amicable  and 
agreeable  footing,  until  the  Monday  morning,  when  Nicholas 
withdrew  himself  from  it  for  a  short  time,  seriously  to  reflect 
upon  the  state  of  his  affairf?,  and  to  determine,  if  he  could,  upon 
some  course  of  life,  which  would  enable  him  to  support  those 
who  were  so  entirely  dependent  upon  his  exertions. 

Mr.  Crummies  occurred  to  him  more  than  once ;  but  although 
Kate  was  acquainted  with  the  whole  history  of  his  connection  with 
that  gentleman,  his  mother  was  not ;  and  he  foresaw  a  thousand 
fietful  objections  on  her  part,  to  his  seeking  a  livelihood  upon 
the  stage.  There  were  graver  reasons,  too,  against  his  returning 
to  that  mode  of  life.  Independently  of  those  arising  out  of  its 
spare  and  precarious  earnings,  and  his  own  intenial  conviction 
that  he  could  never  hope  to  aspire  to  any  great  distinction,  even 
as  a  provincial  actor,  how  could  he  carry  his  sister  from  town 
to  town,  and  place  to  place,  and  debar  her  from  any  other  asso¬ 
ciates  than  those  with  whom  he  would  be  compelled,  almost 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


601 


without  distinction,  to  mingle?  “It  won't  do,”  said  Nicholas, 
shaking  his  head  ;  “  I  must  try  something  else.” 

It  was  much  easier  to  make  this  resolution  than  to  carry  it 
into  effect.  With  no  greater  experience  of  the  world  than  he 
had  acquired  for  himself  in  his  short  trials ;  with  a  sufficient 
share  of  headlong  rashness  and  precipitation  (qualities  not 
altogether  unnatural  at  his  time  of  life),  with  a  very  slender  stock 
of  money,  and  a  still  more  scanty  stock  of  friends,  what  could  he 
do?  “Egadl”  said  Nicholas,  “I’ll  try  that  Register  Office 
again.” 

He  smiled  at  himself  as  he  walked  away  with  a  quick  step  ; 
for,  an  instant  before,  he  had  been  internally  blaming  his  own 
precipitation.  He  did  not  laugh  himself  out  of  the  intention, 
however,  for  on  he  went;  picturing  to  himself  as  he  approached 
the  place,  all  kinds  of  splendid  possibilities,  and  impossibilities 
too,  for  that  matter,  and  thinking  himself,  perhaps  with  good 
reason,  very  fortunate  to  be  endowed  with  so  buoyant  and 
sanguine  a  temperament. 

The  office  looked  just  the  same  as  when  he  had  left  it  last,  and, 
indeed,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  there  seemed  to  be  the  very 
same  placards  in  the  window  that  he  had  seen  before.  There 
were  the  same  unimpeachable  masters  and  mistresses  in  want  of 
virtuous  servants,  and  the  same  virtuous  servants  in  want  of  un¬ 
impeachable  masters  and  mistresses,  and  the  same  magnificent 
estates  for  the  investment  of  capital,  and  the  same  enormous 
quantities  of  capital  to  be  invested  in  estates,  and,  in  short,  the 
same  opportunities  of  all  sorts  for  people  who  wanted  to  make 
their  fortunes.  And  a  most  extraordinary  proof  it  was  of  the 
national  prosperity,  that  people  had  not  been  found  to  avail 
themselves  of  such  advantages  long  ago. 

As  Nicholas  stopped  to  look  in  at  the  window,  an  old  gentle¬ 
man  happened  to  stop  too,  and  Nicholas  carrying  his  eye  along 
the  window-panes  from  left  to  right  in  search  of  some  capital-text 
])laeard,  which  should  be  applicable  to  his  own  case,  catight 
siirht  of  this  old  gentleman’s  figure,  and  instinctively  withdrew 
his  eyes  from  the  window,  to  observe  the  same  more  closely. 

He  was  a  sturdy  old  fellow  in  a  broad-skirted  blue  coat,  made 
pretty  large,  to  fit  easily,  and  with  no  particular  waist ;  his 
bulky  legs  clothed  in  drab  breeches  and  high  gaiters,  and  his 


602 


NICHOLAS  NICKIEBY. 


head  protected  by  a  low-crowned,  broad-brimmed  white  hat, 
Biich  as  a  wealthy  grazier  might  wear.  He  wore  his  coat  but¬ 
toned  ;  and  his  dimpled  double  chin  rested  in  the  folds  of  a  white 
neckerchief — not  one  of  your  stiff-starched  apoplectic  cravats, 
but  a  good  easy  old-fashioned  white  neckcloth,  that  a  man 
might  go  to  bed  in  and  be  none  the  worse  for  it.  But  what 
principally  attracted  the  attention  of  Nicholas,  was  the  old 
gentleman’s  eye, — never  was  such  a  clear,  twinkling,  honest, 
merry,  happy  eye,  as  that.  And  there  he  stood,  looking  a  little 
upward,  with  one  hand  thrust  into  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and 
the  other  playing  with  his  old-fashioned  gold  watch  chain  :  hia 
head  thrown  a  little  on  one  side,  and  his  hat  a  little  more  on 
one  side  than  his  head,  (but  that  was  evidently  accident ;  not 
his  ordinary  way  of  wearing  it,)  with  such  a  pleasant  smile 
playing  about  his  mouth,  and  such  a  comical  expression  of 
mingled  slyness,  simplicity,  kind-heartedness,  and  good  humor, 
lighting  up  his  jolly  old  face,  that  Nicholas  would  have  been 
content  to  have  stood  there  and  looked  at  him  until  evening, 
and  to  have  forgotten  meanwhile  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
a  soured  mind  or  a  crabbed  countenance  to  be  met  with  in  tho 
whole  wide  world. 

But,  even  a  very  remote  approach  to  thjs  gratification  was 
not  to  be  made,  for  although  he  seemed  quite  unconscious  of 
having  been  the  subject  of  observation,  he  looked  casually  at 
Nicholas;  and  the  latter,  fearful  of  giving  offence,  resumed  his 
scrutiny  of  the  window  instantly. 

Still,  the  old  gentleman  stood  there,  glancing  from  placard 
to  placard,  and  Nicholas  could  not  forbear  raising  his  eyes  to 
his  face  again.  Grafted  upon  the  quaintness  and  oddity  of  his 
appearance,  was  something  so  indescribably  engaging  and  be¬ 
speaking  so  much  worth,  and  there  were  so  many  little  lights 
hovering  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  eyes,  that  it  was 
not  a  mere  amusement,  but  a  positive  pleasure  and  delight  to 
look  at  him. 

This  being  the  case,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  old  man  caught 
Nicholas  in  the  fact  more  than  once.  At  such  times,  Nicholas 
colored  and  looked  embarrassed,  for  the  truth  is,  that  he  had 
begun  to  wonder  whether  the  stranger  could  by  any  possibility 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


50^ 

be  looking  lor  a  clerk  or  secretary ;  and  thinking  this,  he  felt 
as  if  the  old  gentleman  must  know  it. 

Ijong  as  all  this  takes  to  tell,  it  was  not  more  than  a  couple 
of  minutes  in  passing.  As  the  stranger  was  moving  away, 
Nicholas  caught  his  eye  again,  and,  in  the  awkwardness  of  tho 
moment,  stammered  out  an  apology. 

“  No  offence — Oh  no  offence  1”  said  the  old  man. 

This  was  said  in  such  a  hearty  tone,  and  the  voice  wms  so 
exactly  what  it  should  have  been  from  such  a  speaker,  and  there 
was  such  a  cordiality  in  the  manner,  that  Nicholas  was  embold¬ 
ened  to  speak  again. 

“  A  great  many  opportunities  here.  Sir,”  he  said,  half  smiling 
as  he  motioned  towards  the  window. 

”  A  great  many  people  willing  and  anxious  to  be  employed 
have  seriously  thought  so  very  often, I  dare  say,”  replied  the  old 
man.  “  Poor  fellows,  poor  fellows  !” 

He  moved  away  as  he  said  this ;  but  seeing  that  Nicholas 
was  about  to  speak,  good-naturedly  slackened  his  pace,  as  if  he 
were  unwilling  to  cut  him  short.  After  a  little  of  that  hesita¬ 
tion  which  may  be  sometimes  observed  between  two  people  in 
the  street  who  have  exchanged  a  nod,  and  are  both  uncertain 
whether  they  shall  turn  back  and  speak,  or  not,  Nicholas  found 
himself  at  the  old  man’s  side. 

“  You  were  about  to  speak,  young  gentleman ;  what  were  you 
going  to  say  ?” 

“  Merely  that  I  almost  hoped — I  mean  to  say,  thought — you 
had  some  object  in  consulting  those  advertisements,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“Ay,  ay  !  what  object  now — what  object?”  returned  the  old 
man,  looking  slyly  at  Nicholas.  “  Did  you  think  I  wanted  a 
situation  now — eh  ?  Did  you  think  I  did  ?” 

Nicholas  shook  his  head. 

“  lla  !  ha!”  laughed  the  old  gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands 
and  wrists  as  if  he  were  washing  them.  “  A  very  natural 
thought  at  all  events,  after  seeing  me  gazing  at  those  bills.  1 
thought  the  same  of  you  at  first,  upon  my  word  I  did.” 

“  If  you  had  thought  so  at  last,  too.  Sir,  you  would  not  have 
been  far  from  the  truth,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“Eh  ?”  cried  the  old  man,  surveying  him  from  head  to  foot 


604 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBA^ 


‘‘Whall  Dear  me  !  No,  no.  Well-beliaved  young  gentleman 
reduced  to  such  a  necessity  !  No,  no  ;  no,  no.” 

Nicholas  bowed,  and  bidding  him  good  morning,  turned  upon 
his  heel. 

“  Stay,”  said  the  old  man,  beckoning  him  into  a  by-street, 
where  they  could  converse  with  less  interruption.  “  What  d’ye 
mean,  eh  ?  What  d’ye  mean  ?” 

“Merely  that  your  kind  face  and  manner — both  so  unlike 
any  I  have  ever  seen — tempted  me  into  an  avowal,  which,  to 
any  other  stranger  in  this  wilderness  of  London,  I  should  not 
have  dreamt  of  making,”  returned  Nicholas. 

“Wilderness  !  Yes,  it  is,  it  is.  Good.  It  is  a  wilderness,” 
said  the  old  man  with  much  animation.  “  It  was  a  wilderness 
to  me  once.  I  came  here  barefoot — I  have  never  forgotten  it. 
Thank  God  1”  and  he  raised  his  hat  from  his  head,  and  looked 
very  grave. 

“  What’s  the  matter — what  is  it — how  did  it  all  come  about  ?” 
said  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Nicholas, 
and  walking  him  up  the  street.  “  You’re — eh  ?”  laying  his 
finger  on  the  sleeve  of  his  black  coat.  “  Who’s  it  for — eh  ?” 

“  My  father,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Ah  1”  said  the  old  gentleman,  quickly.  “  Bad  thing  for  a 
young  man  to  lose  his  father.  Widowed  mother,  perhaps  ?” 

Nicholas  sighed. 

“  Brothers  and  sisters  too — eh  ?” 

“  One  sister,”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“  Poor  thing,  poor  thing.  You’re  a  scholar  too,  I  dare  say  ?” 
said  the  old  man,  looking  wistfully  into  the  face  of  the  young 
one. 

“I  have  been  tolerably  well  educated,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Fine  thing,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  “education  a  great 
thing — a  very  great  thing — I  never  had  any.  I  admire  it  the 
more  in  others.  A  very  fine  thing — yes,  yes.  Tell  me  more 
of  your  history.  Let  me  hear  it  all.  No  impertinent  curiosity 
— no,  no,  no.” 

There  was  something  so  earnest  and  guileless  in  the  way  in 
which  all  this  was  said,  and  such  a  complete  disregard  of  all 
conventional  restraints  and  coldnesses,  that  Nicholas  could  not 
resist  it.  Among  men  who  have  any  sound  and  sterling  quali- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


605 


ties,  there  is  nothing  so  contagious  as  pure  openness  of  heart. 
Nicholas  took  the  infection  instantly,  and  ran  over  the  main 
points  of  his  little  history  without  reserve,  merely  suppressing 
names,  and  touching  as  lightly  as  possible  upon  his  uncle’s 
treatment  of  Kate.  The  old  man  listened  with  great  attention, 
and  when  he  had  concluded,  drew  his  arm  eagerly  through  his 
own. 

“Don’t  say  another  word. — not  another  word,”  said  he. 
“Come  along  with  me.  We  mustn’t  lose  a  minute.” 

So  saying,  the  old  gentleman  dragged  him  back  into  Oxford 
Street,  and  hailing  an  omnibus  on  its  way  to  the  City,  pushed 
Nicholas  in  before  him,  and  followed  himself. 

As  he  appeared  in  a  most  extraordinary  condition  of  restless 
excitement,  and  whenever  Nicholas  offered  to  speak,  immediately 
interposed  with — “  Don’t  say  another  word,  my  dear  Sir,  on 
any  account — not  another  word,”  the  young  man  thought  it 
better  to  attempt  no  further  interruption.  Into  the  City  they 
journeyed  accordingly,  without  interchanging  any  conversation  ; 
and  the  furthei’  they  went,  the  more  Nicholas  wondered  what 
the  end  of  the  adventure  could  possibly  be. 

The  old  gentleman  got  out  with  great  alacrity  when  they 
reached  the  Bank,  and  once  more  taking  Nicholas  by  the  arm, 
hurried  him  along  Threadneedle  Street,  and  through  some 
lanes  and  passages  on  the  right,  until  they  at  length  emerged 
in  a  quiet  shady  little  square.  Into  the  oldest  and  cleanest- 
looking  house  of  business  in  the  square,  he  led  the  way.  The 
only  inscription  on  the  door-post  was  “  Cheeryble,  Brothers 
but  from  a  hasty  glance  at  the  directions  of  some  packages 
which  were  lying  about,  Nicholas  supposed  that  the  Brothers 
Cheeryble  were  German  merchants. 

Passing  through  a  wai'ehouse  which  presented  every  indica¬ 
tion  of  a  thriving  business,  Mr.  Cheeryble  (for  such  Nicholas 
supposed  him  to  be,  from  the  respect  which  had  been  shown 
him  by  the  warehousemen  and  porters  whom  they  passed)  led 
him  into  a  little  partitioned-off  counting-house  like  a  large  glass 
case,  in  which  counting-house  there  sat — as  free  from  dust  and 
blemish  as  if  he  had  been  fixed  into  the  glass  case  before  the 
top  was  put  on,  and  had  never  come  out  since. — a  fat,  elderly, 
large-faced,  clerk,  with  silver  spectacles  and  a  powdered  head. 


506 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Is  my  brother  in  his  room,  Tim  said  Mr.  Cheeryble, 
with  no  less  kindness  of  manner  than  he  had  shown  to  Nicholas, 

“  Yes,  he  is.  Sir,”  replied  the  fat  clerk,  turning  his  spectacle- 
glasses  towards  his  principal,  and  his  eyes  towards  Nicholas, 
"  but  Mr.  Trimmers  is  with  him.” 

“  Ay  I  And  what  has  he  come  about,  Tim  ?”  said  Mr. 
Cheeryble. 

“  lie  is  getting  up  a  subscription  for  the  widow  and  family 
of  a  man  who  was  killed  in  the  East  India  Docks  this  morning, 
Sir,”  rejoined  Tim.  “  Smashed,  Sir,  by  a  cask  of  sugar.” 

“  He  is  a  good  creature,”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  with  great 
earnestness.  “  He  is  a  kind  soul.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
Trimmers.  Trimmers  is  one  of  the  best  friends  we  , have.  lie 
makes  a  thousand  cases  known  to  us  that  we  should  never  dis¬ 
cover  of  ourselves.  I  am  xerxj  much  obliged  to  Trimmers.” 
Saying  which,  Mr.  Cheeryble  rubbed  his  hands  with  infinite  de¬ 
light,  and  Mr.  Trimmers  happening  to  pass  the  door  that  instant 
on  his  way  out,  shot  out  after  him  and  caught  him  by  the  hand. 

“  I  owe  you  a  thousand  thanks.  Trimmers — ten  thousand 
thanks — I  take  it  very  friendly  of  you — very  friendly,  indeed,” 
said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  dragging  him  into  a  corner  to  get  out  of 
hearing.  “  How  many  children  are  there,  and  what  has  my 
brother  Ned  given.  Trimmers  ?” 

“  There  are  six  children,”  replied  the  gentleman,  “  and  your 
brother  has  given  us  twenty  pounds.” 

“  My  brother  Ned  is  a  good  fellow,  and  you’re  a  good  fellow 
too.  Trimmers,”  said  the  old  man,  shaking  him  by  both  hands 
with  trembling  eagerness.  “  Put  me  down  for  another  twenty — 
or — stop  a  minute,  stop  a  minute.  We  mustn’t  look  ostenta¬ 
tious  ;  put  me  down  ten  pound,  and  Tim  Linkinwater  ten 
pound.  A  check  for  twenty  pound  for  Mr.  Trimmers,  Tim. 
God  bless  you.  Trimmers — and  come  and  dine  with  us  some  day 
this  week  ;  you’ll  always  find  a  knife  and  fork,  and  vre  shall  be 
delighted.  Now,  my  dear  Sir — check  for  Mr.  Linkinwater, 
Tim.  Smashed  by  a  cask  of  sugar,  and  six  poor  children — oh 
dear,  dear,  dear !” 

Talking  on  in  Ihis  strain  as  fast  as  he  could,  to  prevent  any 
friendly  remonstrances  from  the  collector  of  the  subscription  on 
the  lai'gc  amount  of  his  donation,  Mr.  Cheeryble  led  Nicholas. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


50? 


equally  astonished  and  affected  by  what  he  liad  seen  and  lieard 
in  this  short  space,  to  the  half-opened  door  of  another  room. 

“  Brother  Ned,”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  tapping  with  his 
knuckles,  and  stooping  to  listen,  “  are  yon  busy,  my  dear  bro¬ 
ther,  or  can  you  spare  time  for  a  word  or  two  with  me  ?” 

“Brother  Charles,  my  dear  fellow,”  replied  a  voice  from  the 
inside  ;  so  like  in  its  tones  to  that  which  had  just  spoken  that 
Nicholas  started,  and  almost  thought  it  was  the  same,  “  don’t 
ask  me  such  a  question,  but  come  in  directly.’’ 

They  went  in  without  farther  parley.  What  was  the  amaze¬ 
ment  of  Nicholas  when  his  conductor  advanced  and  e.xchanged 
a  warm  greeting  witli  another  old  gentleman,  the  very  type  and 
model  of  himself — the  same  face,  the  same  figure,  the  same  coat, 
waistcoat,  and  neckcloth,  the  same  breeches  and  gaiters — nay, 
there  was  the  very  same  white  hat  hanging  against  the  wall  ! 

As  they  shook  each  other  by  the  hand,  the  face  of  each 
lighted  up  by  beaming  looks  of  affection,  which  would  have 
been  most  delightful  to  behold  in  infants,  and  which,  in  men  so 
old,  was  inexpressibly  touching,  Nicholas  could  observe  that 
the  last  old  gentleman  was  something  stouter  than  his  brother; 
this,  and  a  slight  additional  shade  of  clumsiness  in  his  gait  and 
stature,  formed  the  only  perceptible  difference  between  them. 
Nobody  could  have  doubted  their  being  twin  brothers. 

“Brother  Ned,”  said  Nicholas’s  friend,  closing  the  room 
dcor,  “  here  is  a  young  friend  of  mine  that  we  must  assist. 
'We  must  make  proper  inquiries  into  his  statements,  in  justice 
'  to  him  as  well  as  to  ourselves,  and  if  they  are  confirmed — as  I 
feel  assured  they  will  be — we  must  assist  him  ;  we  must  assist 
him,  brother  Ned.” 

“  It  is  enough,  ray  dear  brother,  that  you  say  we  should,” 
returned  the  other.  “  When  you  say  that,  no  further  inquiries 
are  needed,  lie  ahall  be  assisted.  What  are  his  necessities, 
and  what  does  he  recpiire  ?  Where  is  Tim  Linkinwater?  J^et 
us  have  him  here.” 

Both  the  brothers,  it  may  be  here  remarked,  had  a  very  em¬ 
phatic  and  earnest  delivery,  both  had  lost  nearly  the  same  teeth, 
which  imparted  the  same  peculiarity  to  their  speech  ;  and  both 
spoke  as  if,  besides  possessing  the  utmost  serenity  of  mind  that 
the  kindliest  and  most  unsuspecting  nature  could  bestow,  they 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


t.08 

had,  in  collecting  the  plums  from  Fortune’s  choicest  pudding, 
retained  a  few  for  present  use,  and  kept  them  in  their  mouths. 

“  Where  is  Tim  Linkin water  ?”  said  brother  Ned. 

“  Stop,  stop,  stop,”  said  brother  Charles,  taking  the  other 
aside.  “  I’ve  a  plan,  my  dear  brother,  I’ve  a  plan.  Tim  is 
getting  old,  and  Tim  has  been  a  faithful  servant,  brother  Ned  ; 
and  I  don’t  think  pensioning  Tim’s  mother  and  sister,  and 
buying  a  little  tomb  for  the  family  when  his  poor  brother  died, 
was  a  sufficient  recoiflpense  for  his  faithful  services.” 

“No,  no,  no,”  replied  the  other.  “  Certainly  not.  Not  half 
enough,  not  half.” 

“If  we  could  lighten  Tim’s  duties,”  said  the  old  gentleman, 
“and  prevail  upon  him  to  go  into  the  country  now  and  then, 
and  sleep  in  the  fresh  air,  besides,  two  or  three  times  a  week, 
(which  he  could  if  he  began  business  an  hour  later  in  the 
morning,)  old  Tim  Linkinwater  would  grow  young  again  in 
time ;  and  he’s  three  good  years  our  senior  now.  Old  Tim 
Linkinwater  young  again  I  Eh,  brother  Ned,  eh?  Why,  i 
recollect  old  Tim  Linkinwater  quite  a  little  boy,  don’t  you  ? 
Ea,  ha,  ha !  Poor  Tim,  poor  Tim  !” 

And  the  fine  old  fellows  laughed  pleasantly  together  :  each 
with  a  tear  cf  regard  for  old  Tim  Linkinwater,  standing  in  his 
eye. 

“But  hear  this  first — hear  this  first,  brother  Ned,”  said  the 
old  man  hastily,  placing  two  chairs,  one  each  side  of  Nicholas 
“  I’ll  tell  it  you  myself,  brother  Ned,  because  the  young  gentle¬ 
man  is  modest,  and  is  a  scholar,  Ned,  and  I  shouldn’t  feel  it 
right  that  he  should  tell  us  his  story  over  and  over  again  as  if 
he  was  a  beggar,  or  as  if  we  doubted  him.  No,  no,  no.” 

“  No,  no,  no,”  returned  the  other,  nodding  his  head  gravely 
Yery  right,  my  dear  brother,  very  right.” 

“  He  will  tell  me  I’m  wrong,  if  I  make  a  mistake,”  said 
Nicholas’s  friend.  “  But  whether  I  do  or  not,  you’ll  be  very 
much  affected,  brother  Ned,  remembering  the  time  when  we 
were  two  friendless  lads,  and  earned  our  first  shilling  in  this 
great  city.” 

The  twins  pressed  each  other’s  hands  in  silence,  and,  in  his 
own  homely  manner,  brother  Charles  related  the  particulars  he 
had  heard  from  Nicholas,  The  conversation  which  ensued  was 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


609 


a  long  one,  and  when  it  was  over  a  secret  conference  cf  almost 
equal  duration  took  place  between  brother  I^ed  and  Tim  Linkin- 
water  in  another  room.  It  is  no  disparagement  to  Nicholas  to 
say,  that  before  he  had  been  closeted  with  the  two  brothers  ten 
minutes,  he  could  only  wave  his  hand  at  every  fresh  expression 
of  kindness  and  sympathy,  and  sob  like  a  little  child. 

At  length  brother  Ned  and  Tim  Linkinwater  came  back 
together,  when  Tim  instantly  walked  up  to  Nicholas  and 
whispered  in  his  ear  in  a  very  brief  sentence,  (for  Tim  was 
ordinarily  a  man  of  few  words,)  that  he  had  taken  down  the 
address  in  the  Strand,  and  would  call  upon  him  that  evening  at 
eight.  Having  done  which,  Tim  wiped  his  spectacles  and  put 
them  on,  preparatory  to  hearing  what  more  the  brothers 
Cheeryble  had  got  to  say. 

“Tim,”  said  brother  Charles,  “you  understand  that  we  have 
an  intention  of  taking  this  young  gentleman  into  the  counting- 
house  ?” 

Brother  Ned  remarked  that  Tim  was  aware  of  that  intention, 
and  quite  approved  of  it ;  and  Tim  having  nodded,  and  said 
he  did,  drew  himself  up  and  looked  particularly  fat  and  very 
important.  After  which  there  was  a  profound  silence. 

“  I’m  not  coming  an  hour  later  in  the  morning  you  know,” 
said  Tim,  breaking  out  all  at  once,  and  looking  very  resolute. 
“  I’m  not  going  to  sleep  in  the  fresh  air — no,  nor  I’m  not  going 
into  the  country  either.  A  pretty  thing  at  this  time  of  day, 
certainly.  Pho !” 

“Damn  your  obstinacy,  Tim  Linkinwater,”  said  brother 
Charles,  looking  at  him  without  the  faintest  spark  of  anger, 
and  with  a  countenance  radiant  with  attachment  to  the  old 
clerk.  “Damn  your  obstinacy,  Tim  Linkinwater,  what  do  you 
mean,  Sir?” 

“It’s  forty-four  year,”  said  Tim,  making  a  calculation  in  the 
air  with  his  pen,  and  drawing  an  imaginary  line  before  he  cast 
it  up,  “  forty-fouii  year,  next  May,  since  I  first  kept  the  books  of 
Cheeryble,  Brothers.  I’ve  opened  the  safe  every  morning  all 
that  time  (Sundays  excepted),  as  the  clock  struck  nine,  and 
gone  over  the  house  every  night  at  half-past  ten  (except  on 
Foreign  Post  nights,  and  then  twenty  minutes  before  twe’ve), 
to  see  the  doors  fastened  and  the  fires  out  I’ve  never  slept  out 


610 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


of  the  back  attic  one  single  night.  There’s  the  same  mignon 
nette  box  in  the  middle  of  the  window,  and  the  same  four 
flower-pots,  two  on  each  side,  that  I  brought  with  me  when  I 
first  came.  There  ain’t — I’ve  said  it  again  and  again,  and  I’ll 
maintain  it — there  ain’t  such  a  square  as  this  in  the  world,  I 
tcnow  there  ain’t,”  said  Tim,  with  sudden  energy,  and  looking 
sternly  about  him.  “IS’ot  one.  For  business  or  pleasure,  in 
summer  time  or  winter — I  don’t  care  which — there’s  nothing 
like  it.  There’s  not  such  a  spring  in  England  as  the  pump 
under  the  archway.  There’s  not  such  a  view  in  England  as  the 
view  out  of  my  window  ;  I’ve  seen  it  every  morning  before  I 
shaved,  and  I  ought  to  know  somethiug  about  it.  I  have  slept 
in  that  room,”  added  Tim,  sinking  his  voice  a  little,  “for  four- 
and-forty  year;  and  if  it  wasn’t  inconvenient,  and  didn’t  inter¬ 
fere  with  business,  I  should  request  leave  to  die  there.” 

“  Damn  you,  Tim  Linkinwater,  how  dare  you  talk  about 
dying?”  roared  the  twins  by  one  impulse,  and  blowing  their  old 
noses  violently. 

“  That’s  what  I’ve  got  to  say,  Mr.  Edwin  and  Mr.  Charles,” 
said  Tim,  squaring  his  shoulders  again.  “  This  isn’t  the  first 
time  you’ve  talked  about  superanuating  me  ;  but  if  you  please 
we’ll  make  it  the  last,  and  drop  the  subject  for  evermore.” 

With  these  words,  Tim  Linkinwater  stalked  out  and  shut 
himself  up  in  his  glass  case,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  had 
his  say,  and  was  thoroughly  resolved  not  to  be  put  down. 

The  brothers  interchanged  looks,  and  coughed  some  half- 
dozen  times  without  speaking. 

“  He  must  be  done  something  with,  brother  Ned,”  said  the 
other,  warmly  ;  “  we  must  disregard  his  old  scruples ;  they 
can’t  be  tolerated  or  borne.  He  must  be  made  a  partner, 
brother  Ned;  and  if  he  won’t  submit  to  it  peaceably,  we  must 
have  recourse  to  violence.” 

“  Quite  right,”  replied  brother  Ned,  nodding  his  head  as  a 
man  thoroughly  determined  ;  “  quite  right,  my  dear  brother. 
If  he  won’t  listen  to  reason,  we  must  do  it  against  his  will,  and 
show  him  that  we  are  determined  to  exert  our  authority.  We 
must  quarrel  with  him,  brother  Charles.” 

“We  must — we  certainly  must  have  a  quarrel  with  Tim 
Linkinwater,”  said  the  other.  “But  in  the  mean  time,  my  dear 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBir. 


611 


brother,  we  are  keeping  our  young  friend;  and  tlie  poor  lady 
and  her  daughter  will  be  anxious  for  his  return.  So  let  us  say 
good-by  for  the  present,  and — there,  there — take  care  of  that 
box,  my  dear  Sir — and — no,  no,  no,  not  a  word  now ;  but  bo 
careful  of  the  crossings  and - ” 

And  with  any  disjointed  and  unconnected  words  vvdnch  would 
prevent  Nicholas  from  pouring  forth  his  thanks,  the  brothers 
hurried  him  out,  shaking  hands  with  him  all  the  way,  and 
affecting  very  unsuccessfully — they  were  poor  hands  at  deception  ! 
— to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  feelings  that  completely 
mastered  him. 

Nicholas’s  heart  was  too  full  to  allow  of  his  turning  into  the 
street  until  he  had  recovered  some  composure.  When  he  at 
last  glided  out  of  the  dark  doorway-corner  in  whi(*h  he  had 
been  compelled  to  halt,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  twins 
stealthily  peeping  in  at  one  corner  of  the  glass-case,  evidently 
undecided  whether  they  should  follow  up  their  late  attack  with¬ 
out  delay,  or  for  the  present  postpone  laying  further  siege  to 
the  inflexible  Tim  Linkinwater. 

To  recount  all  the  delight  and  wonder  which  the  circum¬ 
stances  just  detailed  awakened  at  Miss  La  Creevy’s,  and  all  the 
things  that  were  done,  said,  thought,  expected,  hoped,  and  pro- 
jfliesied  in  consequence,  is  beside  the  ])resent  course  and  jnir- 
pose  of  these  adventures.  It  is  sufficient  to  state,  in  brief,  that 
Mr.  Timothy  Linkinwater  arrived  i)unctual  to  his  appointment; 
that,  oddity  as  he  was,  and  jealous  as  he  was  bound  to  be  of  the 
proper  exercise  of  his  employers’  most  comprehensive  liberality, 
he  reported  strongly  and  warmly  in  favor  of  Nicholas;  and  that 
next  day  he  was  appointed  to  the  vacant  stool  in  the  counting- 
house  of  Cheeryble,  lirotliers,  with  a  present  salary  of  one  hun¬ 
dred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year. 

“And  I  think,  my  dear  In’other,”  said  Nicholas’s  first  friend, 
“  that  if  we  were  to  let  them  that  little  cottage  at  Bow  which  is 
empty,  at  something  under  the  usual  rent,  now^ — eh,  brother 
Ned  ?” 

'■  For  nothing  at  all,”  said  brother  Ned.  “We  are  rich,  and 
sliould  be  ashamed  to  touch  the  rent  under  such  circumstances 
as  these.  'WHiere  is  Tim  Linkinwater — For  nothing  at  all,  ray 
dear  brother,  for  nothing  at  all.” 

"Ferhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  something,  brother  Ned,” 
S3 


612 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


suggested  the  other,  mildly;  “it  would  help  to  preserve  habiU 
of  frugality,  you  know,  and  remove  any  painful  sense  of  over¬ 
whelming  obligations.  We  might  say  fifteen  pound,  or  twenty 
pound,  and  if  it  was  punctually  paid,  make  it  up  to  them  in 
some  other  way.  And  I  might  secretly  advance  a  small  loan 
towards  a  little  furniture,  and  you  might  secretly  advance 
another  small  loan,  brother  Ned;  and  if  we  find  them  doing  well 
. — as  we  shall ;  there’s  no  fear,  no  fear — we  can  change  the  loans 
into  gifts — carefully,  brother  Ned,  and  by  degrees,  and  without 
pressing  upon  them  too  much ;  what  do  you  say  now,  brother  ?” 

Brother  Ned  gave  his  hand  upon  it,  and  not  only  said  it 
should  be  done,  but  had  it  done  too :  and  in  one  short  week 
Nicholas  took  possession  of  the  stool,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  and 
Kate  took  possession  of  the  house ;  and  all  was  hope,  bustle, 
and  light-heartedness. 

There  surely  never  was  such  a  week  of  discoveries  and  sur¬ 
prises  as  the  first  week  of  that  cottage.  Every  night  when 
Nicholas  came  home,  something  new  had  been  found  out.  One 
day  it  was  a  grape-vine,  and  another  day  it  was  a  boiler,  and 
another  day  it  was  the  key  of  the  front  parlor  closet  at  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  the  water-butt,  and  so  on  through  a  hundred  items. 
Then,  this  room  was  embellished  with  a  muslin  curtain,  and 
that  room  was  rendered  quite  elegant  by  a  window-blind,  and 
such  improvements  were  made  as  no  one  would  have  supposed 
possible.  Then,  there  was  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  had  come  out 
in  the  omnibus  to  stop  a  day  or  two  and  help,  and  who  was 
perpetually  losing  a  very  small  brown  paper  parcel  of  tin  tacks 
and  a  very  large  hammer,  and  running  about  with  her  sleeves 
tucked  up  at  the  wrists,  and  falling  off  pairs  of  steps  and  hurt¬ 
ing  herself  very  much — and  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  talked  inces- 
aaiitly,  and  did  something  now  and  then,  but  not  often — and 
Kate,  who  busied  herself  noiselessly  everywhere,  and  was  pleased 
with  every  thing — and  Smike,  who  made  the  garden  a  perfect 
wonder  to  look  upon — and  Nicholas,  who  helped  and  encou¬ 
raged  them  every  one — all  the  peace  and  cheerfulness  of  home 
restored,  with  such  new  zest  imparted  to  every  frugal  pleasure, 
and  such  delight  to  every  hour  of  meeting,  as  misfortune  and 
separation  alone  could  give. 

In  short,  the  poor  Nicklebys  were  social  and  happy;  while 
the  rich  Nickleby  was  alone  and  miserable. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


PEIVATE  AND  CONFIDENTIAL;  RELATING  TO  FAMILY  MATTERS, 
SHOMYNG  HOW  MR.  KENWIGS  UNDERWENT  VIOLENT  AGITATION, 
AND  HOW  MRS.  ILENWIGS  WAS  AS  WELL  AS  COULD  BE  EX¬ 
PECTED. 

It  might  have  been  about  seven  o’clock  in  the  evening,  ana 
it  was  growing  dark  in  the  narrow  streets  near  Golden  Square, 
when  Mr.  Kenwigs  sent  out  for  a  pair  of  the  cheapest  white  kid 
gloves — those  at  fourteenpence — and  selecting  the  strongest, 
which  happened  to  be  the  right-hand  one,  walked  down  stairs 
with  an  air  of  some  pomp  and  much  excitement,  and  proceeded 
to  muffle  the  knob  of  the  street-door  knocker  therein.  Having 
e.xecuted  this  task  with  great  nicety,  Mr.  Kenwigs  pulled  the 
door  to  after  him,  and  just  stepped  across  the  road  to  try  the 
effect  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  Satisfied  that  noth¬ 
ing  could  possibly  look  better  in  its  ivay,  Mr.  Kenwigs  then 
stepped  back  again,  and  calling  through  the  keyhole  to  Morleena 
to  open  the  door,  vanished  into  the  house,  and  was  seen  no 
longer. 

Xow  considered  as  an  abstract  circumstance,  there  was  no 
more  obvious  cause  or  reason  why  Mr.  Kenwigs  should  take  the 
trouble  of  muffling  this  particular  knocker,  than  there  would 
have  been  for  his  muffling  the  knocker  of  any  nobleman  or  gen¬ 
tleman  resident  ten  miles  off;  because,  for  the  greater  conveni¬ 
ence  of  the  numerous  lodgers,  the  street-door  always  stood  wide 
0]mn,  and  the  knocker  was  never  used  at  all.  The  fii'st  floor, 
the  second  floor,  and  the  third  floor,  had  each  a  bell  of  its 
own.  As  to  the  attics  no  one  ever  called  on  them ;  if  any 
body  wanted  the  parlors,  there  they  were  close  at  hand,  and 
all  he  had  to  do  was  to  walk  straight  into  them;  while  the 
kitchen  had  a  separate  entrance  down  the  area  steps.  As  a 
question  of  mere  necessity  and  usefulness,  therefore,  this  muf 
fling  of  the  knocker  was  thoroughly  incomprehensible. 


514 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


But  knockers  may  be  muffled  for  other  purposes  than  those  of 
mere  utilitarianism,  as,  in  the  present  instance,  was  clearly 
shown.  There  are  certain  polite  forms  and  ceremonies  which 
must  be  observed  in  civilized  life,  or  mankind  relapse  into  their 
original  barbarism.  No  genteel  lady  was  ever  yet  confined — 
indeed,  no  genteel  confinement  can  possibly  take  place — without 
the  accompanying  symbol  of  a  muffled  knocker.  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
was  a  lady  of  some  pretentions  to  gentility  ;  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was 
confined.  And,  therefore,  Mr.  Kenwigs  tied  up  the  silent 
knocker  on  the  premises  in  a  white  kid  glove. 

“  I’m  not  quite  certain  neither,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  arranging 
his  shirt-collar,  and  walking  slowly  up  stairs,  “  whether,  as  it’s 
a  boy,  I  won’t  have  it  in  the  papers.  ” 

Pondering  upon  the  advisability  of  this  step,  and  the  sensation 
it  was  likely  to  create  in  the  neighborhood,  Mr.  Kenwigs  betook 
himself  to  the  sitting-room,  where  various  extremely  diminutive 
articles  of  clothing  were  airing  on  a  horse  before  the  fire,  and 
Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctor,  was  dandling  the  baby — that  is,  the 
old  baby — not  the  new  one. 

“  It’s  a  fine  boy,  Mr.  Kenwigs,”  said  Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctor. 

“You  consider  him  a  fine  boy,  do  you.  Sir ?”  returned  Mr. 
Kenwigs. 

“It’s  the  finest  boy  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  life,”  said  the  doctor. 
“  I  never  saw  such  a  baby.” 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  reflect  upon,  and  furnishes  a  complete 
answer  to  those  who  contend  for  the  gradual  degeneration  of 
the  human  species,  that  every  baby  born  into  the  world  is  a  finer 
one  than  the  last. 

“Ine — ver  saw  such  a  baby,”  said  Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctcm. 

“  Morleena  was  a  fine  baby.”  remarked  Mr  Kenwigs  ;  as  if 
this  were  rather  an  attack,  by  implication,  upon  the  family. 

“  They  were  all  fine  babies,”  said  Mr.  Lumbey.  And  Mr. 
Lumbey  went  on  nursing  the  baby  with  a  thoughtful  look. 
Whethe'  he  was  considering  under  what  head  he  could  best 
charge  tlie  nursing  in  the  bill,  was  best  known  to  himself. 

During  this  short  conversation.  Miss  Morleena,  as  the  eldest  of 
the  family,  and  natural  representative  of  her  mother  during  her 
indisposition,  had  been  hustling  and  slapping  the  three  younger 
Miss  Ke-nwigses,  without  intermission;  which  considerate  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


615 


affectionate  conduct  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
and  caused  him  to  declare  that,  in  understanding  and  behavior, 
that  child  was  a  woman. 

“  She  will  be  a  treasure  to  the  man  she  marries,  Sir,’’  said 
Mr.  Kenwigs,  half  aside;  “I  think  she’ll  marry  above  her  sta¬ 
tion,  Mr.  Lumbey.” 

“  I  shouldn’t  wonder  at  all,”  replied  the  doctor. 

“You  never  see  her  dance.  Sir,  did  you?”  asked  IMr.  Ken- 
wigs. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

“  Ay  I”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  as  though  he  pitied  him  from  his 
heart,  “then  you  don’t  know  what  she’s  capable  of.” 

All  this  time  there  had  been  a  great  whisking  in  and  out  of 
the  other  room  ;  the  door  had  been  opened  and  shut  very  softly 
about  twenty  times  a  minute  (for  it  was  necessary  to  keep  Mrs. 
Kenwigs  quiet),  and  the  baby  had  been  exhibited  to  a  score  or 
two  of  deputations  from  a  select  body  of  female  friends,  who  had 
assembled  in  the  passage,  and  about  the  street-door,  to  discuss 
the  event  in  all  its  bearings.  Indeed,  the  excitement  extended 
itself  over  the  whole  street,  and  groups  of  ladies  might  be  seen 
standing  at  the  doors, — some  in  the  interesting  condition  in 
which  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  last  appeared  in  public, — relating 
their  experiences  of  similar  occurrences.  Some  few  acquired 
great  credit  from  having  prophesied,  the  day  before  yesterday, 
exactly  when  it  would  come  to  pass ;  others  again  related,  how 
that  they  guessed  what  it  was,  directly  they  saw  Mr.  Kenwigs 
turn  pale  and  run  up  the  street  as  hard  as  ever  he  could  go.  Some 
said  one  thing  and  some  another  ;  but  all  talked  together,  and 
all  agreed  upon  twm  points  ;  first,  that  it  was  very  meritorious 
and  highly  praiseworthy  in  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  to  do  as  she  had 
done  :  and  secondly,  that  there  never  was  such  a  skillful  and  sci¬ 
entific  doctor  as  that  Doctor  Lumbey. 

In  Ihe  midst  of  this  general  hubbub.  Doctor  Lumbey  sat  in 
the  first  floor  fiont,  as  before  related,  nursing  the  deposed  baby, 
and  talking  to  Mr.  Kenwigs.  lie  was  a  stout  bluff-looking 
gentleman,  with  no  shirt-collar,  to  speak  of,  and  a  beard  that 
had  been  growing  since  yesterday  morning  ;  for  Doctor  Lumbey 
was  popular,  and  the  neighborhood  was  prolific  ;  and  there  had 


516 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


been  no  less  than  three  other  knockers  muffled,  one  after  the 
other,  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours. 

“Well,  Mr.  Kenwigs,”  said  Dr.  Lnmbey,  “this  makes  six. 
You’ll  have  a  fine  family  in  time.  Sir.” 

“I  think  six  is  almost  enough,  Sir,”  returned  Mr.  Kenwigs. 

“Pooh  I  pooh!”  said  the  doctor.  “  Nonsense  I  not  half 
enough.” 

With  this  the  doctor  laughed  ;  but  he  didn’t  laugh  half  as  much 
as  a  married  friend  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s,  who  had  just  come  in 
from  the  sick-chamber,  to  report  progress  and  take  a  small  sip 
of  brandy-and-water ;  and  who  seemed  to  consider  it  one  of  the 
best  jokes  ever  launched  upon  society. 

“  They’re  not  altogether  dependent  upon  good  fortune, 
neither,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  taking  his  second  daughter  on  his 
knee  ;  “  they  have  expectations.  ” 

“  Oh,  indeed  1”  said  Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctor. 

“  And  very  good  ones,  too,  I  believe,  haven’t  they  ?”  asked 
the  married  lady. 

“  Why,  Ma’am,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “  it’s  not  exactly  for  me 
to  say  what  they  may  be,  or  what  they  may  not  be.  It’s  not  for 
me  to  boast  of  any  family  with  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be 

connected  ;  at  the  same  time,  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s  is - 1  should 

say,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  abruptly,  and  raising  his  voice  as  he 
spoke,  “  that  my  children  might  come  into  a  matter  of  a  hun- 
Ired  pound  apiece,  perhaps.  Perhaps  more,  but  certainly  that.  ” 

“  And  a  very  pretty  little  fortune,”  said  the  married  lady. 

“  There  are  some  relations  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s,”  said  Mr.  Ken¬ 
wigs,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  the  doctor’s  box,  and  then 
sneezing  very  hard,  for  he  wasn’t  used  to  it,  “  that  might  leave 
their  hundred  pound  apiece  to  ten  people,  and  yet  not  go  beg¬ 
ging  when  they  had  done  it.” 

“  Ah  1  I  know  who  you  mean,”  observed  the  married  lady, 
nodding  her  head. 

“  I  made  mention  of  no  names,  and  I  wish  to  make  men¬ 
tion  of  no  names,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  with  a  portentous  look. 
“  Many  of  my  friends  have  met  a  relation  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s 
in  this  very  room,  as  would  do  honor  to  any  company ;  that’s 
all” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


617 


“  I’ve  met  him,”  said  the  married  lady,  with  a  glance  towards 
Doctor  Lumbey, 

“  It’s  naterally  very  gratifying  to  my  feelings  as  a  father,  to 
see  such  a  man  as  that,  a  kissing  and  taking  notice  of  my  child¬ 
ren,”  pursued  Mr.  Kenwigs.  “  It’s  naterally  very  gratifying 
to  my  feelings  as  a  man,  to  know  that  man.  It  will  be  naterally 
very  gratifying  to  my  feelings  as  a  husband,  to  make  that  man 
acquainted  with  this  ewent.” 

Having  delivered  his  sentiments  in  this  form  of  words,  Mr. 
Kenwigs  arranged  his  second  daughter’s  flaxen  tail,  and  bade 
her  be  a  good  girl,  and  mind  what  her  sister,  Morleena,  said. 

“  That  girl  grows  more  like  her  mother  every  day,”  said  Mr. 
Lumbey,  suddenly  stricken  with  an  enthusiastic  admiration  of 
Morleena. 

“  There,”  rejoined  the  married  lady.  “  What  I  always  say — 
what  I  always  did  say.  She’s  the  very  picter  of  her.”  And 
having  thus  directed  the  general  attention  to  the  young  lady 
in  question,  the  married  lady  embraced  the  opportunity  of 
taking  another  sip  of  the  brandy-and-water — and  a  pretty  long 
sip  too. 

“Yes  1  there  is  a  likeness,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  after  some  re¬ 
flection.  “  But  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was,  afore  she 
was  married  1  Good  gracious,  such  a  woman  I” 

Mr.  Lumbey  shook  his  head  with  great  solemnity,  as  though 
to  imply,  that  he  supposed  she  must  have  been  rather  a  dazzler. 

“  Talk  of  fairies  1”  cried  Mr.  Kenwigs.  “  I  never  see  any  body 
80  light  to  be  alive — never.  Such  manners  too ;  so  playful,  and 
yet  so  sewerely  proper  !  As  for  her  figure  !  It  isn’t  generally 
known,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  dropping  his  voice;  “but  her 
figure  was  such  at  that  time,  that  the  sign  of  the  Britannia,  over 
in  the  Holloway  road,  was  painted  from  it  !” 

“But  only  see  what  it  is  now,”  urged  the  married  lady.  “  Does 
phe  look  like  the  mother  of  six  ?” 

“  Quite  ridiculous,”  cried  the  doctor. 

“  She  looks  a  deal  more  like  her  own  daughter,”  said  the 

married  ladv. 

*/ 

“So  she  does,”  assented  Mr.  .Tiumbey.  “A  great  deal 
more.” 

Mr,  Kenwigs  was  about  to  make  some  further  obscrvaiious, 


618 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


most  probably  in  confirmation  of  this  opinion,  when  another 
married  lady,  who  had  looked  in  to  keep  up  Mrs.  Kenwiga 
spirits,  and  help  to  clear  off  any  thing  in  the  eating  and  drink¬ 
ing  way  that  might  be  going  about,  put  in  her  head  to  announce 
that  she  had  just  been  down  to  answer  the  bell,  and  that  there 
was  a  gentleman  at  the  door  who  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Kenwigg 
“  most  particular.” 

Shadowy  visions  of  his  distingushed  relation  flitted  through 
the  brain  of  Mr.  Kenwigs,  as  this  messsge  was  delivered ;  and 
under  their  influence,  he  dispatched  Morleena  to  show  the  gen¬ 
tleman  up  straightway. 

“  Why,  I  do  declare,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  standing  opposite 
the  door  so  as  to  get  the  earliest  glimpse  of  the  visitor,  as  he 
came  up  stairs,  “it’s  Mr.  Johnson.  How  do  you  find  yourself’ 
Sir  ?” 

Nicholas  shook  hands,  kissed  his  old  pupils  all  round,  in¬ 
trusted  a  large  parcel  of  toys  to  the  guardianship  of  Morleena, 
bowed  to  the  doctor  and  the  married  ladies,  and  inquired 
after  Mrs.  Kenwigs  in  a  tone  of  interest,  which  went  to  the 
very  heart  and  soul  of  the  nurse,  who  had  come  in  to  warm 
some  mysterious  compound  in  a  little  sauce-pan  over  the  fire. 

“  I  ought  to  make  a  hundred  apologies  to  you  for  calling  at 
such  a  season,”  said  Nicholas,  “but  I  was  not  aware  of  it 
until  I  had  rung  the  bell,  and  my  time  is  so  fully  occupied  now, 
that  I  feared  it  might  be  some  days  before  I  could  possibly  come 
again.” 

“No  time  like  the  present.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  “The 
sitiwation  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  Sir,  is  no  obstacle  to  a  little  con¬ 
versation  between  you  and  me,  I  hope  ?” 

“You  are  very  good,”  said  Nicholas. 

At  this  juncture  proclamation  was  made  by  another  married 
lady,  that  the  baby  had  begun  to  eat  like  any  thing  ;  whereupon 
the  two  married  ladies,  already  mentioned,  rushed  tumultuously 
into  the  bed-room  to  behold  him  in  the  act. 

“  The  fact  is,”  resumed  Nicholas,  “that  before  I  left  the 
country,  where  I  have  been  for  some  time  past,  I  undertook  to 
deliver  a  message  to  you.” 

“Ay,  ay  ?”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


519 


“  And  I  have  been,”  added  Nicholas,  “already  in  town  for 
'Some  days  without  having  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so.” 

“It’s  no  matter.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Keuwigs.  “I  dare  say  it’s 
none  the  worse  for  keeping  cold.  Message  from  the  country  i” 
said  Mr.  Keuwigs,  ruminating;  “that’s  curious.  I  don’t  know 
any  body  in  the  country.” 

“Miss  Petowker,”  suggested  Nicholas. 

“  Oh  !  from  her,  is  it  ?”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  “  Oh  dear,  yes. 
Ah  I  Mrs.  Kenwigs  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  her.  Henrietta 
Petowker,  eh  ?  IIow  odd  things  come  about  now  1  That  you 
should  have  met  her  in  the  country — TVell  !” 

Hearing  this  mention  of  their  old  friend’s  name,  the  four  Miss 
Kenwigses  gathered  round  Nicholas,  open-eyed  and  mouthed, 
to  hear  more.  Mr.  Kenwigs  looked  a  little  curious  too,  but 
quite  comfortable  and  unsuspecting. 

“  The  message  relates  to  family  matters,”  said  Nicholas,  hesi¬ 
tating. 

“  Oh,  never  mind,”  said  Kenwigs,  glancing  at  Mr.  Lumbey, 
who  having  rashly  taken  charge  of  little  Lillyvick,  found  nobody 
disposed  to  relieve  him  of  his  precious  burden,  “  All  friends 
here.” 

Nicholas  hemmed  once  or  twice,  and  seemed  to  have  some 
difficulty  in  proceeding, 

“  At  Portsmouth  Henrietta  Petowker  is,”  observed  Mr.  Ken¬ 
wigs. 

“Yes,”  said  Nicholas.  “Mr.  Lillyvick  is  there.” 

Mr.  Keuwigs  turned  pale,  but  he  recovered  and  said,  that  was 
an  odd  coincidence  also. 

“  The  message  is  from  him,”  said  Nicholas. 

Mr.  Kenwigs  appeared  to  revive.  He  knew  that  his  niece 
was  in  a  delicate  state,  and  had  no  doubt  sent  word  that  they 
wmre  to  forward  full  particulars  ; — ITes.  That  was  very  kind 
of  him — so  like  him  too  ! 

“  He  desired  me  to  give  his  kindest  love,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Very  much  obliged  to  him  I’m  sure.  Your  great-uncle, 
Lillyvick,  my  dears,”  interposed  Mr.  Kenwigs,  condescendingly 
explaining  it  to  the  children. 

“  His  kindest  love,”  resumed  Nicholas  ;  “and  to  say  that  he 
had  no  time  to  write,  but  that  he  was  married  to  Miss  Petowker.” 


520 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Ml*.  Kenwigs  started  from  his  seat  with  a  petrified  stare,  caught 
his  second  daughter  by  the  flaxen  tail,  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  pocket-handkerchief.  Morleena  fell,  all  stiff  and  rigid,  into 
the  baby’s  chair,  as  she  had  seen  her  mother  fall  when  she  faint¬ 
ed  away,  and  the  two  remaining  little  Kenwigses  shrieked  in 
affright. 

“My  children,  my  defrauded,  swindled  infants!”  cried  Mr. 
Kenwigs,  pulling  so  hard,  in  his  vehemence,  at  the  flaxen  tail 
of  his  second  daughter,  that  he  lifted  her  up  on  tip-toe,  and  kept 
her  for  some  seconds  in  that  attitude.  “  Villain,  ass,  traitor  1” 

“  Drat  the  man  1”  cried  the  nurse,  looking  angrily  round. 
“  What  does  he  mean  by  making  that  noise  here  ?” 

“  Silence,  woman  1”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs  fiercely. 

“  I  won’t  be  silent,”  returned  the  nurse.  “  Be  silent  yourself, 
you  wretch.  Have  you  no  regard  for  your  baby  ?” 

“  No  1”  returned  Mr.  Kenwigs. 

“  More  shame  for  you,”  retorted  the  nurse.  “  Ugh  1  you  un¬ 
natural  monster.” 

“Let  him  die,”  cried  Mr.  Kenwigs,  in  the  torrent  of  his  wrath. 
“  Let  him  die.  He  has  no  expectations,  no  property  to  come  into. 
We  want  no  babies  here,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs  recklessly.  “  Take 
’em  away,  take  ’em  away  to  the  Fondling  !” 

With  these  awful  remarks  Mr.  Kenwigs  sat  himself  down  in  a 
chair,  and  defied  the  nurse,  who  made  the  best  of  her  way  into 
the  adjoining  room,  and  returned  with  a  stream  of  matrons: 
declaring  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  had  spoken  blasphemy  against  his 
family,  and  must  be  raving  mad. 

Appearances  were  certainly  not  in  Mr.  Kenwigs’s  favor,  for 
the  exertion  of  speaking  with  so  much  vehemence,  and  yet  in 
such  a  tone  as  should  prevent  his  lamentations  reaching  the  ears 
of  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  had  made  him  very  black  in  the  face ;  besides 
which,  the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  and  an  unwonted  indul¬ 
gence  in  various  strong  cordials  to  celebrate  it,  had  swollen  and 
dilated  his  features  to  a  most  unusual  extent.  But  Nicholas  and 
the  doctor — who  had  been  passive  at  first,  doubting  very  much 
whether  Mr.  Kenwigs  could  be  in  earnest — interfering  to  explain 
the  immediate  cause  of  his  condition,  the  indignation  of  the 
matrons  was  changed  to  pity,  and  they  implored  him  with  much 
feeling  to  go  quietly  to  bed. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


621 


“Tlie  attention,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  looking  around  with  a 
plaintive  air,  “the  attention  that  I’ve  shown  to  that  man.  The 
hyseters  he  has  eat,  and  the  pints  of  ale  he  has  drank,  in  this 
house —  1” 

“  It’s  very  trying,  and  very  hard  to  bear,  we  know,”  said  one 
of  the  married  ladies  ;  “but  think  of  your  dear  darling  wife.” 

“  Oh  yes,  and  what  she’s  been  a  undergoing  of,  only  this  day,” 
cried  a  great  many  voices.  “There’s  a  good  man,  do.” 

“The  presents  that  have  been  made  to  him,”  said  Mr.  Ken¬ 
wigs,  reverting  to  his  calamity,  “the  pipes,  the  snuff-boxes — a 
pair  of  India-rubber  goloshes,  that  cost  six  and  sixpence — ” 

“  Ah  1  it  won’t  bear  thinking  of,  indeed,”  cried  the  matrons 
generally ;  “  but  it’ll  all  come  home  to  him,  never  fear.” 

Mr.  Kenwigs  looked  darkly  upon  the  ladies,  as  if  he  would 
prefer  its  all  coming  home  to  him,  as  there  was  nothing  to  be 
got  by  it ;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  resting  his  head  upon  his 
hand,  subsided  into  a  kind  of  doze. 

Then  the  matrons  again  expatiated  on  the  expediency  of  taking 
the  good  gentleman  to  bed ;  observing  that  he  w'ould  be  better 
to-morrow,  and  that  they  knew  what  was  the  wear  and  tear  of 
some  men’s  minds  when  their  wives  were  taken  as  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
had  been  that  day,  and  that  it  did  him  great  credit,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  it ;  far  from  it ;  they  liked  to 
see  it,  they  did,  for  >t  showed  a  good  heart.  And  one  lady  ob¬ 
served,  as  a  case  bearing  upon  the  present,  that  her  husband  was 
often  quite  light-headed  from  anxiety  on  similar  occasions,  and 
that  once,  when  her  little  Johnny  was  born,  it  was  nearly  a  week 
before  he  came  to  himself  again,  during  the  whole  of  which  time 
he  did  nothing  but  cry  “  Is  it  a  boy,  is  it  a  boy  ?”  in  a  manner 
which  went  to  the  hearts  of  all  his  hearers. 

At  length  Morleena  (who  quite  forgot  she  had  fainted,  when 
she  found  she  was  not  noticed)  announced  that  a  chamber  was 
ready  for  her  afflicted  parent ;  and  Mr.  Kenwigs,  having  par¬ 
tially  smothered  his  four  daughters,  in  the  closeness  of  his  em¬ 
brace,  accepted  the  doctor’s  arm  on  one  side,  and  the  support 
of  Nicholas  on  the  other,  and  was  conducted  up  stairs  to  a  bed¬ 
room,  which  had  licen  secured  for  the  occasion. 

Having  seen  him  sound  asleep,  and  heard  him  snore  most 
satisfactorily,  and  having  further  presided  over  the  distribution 


622 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


of  the  toys,  to  the  perfect  contentment  of  all  the  little  Ken- 
wigses,  Nicholas  took  his  leave.  The  matrons  dropped  off,  one 
by  one,  with  the  exception  of  six  or  eight  particular  friends,  who 
had  determined  to  stop  all  night ;  the  lights  in  the  houses  gra¬ 
dually  disappeared ;  the  last  bulletin  was  issued  that  Mrs  Ken- 
wigs  was  as  well  as  could  be  expected;  and  the  whole  family 
were  left  to  their  repose. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


NICHOLAS  FINDS  FURTHER  FAVOR  IN  THE  EYES  OF  THE  BRO¬ 
THERS  CHEERYBLE  AND  MR.  TIMOTHY  LINKIN WATER.  THE 
BROTHERS  GIVE  A  BANQUET  ON  A  GREAT  ANNUAL  OCCASION  ; 
NICHOLAS,  ON  RETURNING  HOME  FROM  IT,  RECEIVES  A  MYS¬ 
TERIOUS  AND  IMPORTANT  DISCLOSURE  FROM  THE  LIPS  OP 
MRS.  NICKLEBY. 

The  Square  in  which  the  counting-house  of  the  brothers 
Cheeryble  was  situated,  although  it  might  not  wholly  realize  the 
very  sanguine  expectations  which  a  stranger  would  be  disposed 
to  form  on  hearing  the  fervent  encomiums  bestowed  upon  it  by 
Tim  Linkinwater,  was,  nevertheless,  a  sufficiently  desirable  nook 
in  the  heart  of  a  busy  town  like  London,  and  one  which  occu¬ 
pied  a  high  place  in  the  affectionate  remembrances  of  several 
grave  persons  domiciled  in  the  neighborhood,  whose  recollec¬ 
tions,  however,  dated  from  a  much  more  recent  period,  and 
whose  attachment  to  the  spot  was  far  less  absorbing  than  were 
the  recollections  and  attachment  of  the  enthusiastic  Tim. 

And  let  not  those  whose  eyes  have  been  accustomed  to  the 
aristocratic  gravity  of  Grosvenor  Square  and  Hanover  Square, 
the  dowager  barrenness  and  frigidity  of  Fitzroy  Square,  or  the 
gravel  walks  and  garden  seats  of  the  Squares  of  Russell  and 
Euston,  suppose  that  the  affections  of  Tim  Linkinwater,  or  the 
inferior  lovers  of  this  particular  locality,  had  been  awakened  and 
kept  alive  by  any  refreshing  associations  with  leaves,  however 
dingy,  or  grass,  however  bare  and  thin.  The  City  square  has 
no  inclosure,  save  the  lamp-post  in  the  middle,  and  no  grass  but 
the  weeds  which  spring  up  round  its  base.  It  is  a  quiet,  little 
frequented,  retired  spot,  favorable  to  melancholy  and  contem¬ 
plation,  and  appointments  of  long-waiting;  and  up  and  down 
its  every  side  the  Appointed  saunters  klly  by  the  hour  together, 
wakening  the  echoes  with  the  monotonous  sound  of  his  footsteps 
on  the  smooth  worn  stones,  and  counting  first  the  windows  and 

(523) 


624 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


then  the  very  bricks  of  the  tall  silent  houses  that  hem  him  round 
about.  In  winter-time  the  snow  will  linger  there,  long  after  it 
has  melted  from  the  busy  streets  and  highways.  The  summer’s 
sun  holds  it  in  some  respect,  and  while  he  darts  his  cheerful  rays 
sparingly  into  the  square,  he  keeps  his  fiery  heat  and  glare  for 
noisier  and  less  imposing  precincts.  It  is  so  quiet  that  you  can 
almost  hear  the  ticking  of  your  own  watch  when  you  stop  to 
cool  in  its  refreshing  atmosphere.  There  is  a  distant  hum — of 
coaches,  not  of  insects — but  no  other  sound  disturbs  the  stillness 
of  the  square.  The  ticket-porter  leans  idly  against  the  post  at 
the  corner,  comfortably  warm,  but  not  hot,  although  the  day  is 
broiling.  His  white  apron  flaps  languidly  in  the  air,  his  head 
gradually  droops  upon  his  breast,  he  takes  very  long  winks  with 
both  eyes  at  once ;  even  he  is  unable  to  withstand  the  soporific 
influence  of  the  place,  and  is  gradually  falling  asleep.  But  now 
he  starts  into  full  wakefulness,  recoils  a  step  or  two,  and  gazes 
out  before  him  with  eager  wildness  in  his  eye.  Is  it  a  job,  or  a 
boy  at  marbles  ?  Does  he  see  a  ghost,  or  hear  an  organ  ?  Ho  ; 
sight  more  unwonted  still — there  is  a  butterfly  in  the  square — 
a  real,  live  butterfly  1  astray  from  flowers  and  sweets,  and  flutter¬ 
ing  among  the  iron  heads  of  the  dusty  area  railings  1 

But  if  there  were  not  many  matters  immediately  without  the 
doors  of  Cheeryble,  Brothers,  to  engage  the  attention  or  distract 
the  thoughts  of  the  young  clerk,  there  were  not  a  few  within  to 
interest  and  amuse  him.  There  was  scarcely  an  object  in  the 
place,  animate,  or  inanimate,  which  did  not  partake  in  some 
degree  of  the  scrupulous  method  and  punctuality  of  Mr.  Timothy 
Linkinwater.  Punctual  as  the  counting-house  dial,  which  he 
maintained  to  be  the  best  time-keeper  in  London  next  after  the 
clock  of  some  old,  hidden,  unknown  church  hard  by,  (for  Tim 
held  the  fabled  goodness  of  that  at  the  Horse  Guards  to  be  a 
pleasant  fiction,  invented  by  jealous  West-enders,)  the  o’ld  clerk 
performed  the  minutest  actions  of  the  day,  and  arranged  the 
minutest  articles  in  the  little  room,  in  a  precise  and  regular 
order,  which  could  not  have  been  exceeded  if  it  had  actually 
been  a  real  glass  case  fitted  with  the  choicest  curiosities. 
Paper,  pens,  ink,  ruler,  sealing-wax,  wafers,  pounce-box,  string- 
box,  fire-box,  Tim’s  hat,  Tim’s  scrupulously-folded  gloves,  Tim’s 
other  coat — looking  precisely  like  a  back  view  of  himself  as  it 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


626 


hung  against  the  wall — all  had  their  accustomed  inches  of  space. 
Except  the  clock,  there  was  not  such  an  accurate  and  unim- 
peacliable  instrument  in  existence  as  the  little  thermometer 
which  hung  behind  the  door.  There  was  not  a  bird  of  such 
methodical,  and  business-like  habits  in  all  the  world  as  the  blind 
blackbird,  who  dreamed  and  dozed  away  his  days  in  a  large 
snug  cage,  and  had  lost  his  voice  from  old  age  years  before  Tim 
first  bought  him.  There  was  not  such  an  eventful  story  in  the 
whole  range  of  anecdote  as  Tim  could  tell  concerning  the  ac¬ 
quisition  of  that  very  bird :  how,  compassionating  his  starved 
and  suffering  condition,  he  had  purchased  him  with  the  view  of 
humanely  terminating  his  wretched  life  ;  how  he  determined  to 
wait  three  days  and  see  whether  the  bird  revived  ;  how,  before 
half  the  time  was  out,  the  bird  did  revive  ;  and  Ijow  he  went  on 
reviving  and  picking  up  his  appetite  and  good  looks  until  he 
gradually  became  what — “  what  you  see  him  now.  Sir” — Tim 
would  say,  glancing  proudly  at  the  cage.  And  with  that,  Tim 
would  utter  a  melodious  chirrup,  and  cry  “Dick;”  and  Dick, 
who,  for  any  sign  of  life  he  had  previously  given,  might  have 
been  a  wooden  or  stuffed  representation  of  a  blackbird  indiffer¬ 
ently  executed,  would  come  to  the  side  of  the  cage  in  three 
small  jumps,  and,  thrusting  his  bill  between  the  bars,  turn  his 
sightless  head  towards  his  old  master — and  at  that  moment  it 
would  be  very  difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  two  was  the 
happier,  the  bird,  or  Tim  Linkin water. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Every  thing  gave  back,  besides,  some  re¬ 
flection  of  the  kindly  spirit  of  the  brothers.  The  warehouse¬ 
men  and  porters  were  such  sturdy  jolly  fellows  that  it  was  a 
treat  to  see  them.  Among  the  shipping  announcements  and 
steam-packet  lists  which  decorated  the  counting-house  wall, 
were  designs  for  alms-houses,  statements  of  charities,  and  plans 
for  new  hospitals.  A  blunderbuss  and  two  swords  hung  above 
the  chimney-piece  for  the  terror  of  evil-doers,  but  ihe  blunder¬ 
buss  was  rusty  and  shattered,  and  the  swords  were  broken  and 
edgeless.  Elsewhere,  their  open  display  in  such  a  condition 
wo\dd  have  raised  a  smile,  but  there  it  seemed  as  though  even 
violent  and  offensive  weapons  partook  of  the  reigning  influence, 
and  became  emblems  of  mercy  and  forbearance. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  occurred  to  Nicholas  very  strongly  on 


626 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


the  morning  when  he  first  took  possession  of  the  vacant  stool, 
and  looked  about  him  more  freely  and  at  ease  than  he  had  before 
enjoyed  an  opportunity  of  doing.  Perhaps  they  encouraged  and 
stimulated  him  to  exertion,  for,  during  the  next  two  weeks,  all 
his  spare  hours,  late  at  night  and  early  in  the  morning,  were  in¬ 
cessantly  devoted  to  acquiring  the  mysteries  of  book-keeping 
and  some  other  forms  of  mercantile  account.  To  these  he  ap¬ 
plied  himself  with  such  steadiness  and  perseverance  that,  although 
lie  brought  no  greater  amount  of  previous  knowledge  to  the  sub¬ 
ject  than  certain  dim  recollections  of  two  or  three  very  long  sums 
entered  into  a  cyphering-book  at  school,  and  relieved  for  parental 
inspection  by  the  effigy  of  a  fat  swan  tastefully  flourished  by  the 
wi’iting-master’s  own  hand,  he  found  himself  at  the  end  of  a 
fortnight,  in  a  condition  to  report  his  proficiency  to  Mr.  Linkin- 
water,  and  to  claim  his  promise  that  he,  Nicholas  Nickleby, 
should  now  be  allowed  to  assist  him  in  his  graver  labors. 

It  was  a  sight  to  behold  Tim  Linkinwater  slowly  bring  out  a 
massive  ledger  and  day-book,  and,  after  turning  them  over  and 
over  and  affectionately  dusting  their  backs  and  sides,  open  the 
leaves  here  and  there,  and  cast  his  eyes  half-mournfully,  half- 
proudly,  upon  the  fair  and  unblotted  entries. 

“  Four-and-forty  year,  next  May  I”  said  Tim.  “Many  new 
ledgers  since  then.  Four-and-forty  year  1” 

Tim  closed  the  book  again. 

“  Come,  come,”  said  Nicholas,  “  I  am  all  impatience  to  begin.” 
Tim  Linkinwater  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  mild  reproof. 
Mr.  Nickleby  was  not  sufficiently  impressed  with  the  deep  and 
awful  nature  of  his  undertaking.  Suppose  there  should  be  any 

mistake — any  scratching  out - 

Young  men  are  adventurous.  It  is  extraordinary  what  they 
will  rush  upon  sometimes.  Without  even  taking  the  precaution 
of  sitting  himself  down  upon  his  stool,  but  standing  leisurely  at 
the  desk,  and  with  a  smile  upon  his  face — actually  a  smile 
(there  was  no  mistake  about  it ;  Mr.  Linkinwater  often  men¬ 
tioned  it  afterwards  ;)  Nicholas  dipped  his  pen  into  the  inkstand 
before  him,  and  ])lunged  into  the  books  of  Cheeryble,  Brothers  1 
Tim  Linkinwater  turned  pale,  and  tilting  up  his  stool  on  the 
two  legs  nearest  Nicholas,  looked  over  his  shoulders  in  breathless 
anxiety.  Brother  Charles  and  brother  Ned  entered  the  count 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


627 


ing-house  together;  but  Tim  Linkinwater,  without  looking 
round,  impatiently  waved  his  hand  as  a  caution  that  profound 
silenoe  must  be  observed,  and  followed  the  nib  of  the  inexperi¬ 
enced  pen  with  strained  and  eager  eyes. 

The  brothers  looked  on  with  smiling  faces,  but  Tim  Linkin¬ 
water  smiled  not,  nor  moved  for  some  minutes.  At  length  he 
drew  a  long  slow  breath,  and  still  maintaining  his  position  on 
the  tilted  stool,  glanced  at  brother  Charles,  secretly  pointed 
with  the  feather  of  his  pen  towards  Nicholas,  and  nodded  his 
head  in  a  grave  and  resolute  manner,  plainly  signifying  “  He’ll 
do.” 

Brother  Charles  nodded  again,  and  e.xchanged  a  laughing 
look  with  brother  Ned;  but  just  then  Nicholas  stopped  to  refer 
to  some  other  page,  and  Tim  Linkinwater,  unable  to  contain  his 
satisfaction  any  longer,  descended  from  his  stool  and  caught  him 
rapturously  by  the  hand. 

“  He  has  done  it,”  said  Tim,  looking  round  at  his  employers 
and  shaking  his  head  triumphantly.  “  His  capital  B’s  and  D’s 
are  exactly  like  mine  ;  he  dots  all  his  small  i’s  and  crosses  every 
t  as  he  writes  it.  There  ain’t  such  a  young  man  as  this  in  all 
London,”  said  Tim,  clapping  Nicholas  on  the  back  ;  “  not  one. 
Don’t  tell  me.  The  City  can’t  produce  his  equal.  I  challenge 
the  City  to  do  it  1” 

With  this  casting  down  of  his  gauntlet,  Tim  Linkinwater  struck 
the  desk  such  a  blow  with  his  clinched  fist,  that  the  old  blackbird 
tumbled  off  his  perch  with  the  start  it  gave  him,  and  actually 
uttered  a  feeble  croak  in  the  extremity  of  his  astonishment. 

"Well  said,  Tim — well  said,  Tim  Linkinwater  !”  cried  brother 
Charles,  scarcely  less  pleased  than  Tim  himself,  and  clapping 
his  hands  gently  as  he  spoke.  "  I  knew  our  young  friend  would 
take  great  ])ains,  and  I  was  quite  certain  he  would  succeed,  in 
DO  time.  Didn’t  I  say  so,  brother  Ned  ?” 

"  You  did,  my  dear  brother — certainly,  my  dear  brother,  you 
said  so,  and  you  were  quite  right,”  re])lied  Ned.  "  Quite  right. 
Tim  Linkinwater  is  excited,  but  he  is  justly  excited,  properly 
excited.  Tim  is  a  fine  fellow.  Tim  Linkinwater,  Sir — you’re 
a  fine  fellow.” 

"Here’s  a  pleasant  thing  to  think  of,”  said  Tim,  wholly  re¬ 
gardless  of  this  address  to  himself,  and  raising  his  spectacles 
34 


628 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LED  Y. 


from  the  ledger  to  the  brothers.  “  Here’s  a  pleasant  thing. 
Do  you  suppose  I  haven’t  often  thought  what  would  become  of 
these  books  when  I  was  gone  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  haven’t  often 
thought  that  things  might  go  on  irregular  and  untidy  here,  after 
I  was  taken  away?  But  now,”  said  Tim,  extending  his  fore¬ 
finger  towards  Nicholas,  “  now,  when  I’ve  shown  him  a  little 
more,  I’m  satisfied.  The  business  will  go  on  when  I’m  dead  as 
well  as  it  did  when  I  was  alive — just  the  same  ;  and  I  shall  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  there  never  were  such  books — 
never  were  such  books!  No,  nor  never  will  be  such  books — as 
the  books  of  Cheeryble,  Brothers.” 

Having  thus  expressed  his  sentiments,  Mr.  Linkinwater  gave 
vent  to  a  short  laugh,  indicative  of  defiance  to  the  cities  of  Lon¬ 
don  and  Westminster,  and  turning  again  to  his  desk  quietly  car¬ 
ried  seventy-six  from  the  last  column  he  had  added  up,  and  went 
on  with  his  work. 

“Tim  Linkinwater,  Sir,”  said  brother  Charles;  “give  me 
your  hand.  Sir.  This  is  your  birlh-day.  How  dare  you  talk 
about  any  thing  else  till  you  have  been  wished  many  happy  re¬ 
turns  of  the  day,  Tim  Linkinwater  ?  God  bless  you,  Tim  1  God 
bless  you  1” 

“  My  dear  brother,”  said  the  other,  seizing  Tim’s  disengaged 
fist,  “  Tim  Linkinwater  looks  ten  years  younger  than  he  did  ou 
his  last  birth-day.” 

“  Brother  Ned,  my  dear  boy,”  returned  the  other  old  fellow, 
“  I  believe  that  Tim  Linkinwater  was  born  a  hundred-and-fifty 
years  old,  and  is  gradually  coming  down  to  five-and-twenty ; 
for  he’s  younger  every  birth-day  than  he  was  the  year  before.” 

“So  he  is,  brother  Charles,  so  he  is,”  replied  brother  Ned 
“  There’s  not  a  doubt  about  it.” 

“  Ilemember,  Tim,”  said  brother  Charles,  “that  we  dine  at 
half-past  five  to-day  instead  of  two  o’clock  ;  we  always  depart 
liom  our  usual  custom  on  this  anniversary,  as  you  very  well 
know,  Tim  Linkinwater.  Mr.  Nickleby,  ray  dear  Sir,  you  will 
make  one.  Tim  Linkinwater,  give  me  your  snuff-box  as  a 
remembrance  to  brother  Charles  and  myself  of  an  attached  and 
faithful  rascal,  and  take  that  in  exchange  as  a  feeble  mark  of 
our  respect  and  esteem,  and  don’t  open  it  until  yon  go  to  bed, 
and  never  say  another  word  upon  the  subject,  or  I’ll  kill  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


629 


blackbird.  A  dog !  He  sliould  have  had  a  golden  cage  half-a- 
dozen  years  ago,  if  it  would  have  made  him  or  his  master  a  bit 
the  happier.  Now,  brother  Ned,  my  dear  fellow,  I’m  ready 
At  half-past  five,  remember,  Mr.  Nickleby.  Tim  Linkiiiwater, 
Sir,  take  care  of  Mr.  Nickleby  at  half-past  five.  Now,  brother 
Ned.” 

Chattering  away  thus,  according  to  custom,  to  prevent  the 
possibility  of  any  thanks  or  acknowledgment  being  expressed 
on  the  other  side,  the  twins  trotted  off  arm  in  arm,  having 
endowed  Tim  Linkinwater  with  a  costly  gold  snuff-box,  inclosing 
a  bank-note  worth  more  than  its  value  ten  times  told. 

At  a  quarter  past  five  o’clock,  punctual  to  the  minute,  arrived, 
according  to  annual  usage,  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister;  and  a 
great  to-do  there  was  between  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  and  the 
old  house-keeper  respecting  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister’s  cap, 
which  had  been  dispatched,  per  boy,  from  the  house  of  the 
family  v\'here  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  boarded,  and  had  not  yet 
come  to  hand ;  notwithstanding  that  it  had  been  packed  up  in 
a  bandbox,  and  the  bandbox  in  a  handkerchief,  and  the  hand¬ 
kerchief  tied  on  to  the  boy’s  arm  ;  and  notwithstanding,  too, 
that  the  place  of  its  consignment  had  been  duly  set  forth  at  full 
length  on  the  back  of  an  old  letter,  and  the  boy  enjoined,  undfev 
pain  of  divers  horrible  penalties,  the  full  extent  of  which  the 
eye  of  man  could  not  foresee,  to  deliver  the  same  with  all  possi¬ 
ble  speed  and  not  to  loiter  by  the  way.  Tim  Linkinwater’s 
sister  lamented ;  the  housekeeper  condoled,  and  both  kept 
thrusting  their  heads  out  of  the  second-floor  window  to  see  if 
the  boy  was  “  coming,” — which  would  have  been  highly  satis¬ 
factory,  and,  upon  the  whole,  tantamount  to  his  being  come,  as 
the  distance  to  the  corner  was  not  quite  five  yards — when  all 
of  a  sudden,  and  when  he  was  least  expected,  the  messenger, 
carrying  the  bandbox  with  elaborate  caution,  appeared  in  an 
exactly  opposite  direction,  puffing  and  panting  for  breath,  and 
flushed  with  recent  exercise,  as  well  as  he  might  be  ;  for  he  had 
taken  the  air,  in  the  first  instance,  l)ehind  a  hackney  coach  that 
went  to  Camberwell,  and  had  followed  two  Punches  afterwards, 
and  had  seen  the  Stilts  home  to  their  own  door.  The  cap  was 
all  safe,  however — that  was  one  comfort — and  it  was  no  use 
scolding  him— that  was  another ;  so  the  boy  went  upon  his  way 


B80 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


rejoicing,  and  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  presented  herself  to 
the  company  below  stairs  just  five  minutes  after  the  half-hour 
had  struck  by  Tim  Linkinwater’s  own  infallible  clock. 

The  company  consisted  of  the  brothers  Clieeryble,  Tim 
Linkinwater,  a  ruddy-faced,  white-headed  friend  of  Tim’s,  (who 
was  a  superannuated  bank  clerk,)  and  Nicholas,  who  was  pre¬ 
sented  to  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  with  much  gravity  and 
solemnity.  The  party  being  now  complete,  brother  Ned  rang 
for  dinner,  and,  dinner  being  shortly  afterwards  announced,  led 
Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  into  the  next  room  where  it  was  set 
forth  with  great  preparation.  Then  brother  Ned  took  the  head 
of  the  table  and  brother  Charles  the  foot ;  and  Tim  Linkin¬ 
water’s  sister  sat  on  the  left-hand  of  brother  Ned,  and  Tim 
Ifinkinwaler  himself  on  his  right;  and  an  ancient  butler  of 
apoplectic  appearance,  and  with  very  short  legs,  took  up  his 
position  at  the  back  of  brother  Ned’s  arm-chair,  and,  waving 
his  right  arm  preparatory  to  taking  off  the  covers  with  a 
flourish,  stood  bolt  upright  and  motionless. 

“For  these  and  all  other  blessings,  brother  Charles,”  said 
Ned. 

“  Lord,  make  us  truly  thankful,  brother  Ned,”  said  Charles. 

Whereupon  the  apoplectic  butler  whisked  off  the  top  of  the 
soup  tureen,  and  shot  all  at  once  into  a  state  of  violent  activity. 

There  was  abundance  of  conversation,  and  little  fear  of  its 
ever  flagging,  for  the  good  humor  of  the  glorious  old  twins 
drew  every  body  out,  and  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  went  off  into 
a  long  and  circumstantial  account  of  Tim  Linkinwater’s  infancy, 
immediately  after  the  very  first  glass  of  champagne — taking 
care  to  premise  that  she  was  very  much  Tim’s  junior,  and  had 
only  become  acquainted  with  the  facts  from  their  being  pre¬ 
served  and  handed  down  in  the  family.  This  history  concluded, 
brother  Ned  related  how  that,  exactly  thirty -five  years  ago, 
Tim  Linkinwater  was  suspected  to  have  received  a  love-letter, 
and  how  that  vague  information  had  been  brought  to  the  count¬ 
ing-house  of  his  having  been  seen  walking  down  Cheapside  with 
an  uncommonly  handsome  spinster ;  at  which  there  was  a  roar 
of  laughter,  and  Tim  Linkinwater  being  charged  with  blushing, 
and  called  upon  to  explain,  denied  that  the  accusation  was 
true;  and  further,  that  there  would  have  been  any  harm  in  it  if 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


631 


it  had  been ;  which  last  position  occasioned  the  superannuated 
bank  clerk  to  laugh  tremendously,  and  to  declare  that  it  was  the 
very  best  thing  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life,  and  that  Tim 
Linkinwater  might  say  a  great  many  things  before  he  said  any 
thing  which  would  beat  that. 

There  was  one  little  ceremony  peculiar  to  the  day,  both  the 
matter  and  manner  of  which  made  a  very  strong  impression 
upon  Nicholas.  The  cloth  having  been  removed  and  the  de¬ 
canters  sent  round  for  the  first  time,  a  profound  silence  suc¬ 
ceeded,  and  in  the  cheerful  faces  of  the  brotliers  there  appeared 
an  expression,  not  of  absolute  melancholy,  but  of  quiet  thought¬ 
fulness  very  unusual  at  a  festive  table.  As  Nicholas,  struck  by 
this  sudden  alteration,  was  wondering  v.'hat  it  could  portend, 
the  brothers  rose  together,  and  the  one  at  the  too  of  the  table 
leaning  forward  towards  the  other,  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice 
as  if  he  were  addressing  him  individually,  said — 

“  Brother  Charles,  my  dear  fellow,  there  is  another  associa¬ 
tion  connected  with  this  day  which  must  never  be  forgotten, 
and  never  can  be  forgotten,  by  you  and  me.  This  day,  which 
brought  into  the  world  a  most  faithful  and  excellent  and  exem¬ 
plary  fellow,  took  from  it  the  kindest  and  very  best  of  parents — 
the  very  best  of  parents  to  us  both.  I  wish  that  she  could  have 
seen  us  in  our  prosperity,  and  shared  it,  and  had  the  happiness 
of  knowing  how  dearly  we  loved  her  in  it,  as  we  did  when  we 
were  two  poor  boys — but  that  was  not  to  be.  My  dear  bro¬ 
ther — The  Memory  of  our  Mother.” 

“  Good  God  1”  thought  Nicholas,  “  and  there  are  scores  of 
people  of  their  own  station,  knowing  all  this,  and  twenty  thou¬ 
sand  times  more,  who  wouldn’t  ask  these  men  to  dinner  because 
they  eat  with  their  knives  and  never  went  to  school  I” 

But  there  was  no  time  to  moralize,  for  the  joviality  again 
became  very  brisk,  and  the  decanter  of  port  being  nearly  out, 
brother  Ned  pulled  the  bell,  which  was  instantly  answered  by 
the  apoplectic  butler. 

“  David,”  said  brother  Ned. 

“  Sir,”  replied  the  butler. 

“  A  magnum  of  the  double-diamond,  David,  to  drink  the 
health  of  Mr.  Linkinwater.” 

Instantly,  by  a  feat  of  dexterity  which  was  the  admiration 


6a2 


NICHOLAS  NTCKLEBY. 


of  all  the  company,  and  had  been  annually  for  some  years  past, 
the  apoplectic  butler  bringing  his  left  hand  from  behind  the 
small  of  his  back,  produced  ihe  bottle  with  the  corkscrew 
already  inserted;  uncorked  it  at  a  jerk,  and  placed  the  magnum 
and  the  cork  before  his  master  with  the  dignity  of  conscious 
cleverness. 

“  Ha  !”  said  brother  Ned,  first  examining  the  cork  and  after¬ 
wards  filling  his  glass,  while  the  old  butler  looked  complacently 
and  amiably  on,  as  if  it  were  all  his  own  property  but  the  company 
were  quite  welcome  to  make  free  with  it,  “this  looks  well,  David.’’ 

"  It  ought  to.  Sir,”  replied  David.  “You’d  be  troubled  to 
find  such  a  glass  of  wine  as  is  our  double-diamond,  and  that 
Mr.  Linkinwater  knows  very  well.  That  was  laid  down  when 
Mr.  Linkinwater  first  come,  that  wine  was,  gentlemen.  ” 

“  Nay,  David,  nay,”  interposed  brother  Charles. 

“  I  wrote  the  entry  in  the  cellar-book  myself.  Sir,  if  you 
please,”  said  David,  in  the  tone  of  a  man,  quite  confident  in 
the  strength  of  his  facts.  “  Mr.  Linkinwater  had  only  been 
here  twenty  year.  Sir,”  when  that  pipe  of  double-diamond  was 
laid  down.” 

“  David  is  quite  right — quite  right,  brother  Charles,”  said 
Ned:  “  are  the  people  here,  David  ?” 

“  Outside  the  door.  Sir,”  replied  the  butler. 

“  Show  ’em  in,  David,  show  ’em  in.” 

At  this  bidding,  the  old  butler  placed  before  his  master  a 
small  tray  of  clean  glasses,  and  opening  the  door  admitted  the 
jolly  porters  and  warehousemen  whom  Nicholas  had  seen  be¬ 
low  There  were  four  in  all,  and  as  they  came  in,  bowing,  and 
grinning,  and  blushing,  the  housekeeper  and  cook  and  house¬ 
maid  brought  up  the  rear. 

“  Seven,”  said  brother  Ned,  filling  a  corresponding  number 
of  glasses  with  the  double-diamond,  “  and  David,  eight — There. 
Now,  you’re  all  of  you  to  drink  the  health  of  your  best  friend, 
Mr.  Timothy  Linkinwater,  and  wish  him  health  and  long  life 
and  many  happy  returns  of  this  day,  both  for  his  own  sake  and 
that  of  your  old  masters,  who  consider  him  an  inestimable  trea¬ 
sure.  Tim  Linkinwater,  Sir,  your  health.  Devil  take  you, 
Tim  Linkinwater,  Sir,  God  bless  you.” 

With  this  singular  contradiction  of  terms,  brother  Ned  gave 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


533 


Tim  Linkin water  a  slap  on  the  back  which  made  him  look  for 
the  moment  almost  as  apoplectic  as  the  butler  :  and  tossed  off 
the  contents  of  his  glass  in  a  twinkling. 

The  toast  was  scarcely  drunk  with  all  honor  to  Tim  Linkin- 
water,  when  the  sturdiest  and  jolliest  subordinate  elbowed  him- 
Bclf  a  little  in  advance  of  his  fellows,  and  exhibiting  a  very  hot 
and  flushed  countenance,  pulled  a  single  lock  of  grey  hair  in  the 
middle  of  his  forehead  as  a  respectful  salute  to  the  company, 
and  delivered  himself  as  follows — rubbing  the  palms  of  his 
hands  very  hard  on  a  blue  cotton  handkerchief  as  he  did  so  : 

“  We’re  allowed  to  take  a  liberty  once  a  year,  gen’lemen, 
and  if  you  please  we’ll  take  it  now ;  there  being  no  time  like 
the  present,  and  no  two  birds  in  the  hand  worth  one  in  the 
bush,  as  is  well  known — least-ways  in  a  contrairy  sense,  which 
the  meaning  is  the  same.  (A  pause — the  butler  unconvinced.) 
What  we  mean  to  say  is,  that  there  never  was  (looking  at  the 
butler) — such — (looking  at  the  cook)  noble — excellent — (look¬ 
ing  every  where  and  seeing  nobody)  free,  generous,  spirited 
masters  as  them  as  has  treated  us  so  handsome  this  day.  And 
here’s  thanking  ’em  for  all  their  goodness  as  is  so  constancy  a 
diffusing  of  itself  over  every  where,  and  wishing  they  may  live 
long  and  die  happy  !” 

When  the  foregoing  speech  was  over,  and  it  might  have  been 
much  more  elegant  and  much  less  to  the  purpose,  the  whole 
body  of  subordinates  under  command  of  the  apoplectic  butler 
gave  three  soft  cheers  ;  which,  to  that  gentleman’s  great  indig¬ 
nation,  were  not  very  regular,  inasmuch  as  the  women  persisted 
in  giving  an  immense  number  of  little  shrill  hurrahs  among 
themselves,  in  utter  disregard  of  the  time.  This  done,  they 
withdrew ;  shortly  afterwards,  Tim  Linkinwater’s  sister  with¬ 
drew  ;  and  in  reasonable  time  after  that,  the  sitting  was  broken 
up  for  tea  and  coffee  and  a  round  game  of  cards. 

At  half  past  ten — late  hours  for  the  square — there  appeared 
a  little  tray  of  sandwiches  and  a  bowl  of  bishop,  which  bishop 
coming  on  the  top  of  the  double-diamond,  and  other  excite¬ 
ments,  had  such  an  effect  upon  Tim  Linkinwater,  that  he  drew 
Nicholas  aside,  and  gave  him  to  understand  confidentially  that 
it  was  quite  true  about  the  uncommonly  handsome  spinster, 
and  that  she  was  to  the  full  as  good-looking  as  she  had  been 


634 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


described — more  so,  indeed — but  that  she  was  in  too  much  of 
a  hurry  to  change  her  condition,  and  consequently,  while  Tim 
was  courting  her  and  thinking  of  changing  his,  got  married  to 
somebody  else.  “  After  all,  I  dare  say  it  was  my  fault,”  said 
Tim.  “  I’ll  show  you  a  print  I  have  got  up  stairs,  one  of  these 
days.  It  cost  me  five-and-twenty-shillings.  I  bought  it  soon 
after  we  were  cool  to  each  other.  Don’t  mention  it,  but  it’s  the 
most  extraordinary  accidental  likeness  you  ever  saw — her  very 
portrait.  Sir  1” 

By  this  time  it  was  past  eleven  o’clock,  and  Tim  Linkin water’s 
sister  declaring  that  she  ought  to  have  been  at  home  a  full  hour 
ago,  a  coach  was  procured,  into  which  she  was  handed  with 
great  ceremony  by  brother  Ned,  while  brother  Charles  imparted 
the  fullest  directions  to  the  coachman,  and,  besides  paying  the 
man  a  shilling  over  and  above  his  fare  in  order  that  he  might 
take  the  utmost  care  of  the  lady,  all  but  choked  him  with  a 
glass  of  spirits  of  uncommon  strength,  and  then  nearly  knocked 
all  the  breath  out  of  his  body  in  his  energetic  endeavors  to 
knock  it  in  again. 

At  length  the  coach  rumbled  off,  and  Tim  Linkin  water’s  sis¬ 
ter  being  now  fairly  on  her  way  home,  NA'holas  and  Tim  Link- 
inwater’s  friend  took  their  leaves  together,  and  left  old  Tim  and 
the  worthy  brothers  to  their  repose. 

As  Nicholas  had  some  distance  to  walk,  it  was  considerably 
past  midnight  by  the  time  he  reached  home,  where  he  found  his 
mother  and  Smike  sitting  up  to  receive  him.  It  was  long  after 
their  usual  hour  of  retiring,  and  they  had  expected  him  at  the 
very  latest  two  hours  ago ;  but  the  time  had  not  hung  heavily 
on  their  hands,  for  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  entertained  Smike  with 
a  genealogical  account  of  her  family  by  the  mother’s  side,  com¬ 
prising  biographical  sketches  of  the  principal  members,  and 
Smike  had  sat  wondering  what  it  was  all  about,  and  whether  it 
was  learnt  from  a  book,  or  said  out  of  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  own 
head  ;  so  that  they  got  on  together  very  pleasantly. 

Nicholas  could  not  go  to  bed  without  expatiating  on  the  ex¬ 
cellences  and  munificence  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryble,  and  re¬ 
lating  the  great  success  which  had  attended  his  efforts  that  day, 
But  before  he  had  said  a  dozen  words,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  many 
sly  winks  and  nods,  observed,  that  she  was  sure  Mr.  Smike  must 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


536 


be  quite  tired  out,  and  that  she  positively  must  insist  on  his 
not  sitting  up  a  minute  longer. 

A  most  biddable  creature  he  is,  to  be  sure,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  when  Smike  had  wished  them  good  night  and  left 
the  room.  “  I  know  you’ll  excuse  me,  Nicholas,  my  dear,  but 
I  don’t  like  to  do  this  before  a  third  person ;  indeed,  befoie  a 
young  man  it  would  not  be  quite  proper,  though  really,  after  all, 
1  don’t  know  what  harm  there  is  in  it,  except  that,  to  be  sure, 
it’s  not  a  very  becoming  thing,  though  some  people  soy  it  is 
very  much  so,  and  really  I  don’t  know  why  it  should  not  be,  if 
it’s  well  got  up,  and  the  borders  are  small-plaited ;  of  course,  a 
good  deal  depends  upon  that.” 

With  which  preface  Mrs.  Nickleby  took  her  night-cap  from 
between  the  leaves  of  a  very  large  prayer-book,  where  it  had  been 
folded  up  small,  and  proceeded  to  tie  it  on  :  talking  away  in  her 
usual  discursive  manner  all  the  time. 

“  People  may  say  what  they  like,”  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
“  but  there’s  a  great  deal  of  comfort  in  a  night-cap,  as  I’m  sure 
you  would  confess,  Nicholas,  my  dear,  if  you  would  only  have 
strings  to  yours,  and  wear  it  like  a  Christian,  instead  of  sticking 
it  upon  the  very  top  of  your  head  like  a  blue-coat  boy ;  you 
needn’t  think  it  an  unmanly  or  quizzical  thing  to  be  particular 
about  your  night-cap,  for  I  have  often  heard  your  poor  dear 
papa,  and  the  reverend  Mr.  what’s-his-name,  wdio  used  to  read 
prayers  in  that  old  church  with  the  curious  little  steeple  that 
the  weathercock  was  blown  off  the  night-week  before  you  were 
born,  I  have  often  heard  them  say,  that  the  young  men  at  col¬ 
lege  are  uncommonly  particular  about  their  night- caps,  and  that 
the  Oxford  night-caps  are  quite  celebrated  for  their  strength 
and  goodness ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  the  young  men  never 
dream  of  going  to  bed  without’em,  and  I  believe  it’s  admitted 
on  all  hands  that  they  know  what’s  good,  and  don’t  coddle  them¬ 
selves.” 

Nicholas  laughed,  and  entering  no  further  into  the  subject  of 
this  lengthened  harangue,  reverted  to  the  pleasant  tone  of  the  little 
birth-day  party.  And  as  Mrs.  Nickleby  instantly  became  very 
curious  I'especting  it,  and  made  a  great  number  of  inquiries 
touching  what  they  had  had  for  dinner,  and  how  it  was  put  on 
table,  and  whether  it  was  overdone  or  underdone,  and  who  was 


636 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


there,  and  what  “  the  Mr,  Cherrybles”  said,  and  what  Nicholas 
said,  and  what  the  Mr.  Cherrybles  said  when  he  said  that ; 
Nicholas  described  the  festivities  at  full  length,  and  also  the 
occurrences  of  the  morning. 

“  Late  as  it  is,” said  Nicholas,  “I  am  almost  selfish  enough  to 
wish  that  Kate  bad  been  np,  to  hear  all  this.  I  was  all  impa¬ 
tience,  as  I  came  along,  to  tell  her.” 

“Why,  Kate,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  putting  her  feet  upon  the 
fender,  and  drawing  her  chair  close  to  it,  as  if  settling  herself 
for  a  long  talk,  “Kate  has  been  in  bed — oh!  a  couple  of 
hours — and  I’m  very  glad,  Nicholas,  my  dear,  that  I  prevailed 
upon  her  not  to  sit  up,  for  I  wished  very  much  to  have  an  op¬ 
portunity  of  saying  a  few  words  to  you,  I  am  naturally 
anxious  about  it,  and  of  course  it’s  a  very  delightful  and  con¬ 
soling  thing  to  have  a  grown-up  son  that  one  can  put  confi¬ 
dence  in,  and  advise  with — indeed  I  don’t  know  any  use  there 
would  be  in  having  sons  at  all,  unless  people  could  put  con¬ 
fidence  in  them.” 

Nicholas  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sleepy  yawn,  as  his 
mother  began  to  speak,  and  looked  at  her  with  fixed  attention. 

“There  was  a  lady  in  our  neighborhood,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
“speaking  of  sons  puts  me  in  mind  of  it — a  lady  in  our  neigh¬ 
borhood  when  we  lived  near  Dawlish,  I  think  her  name  was 
Rogers ;  indeed  I  am  sure  it  was  if  it  wasn’t  Murphy,  which 
is  the  only  doubt  I  have — ” 

“  Is  it  about  her,  mother,  that  you  wished  to  speak  to  me  ?” 
Kaid  Nicholas,  quietly. 

“  About  her  V  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “Good  gracious,  Nicho¬ 
las,  my  dear,  how  can  you  be  so  ridiculous  ?  But  that  was 
always  the  way  with  your  poor  dear  papa — just  his  way,  always 
wandering,  never  able  to  fix  his  thoughts  on  any  one  subject  for 
two  minutes  together.  I  think  I  see  him  now  !”  said  INIrs. 
Nickleby,  wiping  her  eyes,  “looking  at  me  while  I  was  talking 
to  him  about  his  affairs,  just  as  if  his  ideas  were  in  a  state  of 
perfect  conglomeration  !  Any  body  who  had  come  in  upon  us 
suddenly,  would  have  supposed  I  was  confusing  and  distracting 
him  instead  of  making  things  plainer  ;  upon  my  word  they 
would,” 

“  I  am  very  sorry,  mother,  that  I  should  inherit  this  unfor- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


637 


tiinate  slowness  of  apprehension,”  said  Nicholas,  kindly,  “  but 
I’ll  do  my  best  to  understand  you  if  you’ll  only  go  straight  on, 
indeed  I  will.” 

“Your  poor  papa !”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  pondering.  “He 
never  knew,  ’till  it  was  too  late,  what  I  would  have  had  him 
do!” 

This  was  undoubtedly  the  case,  inasmuch  as  the  deceased  Mr. 
Nickleby  had  not  ai’rived  at  the  knowledge  when  he  died. 
Neither  had  Mrs.  Nickleby  herself;  which  is  in  some  sort  an 
explanation  of  the  circumstance. 

“However,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drying  her  tears,  “this  has 
nothing  to  do — certainly,  nothing  whatever  to  do — with  the 
gentleman  in  the  next  house.” 

“I  should  suppose  that  the  gentleman  in  the  next  house  has 
as  little  to  do  with  us,”  returned  Nicholas. 

‘•'There  can  be  no  doubt,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “that  he  zs  a 
gentleman,  and  has  the  manners  of  a  gentleman,  and  the 
appearance  of  a  gentleman,  although  he  does  wear  smalls  and 
grey  worsted  stockings.  That  may  be  eccentricity,  or  he  may 
be  proud  of  his  legs.  I  don’t  see  why  he  shouldn’t  be.  The 
Prince  Kegent  was  proud  of  his  legs,  and  so  was  Daniel  Lam¬ 
bert,  who  was  also  a  fat  man  ;  he  was  proud  of  his  legs.  So 
was  Miss  BitFin  :  she  was — no,”  added  Mrs.  Nickleby  correcting 
herself,  “I  think  she  had  only  toes,  but  the  principle  is  the 
same.” 

Nicholas  looked  on,  quite  amazed  at  the  introduction  of  this 
new  theme,  which  seemed  just  what  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  ex¬ 
pected  him  to  be. 

“You  may  well  be  surprised,  Nicholas,  my  dear,”  she  said. 
“I  am  sure  / was.  It  came  upon  me  like  a  flash  of  fire,  and 
almost  froze  my  blood.  The  bottom  of  his  garden  joins  the 
bottom  of  ours,  and  of  course  I  had  several  times  seen  him 
sitting  among  the  scarlet  beans  in  his  little  arbor,  or  working 
at  his  little  hot-beds.  I  used  to  think  he  stared  rather,  but  1 
didn’t  take  any  particular  notice  of  that,  as  we  were  new-comei’s, 
and  he  might  be  curious  to  see  what  we  were  like.  But  when 
he  began  to  throw  his  cucumbers  over  our  wall — ” 

“To  throw  his  cucumbers  over  our  wall  I”  repeated  Nicholas, 
in  great  aslouisUment. 


638 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“Yes,  Nicholas,  my  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Nicldeby,  in  a  very 
serious  tone  ;  “  his  cucumbers  over  our  wall.  And  vegetable- 
marrows  likewise.” 

Confound  his  impudence  !”  said  Nicholas,  firing  imme- 
diaiely.  “  What  does  he  mean  by  that  ?” 

“  I  don’t  think  he  means  it  impertinently  at  all,”  replied  Mrs. 
Nickleby. 

“What!”  said  Nicholas,  “cucumbers  and  vegetable-marrows 
flyiug  at  the  heads  of  the  family  as  they  walk  in  their  own  gar¬ 
den,  and  not  meant  impertinently  1  Why,  mother — ” 

Nicholas  stopped  short,  for  there  was  an  indescribable  ex¬ 
pression  of  placid  triumph,  mingled  with  a  modest  confusion, 
lingering  between  the  borders  of  Mrs.  Nickleby ’s  night-cap,  which 
arrested  his  attention  suddenly. 

“  He  must  be  a  very  weak,  and  foolish,  and  inconsiderate 
man,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “blameable  indeed — at  least  I  sup¬ 
pose  other  people  would  consider  him  so  ;  of  course  I  can’t  be 
expected  to  express  any  opinion  on  that  point,  especially  after 
always  defending  your  poor  dear  papa  when  other  people 
blamed  him  for  making  proposals  to  me  ;  and  to  be  sure  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  has  taken  a  very  singular  way  of  show¬ 
ing  it.  Still,  at  the  same  time,  his  attentions  are. — that  is  as 
far  as  it  goes,  and  to  a  certain  extent  of  course — a  flattering 
sort  of  thing  ;  and  although  I  should  never  dream  of  marrying 
again  with  a  dear  girl  like  Kate  still  unsettled  in  life — ” 

“Surely,  mother,  such  an  idea  never  entered  your  brain  for  an 
instant  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Bless  my  heart,  Nicholas,  my  dear,”  returned  his  mother  in 
a  peevish  tone,  “  isn’t  that  precisely  what  I  am  saying,  if  you 
would  ouly  let  me  speak  ?  Of  course,  I  never  gave  it  a  second 
thought,  and  I  am  astonished  and  surprised  that  you  should 
suppose  me  capable  of  such  a  thing.  All  I  say,  is,  what  step 
is  the  best  to  take  so  as  to  reject  these  advances  civilly  and  deli¬ 
cately,  and  without  hurting  his  feelings  too  much,  and  driving 
him  to  despair,  or  any  thing  of  that  kind  ?  My  goodness,  me !” 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  half  simper,  “suppose  he  was 
to  go  doing  any  thing  rash  to  himself,  could  I  ever  be  happy 
again,  Nicholas  ?” 

Despite  his  vexation  and  concern,  Nicholas  could  scarcely 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


639 


]ielp  smiling,  as  lie  rejoined,  “Now,  do  you  think,  mother, 
tliat  such  a  result  would  be  likely  to  ensue  from  the  most  cruel 
repulse  ?” 

“Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  don’t  know,”  returned  Mrs. 
Nickleby;  “really,  I  don’t  know.  I  am  sure  there  was  a  case 
in  the  day  before  yesterday’s  paper,  extracted  from  one  of  the 
French  newspapers,  about  a  journeyman  shoemaker  who  was 
jealous  of  a  young  girl  in  an  adjoining  village,  because  she 
wouldn’t  shut  herself  up  in  an  air-tight  three-pair-of  stairs,  and 
charcoal  herself  to  death  with  him,  and  who  went  and  hid  him¬ 
self  in  a  wood  with  a  sharp-pointed  knife,  and  rushed  out  as 
she  was  passing  by  with  a  few  friends,  and  killed  himself  first, 
and  then  all  the  friends,  and  then  her — no,  killed  all  the  friends 
first,  and  then  herself,  and  then  /(imself — which  it  is  quite 
frightful  to  think  of.  Somehow  or  other,”  added  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  after  a  momentary  pause,  “they  always  are  journey¬ 
men  shoemakers  who  do  these  things  in  France,  according  to 
the  papers.  I  don’t  know  how  it  is — something  in  the  leather, 
I  suppose.” 

“  But  this  man,  who  is  not  a  shoemaker — what  has  he  done, 
mother,  what  has  he  said  ?”  inquired  Nicholas,  fretted  almost 
beyond  endurance,  but  looking  nearly  as  resigned  and  patient 
as  Mrs.  Nickleby  herself.  “You  know,  there  is  no  language 
of  vegetables  which  converts  a  cuenmber  into  a  formal  declara¬ 
tion  of  attachment.” 

“  My  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  tossing  her  head  and 
looking  at  the  ashes  in  the  grate,  “  he  has  done  and  said  all 
eorts  of  things.” 

“  Is  there  no  mistake  on  your  part?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Mistake  !”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  Lord,  Nicholas  my  dear, 
do  you  suppose  I  don’t  know  when  a  man’s  in  earnest  ?” 

“AVell,  well!”  muttered  Nicholas. 

“Every  time  I  go  to  the  window,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “he 
kisses  one  hand  and  lays  the  other  upon  his  heart — of  course 
it’s  very  foolish  of  him  to  do  so,  and  I  dare  say  you’ll  say  it’s 
very  wrong,  but  he  does  it  very  respectfully — very  respectfully 
indeed — and  very  tenderly,  extremely  tenderly.  So  far  he 
deserves  the  greatest  credit:  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  that. 
Tiien  there  are  the  presents  which  come  pouring  over  the  wall 


540 


NICHOLAS  NICK]  EBT. 


every  day,  and  very  fine  they  certainly  are,  very  fine ;  we  had 
one  of  the  cucumbers  at  dinner  yesterday,  and  think  of  pickling 
the  rest  for  next  winter.  And  last  evening,”  added  Mrs.  Nick- 
leby,  with  increased  confusion,  “he  called  gently  over  the  wall, 
as  I  was  walking  in  the  garden,  and  proposed  marriage  and 
an  elopement.  His  voice  is  as  clear  as  a  bell  or  a  mnsical 
glass — very  like  a  musical  glass  indeed — but  of  course  I  didn’t 
listen  to  it.  Then  the  question  is,  Nicholas  my  dear,  what  am 
I  to  do  ?” 

“  Does  Kate  know  of  this  ?”  asked  Nicholas 

“  I  have  not  said  a  word  about  it  yet,”  answered  his  mother. 

“  Then  for  Heaven’s  sake,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  rising,  “do  not, 
for  it  would  make  her  very  unhappy.  And  with  regard  to  what 
you  should  do,  my  dear  mother,  do  what  your  better  sense  and 
feeling,  and  respect  for  my  father’s  memory,  would  prompt. 
There  are  a  thousand  ways  in  which  you  can  show  your  dis¬ 
like  of  these  preposterous  and  doting  attentions.  If  you  act  as 
decidedly  as  you  ought,  and  they  are  still  continued,  and  to 
your  annoyance,  I  can  speedily  put  a  stop  to  them.  But  I 
should  not  interfere  in  a  matter  so  ridiculous,  and  attach  im¬ 
portance  to  it,  until  you  have  vindicated  yourself.  Most  women 
can  do  that,  but  especially  one  of  your  age  and  condition,  in 
circumstances  like  these,  which  are  unworthy  of  a  serious 
thought.  I  would  not  shame  you  by  seeming  to  take  them  to 
heart,  or  treat  them  earnestly  for  an  instant.  Absurd  old 
idiot !” 

So  saying,  Nicholas  kissed  his  mother  and  bade  her  good 
night,  and  they  retired  to  their  respective  chambers. 

To  do  Mrs.  Nickleby  justice  her  attachment  to  her  children 
would  have  prevented  her  seriously  contemplating  a  second 
marriage,  even  if  she  could  have  so  far  conquered  her  recollec¬ 
tions  of  her  late  husband  as  to  have  any  strong  inclinations  that 
way.  But,  although  there  was  no  evil  and  little  real  selfishness 
in  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  heart,  she  had  a  weak  head  and  a  vain  one; 
and  there  was  something  so  flattering  in  being  sought  (and 
vaiidy  sought)  in  marriage  at  this  time  of  day,  that  she  could 
not  dismiss  the  passion  of  the  unknown  gentleman  quite  so 
summarily  or  lightly  as  Nicholas  appeared  to  deem  becoming 

“  As  to  its  being  preposterous,  and  doting,  and  ridiculous,” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y. 


541 


thought  Mrs.  Nickleby,  communing  with  herself  in  her  own 
room,  “  I  don’t  see  that  at  all.  It’s  hopeless  on  his  part, 
certainl}^ ;  but  why  he  should  be  an  absurd  idiot,  I  confess  I 
don’t  see.  He  is  not  to  be  supposed  to  know  it’s  hopeless. 
Poor  fellow,  he  is  to  be  pitied,  I  think  V' 

Having  made  these  reflections,  Mrs.  Xiekleby  looked  in  her 
little  dressing-glass,  and  walking  backward  a  few  steps  from  it 
tried  to  remember  who  it  was  who  used  to  say  that  when 
Kicholas  was  one-and-twenty  he  would  have  more  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  her  brother  than  her  son.  Not  being  able  to  call  the 
authority  to  mind,  she  extinguished  her  candle,  and  drew  up  the 
window-blind  to  admit  the  light  of  morning  which  had  by  this 
time  begun  to  dawn. 

“It’s  a  bad  light  to  distinguish  objects  in,”  murmured  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  peering  into  the  garden,  “  and  my  eyes  are  not  very 
good — I  was  short-sighted  from  a  child — but,  upon  my  word,  I 
think  there’s  another  large  vegetable-marrow  sticking  at  this 
moment  on  the  broken  glass  bottles  at  the  top  ol  the  wall  1” 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


nOMPRISES  CERTAIN  PARTICULARS  ARISING  OUT  OP  A  VISIT  OP 

CONDOLENCE,  WHICH  MAY  PROVE  IMPORTANT  HEREAPTER. 

SMIKE  UNEXPECTEDLY  ENCOUNTERS  A  VERY  OLD  PRIEND, 

WHO  INVITES  HIM  TO  HIS  HOUSE,  AND  WILL  TAKE  NO  DENIAL. 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  demonstrations  of  their  amorous 
neighbor,  or  of  their  effects  upon  the  susceptible  bosom  of  her 
mamma,  Kate  Nickleby  had,  by  this  time,  begun  to  enjoy  a  settled 
feeling  of  tranquility  and  happiness,  to  which,  even  in  occa¬ 
sional  and  transitory  glimpses,  she  had  long  been  a  stranger. 
Living  under  the  same  roof  with  the  beloved  brother  from  whom 
she  had  been  suddenly  and  hardly  separated ;  with  a  mind  at 
ease,  and  free  from  any  persecutions  which  could  call  a  blush 
into  her  cheek,  or  a  pang  into  her  heart,  she  seemed  to  have 
passed  into  a  new  state  of  being.  Her  former  cheerfulness  was 
restored,  her  step  regained  its  elasticity  and  lightness,  the  color 
which  had  forsaken  her  cheek  visited  it  once  again,  and  Kate 
Nickleby  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

Such  was  the  result  to  which  Miss  La  Creevy’s  ruminations 
and  observations  led  ner,  when  the  cottage  had  been,  as  she 
emphatically  said,  “  thoroughly  got  to  rights,  from  the  chimney¬ 
pots  to  the  street-door  scraper,”  and  the  busy  little  woman  bad 
at  length  a  moment’s  time  to  think  about  its  inmates. 

“  Which  I  declare  I  haven’t  had  since  I  first  came  down 
here,”  said  INliss  La  Creevy,  “for  I  have  thought  of  nothing 
but  hammers,  nails,  screw-drivers  and  gimlets,  morning,  noon, 
and  night.” 

“You  never  bestow  one  thought  upon  yourself,  I  believe,” 
returned  Kate,  smiling. 

“Ujion  my  word,  my  dear,  when  there  are  so  many  pleasanter 
thingrs  to  think  of,  I  should  be  a  goose  if  I  did,”  said  Miss  La 
Creevy.  “By  the  by,  I  have  thought  of  somebody  too.  Do 
(542) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


543 


you  know,  that  I  observe  a  great  change  in  one  of  this  family — 
a  very  extraordinary  change  ?” 

“  In  whom  ?”  asked  Kate  anxiously.  “  Not  in — ” 

“  Not  in  your  brother,  my  dear,”  returned  Miss  La  Creevy, 
anticipating  the  close  of  the  sentence,  "  for  he  is  always  the 
same  affectionate  good-natured  clever  creature,  with  a  spice  of 
the — 1  won’t  say  who — in  him  when  there’s  any  occasion,  that 
he  was  when  I  first  knew  you.  No.  Smike,  as  he  will  be 
called,  poor  fellow  !  for  he  won’t  hear  of  a  3Ir.  before  his  name, 
is  greatly  altered,  even  in  this  short  time.” 

“How?”  asked  Kate.  “  Not  in  health  ?” 

“  N-n-o ;  perhaps  not  in  health  exactly,”  said  Miss  La 
Creevy,  pausing  to  consider,  “  although  he  is  a  worn  and  feeble 
creature,  and  has  that  in  his  face  which  it  would  wring  my  heart 
to  see  in  yours.  No  ;  not  in  health.” 

“  How  then  ?” 

“  I  scarcely  know,”  said  the  miniature-painter.  “  But  1 
have  watched  him,  and  he  has  brought  the  tears  into  my  eyes 
many  times.  It  is  not  a  very  difficult  matter  to  do  that,  cer¬ 
tainly,  for  I  am  very  easily  melted ;  still,  I  think  these  came 
witli  good  cause  and  reason.  I  am  sure  that  since  he  has  been 
here,  he  has  grown,  from  some  strong  cause,  more  conscious  of 
his  weak  intellect.  He  feels  it  more.  It  gives  him  greater 
pain  to  know  that  he  wanders  sometimes,  and  cannot  under¬ 
stand  very  simple  things.  I  have  watched  him  when  you  have 
not  been  by,  my  dear,  sit  brooding  by  himself  with  such  a  look 
of  pain  as  I  could  scarcely  bear  to  see,  and  then  get  up  and 
leave  tlie  room  :  so  sorrowfully,  and  in  such  dejection,  that  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  it  has  hurt  me.  Not  three  weeks  ago,  he 
was  a  light-hearted  busy  creature,  overjoyed  to  be  in  a  bustle, 
and  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long.  Now,  he  is  another  being — • 
the  same  willing,  harmless,  faithful,  loving  creature — but  the 
same  in  nothing  else. 

'  Surely  this  will  all  pass  off,”  said  Kate.  “  Poor  fellow !” 

“  I  hope,”  returned  her  little  friend,  with  a  gravity  very  un¬ 
usual  in  her,  “it  may.  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  that  poor  lad, 
it  may.  However,”  said  ]\liss  La  Creevy,  relapsing  into  the 
cheerful,  chattering  tone,  which  was  habitual  to  her,  “  I  have 
said  my  say,  and  a  "'ery  long  say  it  is,  and  a  very  wrong  say 
35 


644 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


loo,  I  sliouldn’t  wonder  at  all.  I  shall  cheer  him  up  to-night 
at  all  events,  for  if  he  is  to  be  my  Squire  all  the  way  to  the 
Strand,  I  shall  talk  on,  and  on,  and  on,  and  never  leave  off,  till 
I  have  I’oused  him  into  a  laugh  at  something.  So  the  sooner 
he  goes  the  better  for  him,  and  the  sooner  I  go,  the  better  for 
me,  1  am  sure,  or  else  I  shall  have  my  maid  gallivanting  with 
somebody  who  may  rob  the  house — though  what  there  is  to 
take  away  besides  tables  and  chairs,  I  don’t  know,  except  the 
miniatures,  and  he  is  a  clever  thief  who  can  dispose  of  them  to 
any  great  advantage,  for  I  can’t,  I  know,  and  that’s  the  honest 
truth.” 

So  saying,  little  Miss  La  Creevy  hid  her  face  in  a  very  flat 
bonnet,  and  herself  in  a  very  big  shawl,  and  fixing  herself  tightly 
into  the  latter  by  means  of  a  large  pin,  declared  that  the  omni¬ 
bus  might  come  as  soon  as  it  pleased,  for  she  was  quite  ready. 

But  there  was  still  Mrs,  Nickleby  to  take  leave  of;  and  long 
before  that  good  lady  had  concluded  some  reminiscences,  bear¬ 
ing  upon  and  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  the  omnibus  arrived. 
This  put  Miss  La  Creevy  in  a  great  bustle,  in  consequence 
whereof,  as  she  secretly  rewarded  the  servant-girl  with  eighteen- 
pence  behind  the  street-door,  she  pulled  out  of  her  reticule  ten- 
pennyworth  of  halfpence,  which  rolled  into  all  possible  corners 
of  the  passage,  and  occupied  some  considerable  time  in  the 
picking-up.  This  ceremony  had,  of  course,  to  be  succeeded  by 
a  second  kissing  of  Kate  and  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  a  gathering 
together  of  the  little  basket  and  the  brown-paper  parcel,  during 
which  proceedings,  “  the  omnibus,”  as  Miss  La  Creevy  pro¬ 
tested,  “  swore  so  dreadfully,  that  it  was  quite  awful  to  hear 
it.”  At  length  and  at  last,  it  made  a  feint  of  going  away,  and 
then  Miss  La  Creevy  darted  out  and  darted  in,  apologizing 
with  grea-t  volubility  to  all  the  passengers,  and  declaring  that 
she  wouldn’t  purposely  have  kept  them  waiting  on  any  account 
whatever.  While  she  was  looking  about  for  a  convenient  seat, 
the  coi...ductor  pushed  Sraike  in,  and  cried  that  it  was  all 
right — though  it  wasn’t — and  avay  went  the  huge  vehicle, 
with  the  noise  of  half  a  dozen  brewers’  drays  at  least. 

Leaving  it  to  pursue  its  journey  at  the  pleasure  of  the  con¬ 
ductor  afore-mentioned,  who  lounged  gracefully  on  his  little 
shelf  behind,  smoking  an  odoriferous  cigar ;  and  leaving  it  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


645 


stop,  or  go  on,  or  gallop,  or  crawl,  as  that  gentlemaL  deemed 
expedient  and  advisable,  this  narrative  may  embrace  the  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  ascertaining  the  condition  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and 
to  what  extent  he  had  by  this  time  recovered  from  the  injuries 
consequent  upon  being  flung  violently  from  his  cabriolet,  under 
the  circumstances  already  detailed. 

With  a  shattered  limb,  a  body  severely  bruised,  a  face  dis- 
ngured  by  half-healed  scars,  and  pallid  from  the  exhaustion  of 
recent  pain  and  fever.  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  lay  stretched  upon 
his  back,  on  the  couch  to  which  he  was  doomed  to  be  a  prisoner 
for  some  weeks  yet  to  come.  Mr.  Pyke  and  Mr.  Pluck  sat 
drinking  hard  in  the  next  room,  now  and  then  varying  the  mo¬ 
notonous  murmurs  of  their  conversation  with  a  half-smothered 
laugh,  while  the  young  lord — the  only  member  of  the  party  who 
was  not  thoroughly  irredeemable,  and  who  really  had  a  kind 
heart — sat  beside  his  Mentor,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and 
read  to  him,  by  the  light  of  a  lamp,  such  scraps  of  intelligencr 
from  a  paper  of  the  day  as  were  most  likely  to  yield  him  inte 
rest  or  amusement. 

“  Curse  those  hounds !”  said  the  invalid,  turning  his  head 
impatiently  towards  the  adjoining  room  ;  “  will  nothing  stop 
their  infernal  throats  ?” 

Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  heard  the  exclamation,  and  stopped 
immediately,  winking  to  each  other  as  they  did  so,  and  filling 
their  glasses  to  the  brim,  as  some  recompense  for  the  depriva¬ 
tion  of  speech. 

“  Damn  !”  muttered  the  sick  man  between  his  teeth,  and 
writhing  impatiently  in  his  bed.  “  Isn’t  this  mattress  hard 
enough,  and  the  room  dull  enough,  and  the  pain  bad  enough, 
but  thej/  must  torture  me  ?  What’s  the  time  ?” 

“  Half-past  eight,”  replied  his  friend. 

“  Here,  draw  the  table  nearer,  and  let  us  have  the  cards 
egain,”  said  Sir  Alulberry.  “  More  piquet.  Come.” 

It  was  curious  to  see  how  eagerly  the  sick  man,  debarred 
from  any  change  of  position  save  the  mere  turning  of  his  head 
from  side  to  side,  watched  every  motion  of  his  friend  iiithe  pro¬ 
gress  of  the  game  ;  and  with  what  eagerness  and  interest  he 
played,  and  yet  how  warily  and  coolly.  His  address  and  skill 
were  more  than  twenty  times  a  match  for  his  adversary,  who 


516 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ooukl  make  little  head  against  them,  even  when  fortune  favored 
him  with  good  cards,  which  was  not  often  the  case.  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  won  every  game  ;  and  when  his  companion  threw  down 
the  cards  and  refused  to  play  any  longer,  thrust  forth  his  wasted 
arm  and  caught  up  the  stakes  with  a  boastful  oath,  and  the  same 
hoarse  laugh,  though  considerably  lowered  in  tone,  that  had 
resounded  in  Ralph  Nickleby’s  dining-room  months  before. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  his  man  appeared,  to  announce 
that  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  was  below,  and  wished  to  know  how 
he  was  to-night. 

“Better,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  impatiently. 

“  Mr.  Nickleby  wishes  to  know,  Sir - ” 

“  I  tell  you,  better,”  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  striking  his  hand 
upon  the  table. 

The  man  hesitated,  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  said  that 
Mr.  Nickleby  had  requested  permission  to  see  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk,  if  it  was  not  inconvenient. 

“  It  is  inconvenient.  I  can’t  see  him.  I  can’t  see  anybody,” 
said  his  master,  more  violently  than  before.  “You  know  that, 
you  blockhead.” 

“  I  am  very  sorry,  Sir,”  returned  the  man.  “  But  Mr.  Nickleby 
pressed  so  much,  sir - ” 

The  fact  was,  that  Ralph  Nickleby  had  bribed  the  man,  who, 
being  anxious  to  earn  his  money  with  a  view  to  future  favors, 
held  the  door  in  his  hand,  and  ventured  to  linger  still. 

“  Did  he  say  whether  he  had  any  business  to  speak  about  ?” 
inquired  Sir  Mulberry,  after  a  little  impatient  consideration. 

“  No,  Sir.  He  said  he  wished  to  see  you.  Sir.  Particularly, 
Mr.  Nickleby  said.  Sir.” 

“  Tell  him  to  come  up.  Here,”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  calling 
the  man  back,  as  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  disfigured  face, 
“  move  that  lamp,  and  put  it  on  the  stand  behind  me.  Wheel 
that  table  away,  and  place  a  chair  there — further  olf.  Leave  it 
BO.” 

The  man  obeyed  these  directions  as  if  he  quite  comprehended 
the  motive  with  which  they  were  dictated,  and  left  the  room. 
Lord  Yerisopht,  remarking  that  he  would  look  in  presently, 
strolled  into  the  adjoining  apartment,  and  closed  the  folding- 
door  behind  him. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


547 


Then  was  heard  a  subdued  footstep  on  the  stairs  ;  and  Ralph 
Nickleby,  hat  in  hand,  crept  softly  into  the  room,  with  his  body 
bent  forward  as  if  in  profound  respect,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  face  of  his  worthy  client. 

“Well,  Nickleby,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  motioning  him  to  the 
chair  by  the  couch  side,  and  waving  his  hand  in  assumed  care¬ 
lessness,  “  I  have  had  a  bad  accident  you  see.” 

“  I  see,”  rejoined  Ralph,  with  the  same  steady  gaze.  “  Bad, 
indeed !  I  should  not  have  known  you,  Sir  Mulberry.  Dear 
dear.  This  is  bad.” 

“Ralph’s  manner  was  one  of  profound  humility  and  respect; 
and  the  low  tone  of  voice  was  that  which  the  gentlest  considera¬ 
tion  for  a  sick  man  would  have  taught  a  visitor  to  assume.  But 
the  expression  of  his  face,  Sir  Mulberry’s  being  averted,  was  in 
extraordinary  contrast ;  and  as  he  stood,  in  his  usual  attitude, 
calmly  looking  on  the  prostrate  form  before  him,  all  that  part 
of  his  features  which  was  not  cast  into  shadow  by  his  protruding 
and  contracted  brows,  bore  the  impress  of  a  sarcastic  smile. 

“  Sit  down,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  towards  him  as  though 
by  a  violent  effort.  “Am  1  a  sight,  that  you  stand  gazing 
there  ?” 

As  he  turned  his  face,  Ralph  recoiled  a  step  or  two,  and 
making  as  though  he  were  irresistibly  impelled  to  express  aston¬ 
ishment,  but  was  determined  not  to  do  so,  sat  down  with  well- 
acted  confusion. 

“  I  have  inquired  at  the  door.  Sir  Mulberry,  every  day,”  said 
Ralph,  “twice  a  day  indeed,  at  first — and  to-night,  presuming 
upon  old  acquaintance,  and  past  transactions  by  which  we  have 
mutually  benefited  in  some  degree,  I  could  not  resist  soliciting 
admission  to  your  chamber.  Have  you — have  you  suffered 
much  ?”  said  Rali)h,  bending  forward,  and  allowing  the  stime 
hiirsh  smile  to  gather  upon  his  face,  as  the  other  closed  his  eyes. 

“  jMore  than  enough  to  please  me,  and  less  than  enough  to 
y)lease  some  broken-down  hacks  that  you  and  I  know  of,  and 
who  lay  their  ruin  between  us,  I  dare  say,”  returned  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry,  tossing  his  arm  restlessly  upon  the  coverlet. 

Ral|)h  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  deprecation  of  the  Intense 
irritation  with  which  this  had  been  said,  for  there  was  an  aggra 


648 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


vating  cold  distinctness  in  his  speech  and  manner  which  so 
grated  on  the  sick  man  that  he  could  scarcely  endure  it. 

“  And  what  is  it  in  these  ‘past  transactions/ that  brought  you 
here  to-night?”  asked  Sir  Mulberry. 

“  Nothing,”  replied  Ralph.  There  are  some  bills  of  my  lord’s 
which  need  renewal,  but  let  them  be  till  you  are  well,  I — I — 
came,’’’  said  Ralph,  speaking  more  slowly,  and  with  harsher  em¬ 
phasis,  “  I  came  to  say  how  grieved  I  am  that  any  relative  of 
mine,  although  disowned  by  me,  should  have  inflicted  such  pun¬ 
ishment  on  you  as - ” 

“  Punishment  I”  interposed  Sir  Mulberry. 

“I  know  it  has  been  a  severe  one,”  said  Ralph,  willfully  mis¬ 
taking  the  meaning  of  the  interruption,  “  and  that  has  made  me 
the  more  anxious  to  tell  you  that  I  disown  this  vagabond — that 
I  acknowledge  him  as  no  kin  of  mine — and  that  I  leave  him  to 
take  his  deserts  from  you  and  every  man  besides.  You  may 
wring  his  neck  if  you  please.  I  shall  not  interfere.” 

“This  story  that  they  tell  me  here,  has  got  abroad  then, 
has  it  ?”  asked  Sir  Mulberry,  clenching  his  hands  and  teeth, 

“  Noised  in  all  directions,”  replied  Ralph.  “  Every  club  and 
gaming-room  has  rung  with  it.  There  has  been  a  good  song 
made  about  it,  as  I  am  told,”  said  Ralph,  looking  eagerly  at  his 
questioner.  “  I  have  not  heard  it  myself,  not  being  in  the  way 
of  such  things,  but  I  have  been  told  it’s  even  printed — for  pri¬ 
vate  circulation,  but  that’s  all  over  town,  of  course.” 

“It’s  a  lie  1”  said  Sir  Mulberry;  “  I  tell  you  it’s  all  a  lie. 
The  mare  took  fright.” 

“  They  say  he  frightened  her,”  observed  Ralph,  in  the  same 
unmoved  and  quiet  manner.  “  Some  say  he  frightened  you,  but 
ihal's  a  lie,  I  know.  I  have  said  that  boldly — oh,  a  score  of 
times  !  I  am  a  peaceable  man,  but  I  can’t  hear  folks  tell  that 
of  you — No,  no.” 

When  Sir  Mulberry  found  coherent  words  to  utter,  Ralph 
bent  forward  with  his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  a  face  as  calm  as  if 
its  every  line  of  sternness  had  been  cast  in  iron. 

“When  I  am  off  this  cursed  bed,”  said  the  invalid,  actually 
striking  at  his  broken  leg  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  passion,  “  I’ll 
have  such  revenge  as  never  man  had  yet.  By  G —  I  will  1 
Accident  favoring  him  he  has  marked  me  for  a  week  or  two, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


643 


but  I’ll  pat  a  mark  on  him  that  he  shall  carry  to  his  grave.  I’ll 
slit  his  nose  and  ears — flog  him — maim  him  for  life.  I’ll  do 
more  than  that ;  I’ll  drag  that  pattern  of  chastity,  that  pink  of 
prudery,  the  delicate  sister,  through - ” 

It  might  have  been  that  even  Ralph’s  cold  blood  tingled  in 
his  cheeks  at  that  moment.  It  might  have  been  that  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  renumbered  that,  knave  and  usurer  as  he  was,  he  must, 
in  some  early  time  of  infancy,  have  twined  his  arm  about  he’' 
father’s  neck.  He  stopped,  and,  menacing  with  his  hand,  con¬ 
firmed  the  unuttered  threat  with  a  tremendous  oath. 

“  It  is  a  galling  thing,”  said  Ralph,  after  a  short  term 
of  silence,  during  which  he  had  eyed  the  sufferer  keenly,  “to 
think  that  the  man  about  town,  the  rake,  the  roue,  the 
rook  of  twe’Jty  seasons,  should,  be  brought  to  this  pass  by  a 
mere  boy  1” 

Sir  Mulberry  darted  a  wrathful  look  at  him,  but  Ralph’s  eyes 
were  bent  upon  the  ground,  and  his  face  wore  no  other  expres¬ 
sion  than  one  of  thoughtfulness. 

“A  raw,  slight  stripling,”  continued  Ralph,  “against  a  man 
whose  very  weight  might  crush  him  ;  to  say  nothing  of  his  skill 
in — I  am  right,  I  think,”  said  Ralph,  raising  his  eyes,  “you 
were  a  patron  of  the  ring  once,  were  you  not  ?” 

The  sick  man  made  an  impatient  gesture,  which  Ralph  chose 
to  consider  as  one  of  acquiescence. 

“  Ila !”  he  said,  “  I  thought  so.  That  was  before  I  knew 
you,  but  I  was  pretty  sure  I  couldn’t  be  mistaken.  He  is 
light  and  active,  I  suppose.  But  those  were  slight  advantages 
compared  with  yours.  Luck,  luck. — these  hangdog  outcasts 
have  it.” 

“  He’ll  need  the  most  he  has  when  I  am  well  again,”  said  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk,  “let  him  fly  where  he  will.” 

“  Oh  !”  returned  Ralph,  quickly,  “  he  doesn’t  dream  of  that 
He  is  here,  good  Sir,  waiting  your  pleasure — here  in  London, 
walking  the  streets  at  noonday,  carrying  it  off  jauntily;  looking 
for  you.  I  swear,”  said  Ralj)!!,  his  face  darkening,  and  his  own 
hatred  getting  the  upper  hand  of  iiim  for  the  first  time,  as  this 
gay  pictui’e  of  Nicholas  presented  itself;  “if  we  were  only  citi¬ 
zens  of  a  country  where  it  could  be  safely  done,  I’d  give  good 


650 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


money  to  have  him  stabbed  to  the  heart  and  rolled  into  the 
kennel  for  the  dogs  to  tear.” 

As  Ralph,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  his  old  client,  vented 
this  little  piece  of  sound  family  feeling  and  took  up  his  hat 
preparatory  to  departing.  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht  looked  in. 

“  Why,  vvhat  in  the  deyvePs  name.  Hawk,  have  you  and 
Niekleby  been  talking  about?”  said  the  young  man.  “  I  neyver 
heard  such  an  insufferable  riot.  Croak,  croak,  croak.  Bow, 
wow,  wow.  What  has  it  all  been  about  ?” 

Sir  Mulberry  has  been  angry,  my  lord,”  said  Ralph,  looking 
towards  the  couch. 

“  Not  about  money,  I  hope.  Nothing  has  gone  wrong  in 
business,  has  it,  Nickleby  ?” 

“No,  my  lord,  no,”  returned  Ralph.  “On  that  point  we 
always  agree.  Sir  Mulberry  has  been  calling  to  mind  the  cause 
of - ” 

There  was  neither  necessity  nor  opportunity  for  Ralph  to 
proceed ;  for  Sir  Mulberry  took  up  the  theme,  and  vented  his 
threats  and  oaths  against  Nicholas,  almost  as  ferociously  as 
before. 

Ralph,  who  was  no  common  observer,  was  surprised  to  see 
that  as  this*  tirade  proceeded,  the  manner  of  Lord  Verisopht, 
who  at  the  commencement  had  been  twirling  his  whiskers 
with  a  most  dandified  and  listless  air,  underwent  a  complete 
alteration.  He  was  still  more  surprised  when.  Sir  Mnlberry 
ceasing  to  speak,  the  young  lord,  angrily,  and  almost  un¬ 
affectedly,  requested  never  to  have  the  subject  renewed  in  his 
presence. 

“  Mind  that.  Hawk,”  he  added  with  unusual  energy,  “I  never 
will  be  a  party  to,  or  permit,  if  I  can  help  it,  a  cowardly  attack 
upon  this  young  fellow.” 

“  Cowardly,  Lord  Verisopht  1”  interrupted  his  friend. 

“  Y-cs,”  said  the  other,  turning  full  upon  him.  “  If  you  had 
told  him  who  you  were  ;  if  you  had  given  him  your  card,  and 
found  out  afterwards  that  his  station  or  character  prevented 
your  fighting  him,  it  would  have  been  bad  enough  ^then ;  upon 
my  soul  it  would  have  been  bad  eiiQugh  then.  As  it  is,  you 
did  wrong.  I  did  wrong  too,  not  to  interfere,  and  I  am  sorry 
for  it  What  happened  to  you  afterwards  was  as  much  the  con- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


551 


sequence  of  accident  as  design,  and  more  yonr  fault  tlian  Ids  ; 
and  it  shall  not,  with  ray  knowledge,  be  cruelly  visited  upon  him 
— it  shall  not,  indeed.” 

With  this  emphatic  repetition  of  his  concluding  words,  the 
young  lord  turned  upon  his  heel,  but  before  he  had  reached  the 
adjoining  room  he  turned  back  again,  and  said,  with  even 
greater  vehemence  than  he  had  displayed  before, 

“  I  do  believe  now,  upon  my  honor  I  do  believe,  that  the 
sister  is  as  virtuous  and  modest  a  young  lady  as  she  is  a  hand¬ 
some  one ;  and  of  the  brother,  I  say  this,  that  he  acted  as  her 
brother  should,  and  in  a  manly  and  spirited  manner.  And  1 
only  wish  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  that  any  one  of  us  came 
out  of  this  matter  half  as  well  as  he  does.” 

So  saying.  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht  walked  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  Ralph  Nicklcby  and  Sir  Mulberry  in  most  unpleasant 
astonishment. 

“Is  this  your  pupil?”  asked  Ralph,  softly,  “or  has  he  come 
fresh  from  some  country  parson  ?” 

“Green  fools  take  these  fits  sometimes,”  replied  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk,  biting  his  lip  and  pointing  to  the  door.  “Leave  him 
to  me.” 

Ralph  exchanged  a  familiar  look  with  his  old  acquaintance, 
for  they  had  suddeidy  grown  confidential  again  in  this  alarming 
surprise,  and  took  his  way  home  thoughtfully  and  slowly. 

While  these  things  were  being  said  and  done,  and  long  before 
they  were  concluded,  the  omnibus  had  disgorged  Miss  La 
Creevy  and  her  escort,  and  they  had  arrived  at  her  own  door. 
Now,  the  good-nature  of  the  little  miniature-painter  would  by 
no  means  allow  of  Smike’s  walking  back  again,  until  he  had  been 
previously  refreshed  with  just  a  sip  of  something  comfortable  and 
a  mixed  biscuit  or  so  ;  and  Smike  entertaining  no  objection 
either  to  the  sip  of  something  comfortable  or  the  mixed  biscuit, 
but  considering  on  the  contrary  that  they  would  be  a  very  plea¬ 
sant  ])reparation  for  a  walk  to  Bow,  it  fell  out  that  he  delayed 
much  longer  than  he  originally  intended,  and  that  it  was  some 
half  hour  after  dusk  when  he  set  forth  on  his  journey  home. 

There  was  no  likelihood  of  his  losing  his  way,  for  it  lay  quite 
straight  before  him,  and  he  had  walked  into  town  with  Nicholas, 
and  b.aek  alone,  almost  every  day.  So,  Miss  La  Creevy  and  he 


552 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


shook  ’hands  with  mutual  confidence,  and  being  charged  with 
more  kind  remembrances  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Nickleby,  Smike 
started  off. 

At  the  foot  of  Ludgate  Hill,  he  turned  a  little  out  of  the  road 
to  satisfy  his  curiosity  by  having  a  look  at  Nevfgate.  After 
staring  up  at  the  sombre  walls  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way  with  great  care  and  dread  for  some  minutes,  he  turned  back 
again  into  the  old  track,  and  walked  briskly  through  the  city  ; 
stO])ping  now  and  then  to  gaze  in  at  the  window  of  some  par¬ 
ticularly  attractive  shop,  then  running  for  a  little  way,  then 
stopping  again,  and  so  on,  as  any  other  country  lad  might  do. 

He  had  been  gazing  for  a  long  time  through  a  jeweler’s  win¬ 
dow,  wishing  he  could  take  some  of  the  beautiful  trinkets  home 
as  a  present,  and  imagining  what  delight  they  would  afford  if 
he  could,  when  the  clock  struck  three-quarters  past  eight;  roused 
by  the  sound,  he  hurried  on  at  a  very  quick  pace,  and  was 
crossing  the  corner  of  a  by-street  when  he  felt  himself  violently 
brought  to,  with  a  jerk  so  sudden  that  he  was  obliged  to  cling 
to  a  lamp-post  to  save  himself  from  falling.  At  the  same  moment, 
a  small  boy  clung  tight  round  his  leg,  and  a  shrill  cry  of  “Here 
he  is,  father, — Hooray  I”  vibrated  in  his  ears. 

Smike  knew  that  voice  too  well.  He  cast  his  despairing  eyes 
downwards  towards  the  form  from  which  it  had  proceeded,  and 
shuddering  from  head  to  foot,  looked  round.  Mr.  Squeers  had 
hooked  him  in  the  coat-collar  with  the  handle  of  his  umbrella, 
and  was  hanging  on  at  the  other  end  with  all  his  might  and 
main.  The  cry  of  triumph  proceeded  from  Master  Wackfoid, 
who,  regardless  of  all  his  kicks  and  struggles,  clung  to  him  with 
the  tenacity  of  a  bull-dog  1 

One  glance  showed  him  this ;  and  in  that  one  glance  the  terrified 
creature  became  utterly  powerless  and  unable  to  utter  a  sound. 

“Here’s  a  gol”  cried  Mr.  Squeers,  gradually  coming  hand¬ 
over-hand  down  the  umbrella,  and  only  unhooking  it  when  he 
had  got  tight  hold  of  the  victim’s  collar.  “Here’s  a  delicious 
go  1  Wackford,  my  boy,  call  up  one  of  them  coaches.” 

“A  coach,  father  I”  cried  little  Wackford. 

“Yes,  a  coach.  Sir,”  replied  Squeers,  feasting  his  eyes  upon 
the  countenance  of  Smike.  “  Damn  the  expanse.  Let’s  have 
him  in  a  coach.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


653 


“What’s  he  been  a  doing  of?”  asked  a  laborer,  with  a  hod 
of  bricks,  against  whom  and  a  fellow-laborer  Mr.  Sqneers  had 
backed,  on  the  first  jerk  of  the  umbrella. 

“Everything!”  replied  Mr.  Sqneers,  looking  fixedly  at  his 
old  pupil  in  a  sort  of  a  rapturous  trance.  “Every  thing — run¬ 
ning  away,  Sir — joining  in  blood-thirsty  attacks  upon  his  master, 
Sir — there’s  nothing  that’s  bad  that  he  hasn’t  done.  Oh,  what 
a,  delicious  go  is  this  here,  good  Lord  1” 

The  man  looked  from  Sqneers  to  Smike ;  but  such  mental 
faculties  as  the  poor  fellow  possessed  had  utterly  deserted  him. 
The  coach  came  up  ;  Master  Wackford  entered  ;  Sqneers  pushed 
in  his  prize,  and  following  close  at  his  heels,  pulled  up  the 
glasses.  The  coachman  mounted  his  box  and  drove  slowly  off, 
leaving  the  two  bricklayers,  and  an  old  apple-woman,  and  a 
town-made  little  boy  returning  from  an  evening-school,  who  had 
been  the  only  witnesses  of  the  scene,  to  meditate  upon  it  at  their 
leisure. 

Mr.  Squeers  sat  himself  down  on  the  opposite  seat  to  the  un¬ 
fortunate  Smike,  and  planting  his  hands  firmly  on  his  knees 
looked  at  him  for  some  five  minutes,  when  seeming  to  recover 
from  his  trance,  he  uttered  a  loud  laugh,  and  slapped  his  old 
pupil’s  face  several  times — taking  the  right  and  left  sides  alter¬ 
nately. 

“It  isn’t  a  dream!”  said  Squeers.  “That’s  real  flesh  and 
blood,  I  know  the  feel  of  it and  being  quite  assured  of  his 
good  fortune  by  these  experiments,  Mr.  Squeers  administered  a 
few  boxes  on  the  ear,  lest  the  entertainments  should  seem  to  par¬ 
take  of  sameness,  and  laughed  louder  and  longer  at  every  one. 

“Your  mother  will  be  fit  to  jump  out  of  her  skin,  my  boy, 
when  she  hears  of  this,”  said  Squeers  to  his  son. 

“Oh,  won’t  she  though,  father?”  replied  Master  Wackford. 

“To  think,” — said  Squeers,  “that  you  and  me  should  be 
turning  out  of  a  street,  and  come  upon  him  at  the  very  nick ; 
and  that  I  should  have  him  tight  at  only  one  cast  of  the  um¬ 
brella,  as  if  I  had  hooked  him  with  a  grappling-iron  ! — Ila,  ha!” 

“  Didn’t  I  catch  hold  of  his  leg,  neither,  father  ?”  said  little 
Wackford. 

“  You  did  ;  like  a  good  ’un,  my  boy,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  pat¬ 
ting  his  son’s  head,  “and  you  shall  have  the  best  button-over 


654 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


jacket  and  waistcoat  that  the  next  new  boy  brings  down,  as  a 
reward  of  merit— mind  that.  You  always  keep  on  in  the  same 
path,  and  do  them  tilings  that  you  see  your  father  do,  and  when 
you  die  you’ll  go  right  slap  to  Heaven  and  be  asked  no  ques¬ 
tions.” 

Improving  the  occasion  in  these  words,  Mr.  Squeers  patted 
his  son’s  head  again,  and  then  patted  Smike’s — but  harder  ;  and 
inquired  in  a  bantering  tone,  how  he  found  himself  by  this  time. 

“I  must  go  home,”  replied  Smike,  looking  wildly  round. 

“To  be  sure  you  must.  You’re  about  right  there,”  replied 
Mr.  Squeers.  “  You’ll  go  home  very  soon,  you  will.  You’ll 
find  yourself  at  the  peaceful  village  of  Dotheboys,  in  Yorkshire, 
in  something  under  a  week’s  time,  my  young  friend  ;  and  the  next 
time  you  get  away  from  there,  I  give  you  leave  to  keep  away. 
Where’s  the  clothes  you  run  off  in,  you  ungrateful  robber  ?”  said 
Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  severe  voice. 

Smike  glanced  at  the  neat  attire,  which  the  care  of  Nicholas 
had  provided  for  him,  and  wrung  his  hands. 

“  Do  you  know  that  I  could  hang  you  up  outside  of  the  Old 
Bailey,  for  making  away  with  them  articles  of  property  ?”  said 
Squeers.  “  Do  you  know  that  it’s  a  Iffinging  matter — and  I  ain’t 
quite  certain  whether  it  ain’t  an  anatomy  one  besides — to  walk 
off  with  up’ards  of  the  valley  of  five  pounds  from  a  dwelling 
house  ?  Eh- — do  you  know  that  ?  What  do  you  suppose  was  the 
worth  of  them  clothes  you  had  ?  Do  you  know  that  that  Well¬ 
ington  boot  you  wore,  cost  eight-and-twenty  shillings  when  it 
was  a  pair,  and  the  shoe  seven-and-six  ?  But  you  came  to  the 
right  shop  for  mercy  when  you  came  to  me,  and  thank  your  stars 
that  it  is  me  as  has  got  to  serve  you  with  the  article.” 

Any  body  not  in  Mr.  Squeers’s  confidence,  would  have  sup¬ 
posed  that  he  was  quite  out  of  the  article  in  question,  instead  of 
having  a  large  stock  on  hand  ready  for  all  comers  ;  nor  would 
the  opinion  of  sceptical  persons  have  undergone  much  alteration 
when  he  followed  up  the  remark  by  poking  Smike  in  the  chest 
with  the  fermle  of  his  umbrella,  and  dealing  a  smart  shower  of 
blows  with  the  ribs  of  the  same  instrument,  upon  his  head  and' 
Bhoulders. 

“  I  never  threshed  a  ]joy  in  a  hackney  coach  before,”  said  Mr 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


56d 


Squeers,  when  he  stopped  to  rest.  “There’s  inconveniency  in 
it,  but  the  novelty  pelves  it  a  sort  of  relish  too  !” 

Poor  Smike  1  He  warded  olf  the  blows  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  now  shrunk  into  a  corner  of  the  coach,  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hands,  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees ;  he  was  stunned  and 
stupefied,  and  had  no  more  idea  that  any  act  of  his  would  en¬ 
able  him  to  escape  from  the  all-powerful  Squeers,  now  that  he 
had  no  friend  to  speak  to  or  advise  with,  than  he  had  had  in  all 
the  weary  years  of  his  Yorkshire  life,  which  preceded  the  arri¬ 
val  of  Nicholas, 

The  journey  seemed  endless ;  street  after  street  was  entered, 
and  left  behind,  and  still  they  went  jolting  on. 

At  last,  Mr.  Squeers  began  to  thrust  his  head  out  at  the  win¬ 
dow,  every  half  minute,  and  to  bawl  a  variety  of  directions  to 
the  coachman  ;  and  after  passing,  with  some  difficulty,  through 
several  mean  streets  which  the  appearance  of  the  houses  and  the 
bad  state  of  the  road  denoted  to  have  been  recently  built,  Mr. 
Squeers  suddenly  tugged  at  the  check  string  with  all  his  might, 
and  cried,  “  Stop  !” 

“What  are  you  pulling  a  man’s  arm  off  for  ?”  said  the  coach¬ 
man,  looking  angrily  down. 

“That’s  the  house,”  replied  Squeers.  “  The  second  of  them 
four  little  houses,  one  story  high,  with  the  green  shutters — there’s 
a  brass  ])late  on  the  door,  with  the  name  of  Suawley.” 

“  Couldn’t  you  say  that,  without  wrenching  a  man's  limbs  off 
his  body  ?”  inquired  the  coachman. 

“No!”  bawled  Mr.  Squeers.  “  Say  another  wmrd,  and  I’ll 
summons  you  for  having  a  broken  winder.  Stop  1” 

Obedient  to  this  direction,  the  coach  stopped  at  Mr.  Snaw- 
ley’s  door.  Mr.  Snawley  may  be  remembered  as  the  sleek  and 
sanctified  gentleman  who  confided  two  sons  {in  laic)  to  the  pa¬ 
rental  care  of  Mr.  Squeers,  as  narrated  in  the  foiiidh  chapter  of 
this  history.  Mr.  Snawley’s  house  was  on  the  extreme  borders 
of  some  new  settlements  adjoining  Somers  Town,  and  Mr. 
Sijueers  had  taken  lodgings  therein  for  a  short  time  as  his  stay 
was  longer  than  usual,  and  the  Saracen,  having  experience  of 
.M  aster  AVackford’s  a])]ietite,  had  declined  to  receive  him  on  any 
other  terms  than  as  a  full-grown  customer. 

“  Here  wo  are  1”  said  Squeers,  hurrying  Smike  into  the  little 


656 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


parlor,  where  Mr.  Siiawley  and  his  wife  were  taking  a  lobster 
supper.  “  Here’s  the  vagrant — the  felon — the  rebel — the  monster 
of  unthankfiilness.” 

“  What !  The  boy  that  run  away  1”  cried  Snawley,  resting 
his  knife  and  fork  upright  on  the  table,  and  opening  his  eyes  to 
their  full  width. 

“  The  very  boy,”  said  Squeers,  putting  his  fist  close  to  Sinike’s 
nose,  and  drawing  it  away  again,  and  repeating  the  process  seve¬ 
ral  times,  with  a  vicious  aspect.  “  If  there  wasn’t  a  lady  present, 
I’d  fetch  him  such  a - :  never  mind.  I’ll  owe  it  him.” 

And  here  Mr.  Squeers  related  how,  and  in  wbat  manner,  and 
when,  and  where,  he  had  picked  up  the  runaway. 

"It’s  clear  that  there  has  been  a  Providence  in  it.  Sir,”  said 
Mr.  Snawley,  casting  dowm  his  eyes  with  an  air  of  humility,  and 
elevating  his  fork  with  a  bit  of  lobster  on  the  top  of  it,  towards 
the  ceiling. 

"Providence  is  against  him,  no  doubt,”  replied  Mr.  Squeers, 
scratching  his  nose.  “  Of  course,  that  w'as  to  be  expected. 
Any  body  might  have  known  that.” 

"Hard-heartedness  and  evil-doing  will  never  prosper.  Sir,” 
said  Mr.  Snawley. 

"Never  was  such  a  thing  knowm,”  rejoined  Squeers,  taking  a 
roll  of  notes  from  his  pocket-book,  to  see  that  they  were  all  safe. 

"  I  have  been,  Mrs.  Snawley,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  when  he 
had  satisfied  himself  upon  this  point,  "I  have  been  that  chap’s  ben¬ 
efactor,  feeder,  teacher,  and  clother.  I  have  been  that  chap’s  clas¬ 
sical,  commercial,  mathematical,  philosophical,  and  trigonomical 
friend.  My  son — my  only  son,  Wackford — has  been  his  brother  , 
Mrs.  Squeers  has  been  his  mother,  grandmother,  aunt, — 
Ah  !  and  I  may  say  uncle  too,  all  in  one.  She  never  cottoned 
to  any  body  except  them  two  engaging  and  delightful  boys  of 
yours,  as  she  cottoned  to  this  chap.  What’s  my  return  ?  What’s 
come  of  my  milk  of  human  kindness  ?  It  turns  into  curds  and 
Whej^  when  I  look  at  him.” 

"  Well  it  may.  Sir,”  said  Mrs.  Snawley.  "  Oh  !  Well  it  may, 
Sir,  ” 

"  Whei’e  has  he  been  all  this  time  ?”  inquired  Snawley.  "Has 
he  been  living  with - ?” 

"  Ah,  Sir,”  interposed  Squeers,  confronring  him  again. 
"  Have  you  been  a  living  with  that  there  devilish  Nickleby,  Sir 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


567 


But  no  threats  or  cuffs  could  elicit  from  Smike  one  word  of 
reply  to  this  question,  for  he  had  internally  resolved  that  he 
would  rather  perish  in  the  wretched  prison  to  which  he  was 
again  about  to  be  consigned,  than  utter  one  svllable  which  could 
involve  his  first  and  time  friend.  He  had  already  called  to 
mind  the  strict  injunctions  of  secrecy  as  to  his  past  life,  which 
Nicholas  had  laid  upon  him  when  they  traveled  from  i  oriv- 
shire ;  and  a  confused  and  perplexed  idea  that  his  benefactor 
might  have  committed  some  terrible  crime  in  bringing  him  away, 
which  would  render  him  liable  to  heavy  punishment  if  detected, 
had  contributed  in  some  degree  to  reduce  him  to  his  present 
state  of  apathy  and  terror. 

Such  were  the  thoughts — if  to  visions  so  imperfect  and  unde¬ 
fined  as  those  which  wandered  through  his  enfeebled  brain,  the 
term  can  be  applied — which  were  present  to  the  mind  of  Smike, 
and  rendered  him  deaf  alike  to  intimidation  and  persuasion. 
Finding  every  effort  useless,  Mr,  Squeers  conducted  him  to  a 
little  back  room  up  stairs  where  he  was  to  pass  the  night ;  and 
taking  the  precaution  of  removing  his  shoes,  and  coat  and  waist¬ 
coat,  and  also  of  locking  the  door  on  the  outside,  lest  he  should 
muster  up  sufficient  energy  to  make  an  attempt  at  escape,  that 
worthy  gentleman  left  him  to  his  meditations. 

And  what  those  meditations  were,  and  how  the  poor  creature’s 
heart  sunk  within  him  when  he  thought— when  did  he,  for  a 
moment,  cease  to  think  ? — of  his  late  home,  and  the  dear  friends 
and  familiar  faces  with  wdiich  it  was  associated,  cannot  be  told. 
To  prepare  the  mind  for  such  a  heavy  sleep,  its  growth  must  be 
stopped  by  rigor  and  cruelty  in  childhood  ;  there  must  be  years 
of  misery  and  suffering  lightened  by  no  ray  of  hope  ;  the  chords 
of  the  heart,  which  beat  a  quick  I’esponse  to  the  voice  of  gen¬ 
tleness  and  affection,  must  have  rusted  and  broken  in  their 
secret  plai;es,  and  bear  the  lingering  echo  of  no  old  word  of 
love  or  kindness.  Gloomy,  indeed,  must  have  been  the  short 
day,  and  dull  the  long,  long  twilight,  which  precedes  such  a 
night  of  intellect  as  his. 

There  were  voices  which  would  have  roused  him,  even  then, 
but  their  welcome  tones  could  not  penetrate  there;  and  he  crept 
to  bed  the  same  listless,  hopeless,  blighted  creature,  that  Nicholas 
had  tii-st  found  him  at  the  Yorkshire  school 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER  OLD  FRIEND  ENCOUNTERS  SMIKE,  VEHl 
OPPORTUNELY  AND  TO  SOME  PURPOSE. 

The  night  fraught  with  so  much  bitterness  to  one  poor  soul 
had  given  place  to  a  bright  and  cloudless  summer  morning,  when 
a  north-country  mail-coach  traversed  with  cheerful  noise  the  yet 
silent  streets  of  Islington,  and,  giving  a  brisk  note  of  its  ap¬ 
proach  with  a  lively  winding  of  the  guard's  horn,  clattered  on¬ 
ward  to  its  halting  place  hard  by  the  post-office. 

The  only  outside-  passenger  was  a  burly,  honest-looking  coun¬ 
tryman  upon  the  box,  who,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dome  of 
St.  Paul’s  Cathedral,  appeared  so  wrapped  in  admiring  wonder, 
as  to  be  quite  insensible  to  all  the  bustle  of  getting  out  the 
bags  and  parcels,  until  one  of  the  coach  windows  being  let 
sharply  down,  he  looked  round  and  encountered  a  pretty  female 
face  which  was  just  then  thrust  out. 

“  See  there,  lass  !”  bawled  the  countryman,  pointing  towards 
the  object  of  his  admiration.  “  There  be  Paul’s  Church.  ’Ecod, 
he  be  a  sizable  ’im,  he  be.” 

“Goodness,  John  I  I  shouldn’t  have  thought  it  could  have 
been  half  the  size.  What  a  monster !” 

“Monsther! — Ye’re  aboot  right  there,  I  reckon,  Mrs.  Brow- 
die,”  said  the  countryman,  good-humoredly,  as  he  came  slowly 
down  in  his  huge  top-coat,  “  and  wa’at  dost  thee  tak  yon  place 
to  be  noo — thot  ’un  ower  the  wa’.  Ye’d  never  coom  near  it 
’gin  ye  thried  ’for  twelve  moonths.  It’s  na’  but  a  poast-office. 
Ho  !  ho !  They  need  to  charge  for  dooble-hitthers.  A  poast- 
ofiice  I  Wa’at  dost  thee  think  o’  thot  ?  ’Ecod,  if  thot’s  on’v 
a  poast-office,  I’d  loike  to  see  where  the  Lord  Mayor  o’  Lunnun 
lives.” 

So  saying,  John  Browdie — for  he  it  was — opened  the  coach- 
door,  and  tapping  Mrs.  Browdie,  late  Miss  Price,  on  the  cheek 
as  he  looked  in,  burst  into  a  boisterous  fit  of  laughter. 

(558) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


669 


“Weel,”  said  John — “dang  my  bootuns  if  she  bea’nt  asleep 
age an  1” 

“  She’s  been  asleep  all  night,  and  was  all  yesterday,  except 
for  a  minute  or  two  now  and  then,”  replied  John  Browdie’s 
choice,  “  and  I  was  very  sorry  when  she  woke,  for  she  has  been 
so  cross  I” 

The  subject  of  these  remarks  was  a  slumbering  figure,  so 
muffled  ill  shawl  and  cloak  that  it  would  have  been  matter 
of  impossibility  to  guess  at  its  sex  but  for  a  brown-beaver  bon- 
nei  and  green  veil  which  ornamented  the  head,  and  which,  hav¬ 
ing  been  crushed  and  flattened  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
in  that  particular  angle  of  the  vehicle  from  which  the  lady’s 
snores  -now  proceeded,  presented  an  appearance  sufficiently 
ludicrous  to  have  moved  less  risible  muscles  than  those  of  John 
Browdie’s  ruddy  face. 

“Hollo!”  cried  John,  twitching  one  end  of  the  dragged 
veil.  “  Coom,  wakken  oop,  will  ’ee.” 

After  several  borrowings  into  the  old  corner,  and  many  ex¬ 
clamations  of  impatienc-e  and  fatigue,  the  figure  struggled  into 
a  sitting  posture  ;  and  there,  under  a  mass  of  crumpled  beaver, 
and  surrounded  by  a  semicircle  of  blue  curl-papers,  were  the 
delicate  features  of  Miss  Fanny  Squeers. 

“Oh,  ’Tilda!”  cried  Miss  Squeers.  “How  you  have  been 
kicking  of  me  through  this  blessed  night!” 

“Well,  I  do  like  that,”  replied  her  friend,  laughing,  “when 
you  have  had  nearly  the  whole  coach  to  yourself.” 

“Don’t  deny  it,  ’Tilda,”  said  ISIiss  Squeers,  impressively, 
“  because  you  have,  and  it’s  no  use  to  go  attempting  to  say  you 
haven’t.  You  mightn’t  have  known  it  in  your  sleep,  ’Tilda, 
but  I  haven’t  closed  my  eyes  for  a  single  wink,  and  so  I  Ihini; 
I  am  to  be  believed.” 

'WJth  which  reply,  Miss  Squeers  adjusted  the  bonnet  and 
veil,  which  nothing  but  supernatural  interference  and  an  utter 
suspension  of  nature’s  laws  could  have  reduced  to  any  shape 
or  form  ;  and  evidently  flattering  herself  that  it  looked  uncom¬ 
monly  neat,  brushed  off  the  sandwich-crumbs  and  bits  of  biscuit, 
which  had  accumulated  in  her  lap,  and  availing  herself  of  John 
Browdie’s  proffered  arm,  descended  from  the  coach. 

“Noo.”  said  John,  when  a  hackney  coach  had  been  called, 
36 


560 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  the  ladies  and  the  luggage  hurried  in,  “  gang  to  the  Sarah’s 
Head,  mun.” 

“  To  the  vere  ?”  cried  the  coachman. 

“Lawk,  Mr.  Brovvdie !”  interrupted  Miss  Squeers.  “The 
idea!  Saracen’s  Head.” 

“Sure-ly,”  said  John,  “I  know’d  it  was  summut  aboot  Sarah 
— to  the  Sarah  Son’s  Head.  Host  thou  know  thot  ?” 

“  Oh,  ah — I  know  that,”  replied  the  coachman,  gruffly,  as  he 
banged  the  door. 

“’Tilda,  dear — really,”  remonstrated  Miss  Squeers,  “we 
shall  be  taken  for  I  don’t  know  what.” 

“Let  ’em  tak  us  as  they  foind  us;”  said  John  Browdie,  “we 
dean’t  come  to  Lunnun  to  do  nought  but  ’joy  oursel,  do  we  ?” 

“I  hope  not,  Mr.  Browdie,”  replied  Miss  Squeers,  looking 
singularly  dismal. 

“Well,  then,”  said  John,  “it’s  no  matther.  I’ve  only  been 
a  married  mun  fower  days,  ’account  of  poor  old  feyther  deein’ 
and  puttin’  it  off.  Here  be  a  weddin’  party — broide  and 
brokle’smaid,  and  the  groom — if  a  mun  dean’t  ’joy  himsel  noo, 
when  ought  he,  hey  ?  Draat  it  all,  thot’s  what  I  wont  to 
know.” 

So,  in  order  that  he  might  begin  to  enjoy  himself  at  once, 
and  lose  no  time,  Mr.  Browdie  gave  his  wife  a  hearty  kiss,  and 
succeeded  in  wresting  another  from  Miss  Squeers  after  a 
maidenly  resistance  of  scratching  and  struggling  on  the  part  of 
that  young  lady,  which  was  not  quite  over  when  they  reached 
the  Saracen’s  Head. 

Here  the  party  straightway  retired  to  rest,  the  refreshment 
of  sleep  being  necessary  after  so  long  a  journey  ;  and  here  they 
met  again,  about  noon,  to  a  substantial  breakfast,  spread  by 
direction  of  Mr.  John  Browdie,  in  a  small  private  room  up 
stairs  commanding  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  stables. 

To  have  seen  Miss  Squeers  now,  divested  of  the  brown 
beaver,  the  green  veil,  and  the  blue  curl-papers,  and  arrayed  in 
all  the  virgin  splendor  of  a  white  frock  and  spencer,  with  a 
white  muslin  bonnet,  and  an  imitative  damask  rose  in  full  bloom 
on  the  inside  thereof :  her  luxuriant  crop  of  hair  arranged  in 
curls  so  tight  that  it  was  impossible  they  could  come  out  by 
any  accident,  and  her  bonnet-cap  trimmed  with  little  damask 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


661 


roses,  which  might  be  supposed  to  be  so  many  promising  scions 
of  the  big  one — to  have  seen  all  this,  and  to  have  seen  the  broad 
damask  belt,  matching  both  the  family  rose  and  the  little  ones, 
which  encircled  her  slender  waist,  and  by  a  happy  ingenuity 
took  off  from  the  shortness  of  the  spencer  behind, — to  have 
beheld  all  this,  and  to  have  taken  further  into  account  the  coral 
bracelets  (rather  short  of  beads,  and  with  a  very  visible  black 
string)  which  clasped  her  wrists,  and  the  coral  necklace  which 
rested  on  her  neck,  supporting  outside  her  frock  a  lonely  cor¬ 
nelian  heart,  typical  of  her  own  disengaged  affections — to  have 
contemplated  all  these  mute  but  expressive  appeals  to  the  purest 
feelings  of  our  nature,  might  have  thawed  the  frost  of  age,  and 
added  new  and  inextinguishable  fuel  to  the  fire  of  youth. 

The  waiter  was  touched.  Waiter  as  he  was,  he  had  human 
passions  and  feelings,  and  he  looked  very  hard  at  Miss  Squeera 
as  he  handed  the  muffins. 

“  Is  my  pa  in,  do  you  know  ?”  asked  Miss  Squeers  with 
dignity. 

“Beg  your  pardon,  Miss.” 

“  My  pa,”  repeated  Miss  Squeers  ;  “  is  he  in?” 

“In  where.  Miss  ?” 

“  In  here — in  the  house  !”  replied  Miss  Squeers.  “  My  pa — 
Mr.  Wackford  Squeers — he’s  stopping  here.  Is  he  at  home?” 

“I  didn’t  know  there  was  any  gen’l’man  of  that  name  in  the 
house.  Miss,”  replied  the  waiter.  “  There  may  be,  in  the  coffee- 
room.” 

May  he.  Very  pretty  this,  indeed  !  Here  was  Miss  Squeers, 
who  had  been  depending  all  the  way  to  London  upon  showing 
her  friends  how  much  at  home  she  would  be,  and  how  much 
respectful  notice  her  name  and  connections  would  excite,  told 
that  her  father  might  be  there  !  “As  if  he  was  a  feller  I”  ob¬ 
served  Miss  Squeers,  with  emphatic  indignation. 

“  Ye’d  better  inquire,  mun,”  said  John  Browdie.  “  An’  hcnd 
up  another  ))igeon-pie,  will  ’ee  ?  Dang  the  chap,”  muttered 
John,  looking  into  the  empty  dish  as  the  waiter  retired  ;  “does 
he  ca’  this  a  pie — three  yoong  pigeons  and  a  trifling  matther  o’ 
steak,  and  a  crust  so  loight  that  you  doant  know  when  it’s  in 
your  mooth  and  when  it’s  gane  ?”  I  wonder  hoo  many  pies 
goes  to  a  breakfast  I” 


662 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT 


After  a  short  interval,  which  John  Browdie  employed  upon 
the  ham  and  a  cold  round  of  beef,  the  waiter  returned  with 
another  pie,  and  the  information  that  Mr,  Squeers  was  not 
stopping  in  the  house,  but  that  he  came  there  every  day,  and 
that  directly  he  arrived  he  should  be  shown  up  stairs.  With 
this  he  retired;  and  he  had  not  retired  two  minutes,  when  he 
returned  with  Mr.  Squeers  and  his  hopeful  son. 

‘‘  Why,  wdio’d  have  thought  of  this  ?”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  wdieu 
he  had  saluted  the  party,  and  received  some  private  family 
intelligence  from  his  daughter. 

“  Who,  indeed,  pa !”  replied  that  young  lady,  spitefully 
“  But  you  see  ’Tilda  is  married  at  last.” 

“  And  I  stond  threat  for  a  soight  ’o  Lunnun,  schoolmeas 
ther,”  said  John,  vigorously  attacking  the  pie. 

“  One  of  them  things  that  young  men  do  when  they  get  mar 
I’ied,”  returned  Squeers  ;  “  and  as  runs  through  wdth  their  mo¬ 
ney  like  nothing  at  all.  How  much  better  w'ouldn’t  it  be  now, 
to  save  it  up  for  the  eddication  of  any  little  boys,  for  instance. 
They  come  on  you,”  said  Mr.  Squeers  in  a  moralizing  way, 
“  before  you’re  aware  of  it ;  mine  did  upon  me.” 

“  Will  ’ee  pick  a  bit  ?”  said  John. 

“  I  won’t  myself,”  returned  Squeers  ;  “  but  if  you’ll  just  let 
little  Wackford  tuck  into  something  fat,  I’ll  be  obliged  to  you. 
Give  it  him  in  his  fingers,  else  the  waiter  charges  it  on,  and 
there’s  lot  of  profit  on  this  sort  of  vittles  without  that.  If  you 
hear  the  waiter  coming,  Sir,  shove  it  in  your  pocket  and  look 
out  of  the  wdndow,  d’ye  hear  ?” 

“  I’m  awake,  father,”  replied  the  dutiful  Wackford. 

“  Well,”  said  Squeers,  turning  to  his  daughter,  “  it’s  your 
turn  to  be  married  next.  You  must  make  haste.” 

“  Oh,  I’m  in  no  hurry,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  very  sharply. 

“  No,  Fanny  ?”  cried  her  old  friend  wdth  some  archness. 

“  No,  ’Tilda,”  replied  Miss  Squeers,  shaking  her  head  vehe¬ 
mently.  “  I — can  wmit.” 

“  So  can  the  young  men,  it  seems,  Fanny,”  observed  Mrs. 
Brow^die. 

“  They  an’t  draw’d  into  it  by  me,  ’Tilda,”  retorted  Miss 
Squeers. 

“  No.”  returned  her  friend ;  “  that’s  exceedingly  true.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


663 


The  sarcastic  tone  of  this  reply  might  have  provoked  a  rather 
acrimonious  retort  from  Miss  Squeers,  who,  besides  being  of  a 
constitutionally  vicious  ’emper — aggravated  just  now  by  travel 
and  recent  jolting — was  somewhat  irritated  by  old  recollections 
and  the  failure  of  her  own  designs  upon  Mr.  Browdie ;  and 
the  acrimonious  retort  might  have  led  to  a  great  many  other 
retorts,  which  might  have  led  to  Heaven  knows  what,  it  the 
subject  of  conversation  had  not  been  at  that  precise  moment 
accidentally  changed  by  Mr.  Squeers  himself. 

“  What  do  you  think  ?”  said  that  gentleman  ;  “  who  do  you 
suppose  we  have  laid  hands  on,  Wackford  and  me 

“  Ba  !  not  Mr. - Miss  Squeers  was  unable  to  finish 

the  sentence,  but  Mrs.  Browdie  did  it  for  her,  and  added, 
“  Nickleby  ?” 

“  No,”  said  Squeers.  “  But  next  door  to  him  though.” 

“You  can’t  mean  Smike  ?”  cried  Miss  Squeers,  clapping  her 
hands. 

“  Yes,  I  can  though,”  rejoined  her  father.  “  I’ve  got  him 
hard  and  fast.” 

“  Wa’atl”  exclaimed  John  Browdie,  pushing  away  his  plate. 
“  Got  thot  poor — dom’d  scoondrel, — where  ?” 

“  Why,  in  the  top  back  room,  at  my  lodging,”  replied 
Squeers,  with  him  on  one  side  and  the  key  on  the  other.” 

“At  thy  loodgin’ 1  Thee’st  gotten  him  at  thy  loodgin’l 
Ho  I  ho !  The  schoolmeasther  agin  ah  England.  Give  us 
thee  bond,  mun ; — I’m  darned  but  I  must  shok  thee  by  the  bond 
for  thot. — Gotten  him  at  thy  loodgin’  ?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Squeers,  staggering  in  his  chair  under  the 
congratulatory  blow  on  the  chest  which  the  stout  Yorkshireman 
dealt  him. — “thankee.  Don’t  do  it  again.  A"ou  mean  it  kindly, 
I  know,  but  it  hurts  rather. — yes,  there  he  is.  That’s  not  so 
bad,  is  it  ?” 

“  Ba’ad  1”  repeated  John  Browdie,  “It’s  eneaf  to  Scare  a 
mun  to  hear  tell  on.” 

“  I  thought  it  would  surprise  you  a  bit,”  said  Squeers,  rub¬ 
bing  his  hands.  “  It  was  pretty  neatly  done,  and  pretty  quick 
too.” 

“  Hoo  wor  it  ?”  inquired  John,  sitting  down  close  to  him 
“  Tell  us  all  aboot  it  mun  ;  coom,  quick.” 


664 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Although  he  could  not  keep  pace  with  John  Browdie’s  im¬ 
patience,  Mr.  Squeers  related  the  lucky  chance  by  which  Smike 
had  fallen  into  his  hands,  as  quickly  as  he  could,  and,  except 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  admiring  remarks  of  his  auditors, 
paused  not  in  the  recital  until  he  had  brought  it  to  an  end. 

“  For  fear  he  should  give  me  the  slip  by  any  chance,” 
observed  Squeers,  when  he  had  finished,  looking  very  cunning, 
“  I’ve  taken  three  outsides  for  to-morrow  morning,  for  Wack- 
ford  and  him  and  me,  and  have  arranged  to  leave  the  accounts 
and  the  new  boys  to  the  agent,  don’t  you  see  ?  So  it’s  very 
lucky  you  come  to-day.  or  you’d  have  missed  us  ;  and,  as  it  is, 
unless  you  could  come  and  tea  with  me  to-night,  we  shan’t  see 
any  thing  more  of  you  before  we  go  away.” 

“  Dean’t  say  anoother  wurd,”  returned  the  Yorkshireman, 
shaking  him  by  the  hand.  “  We’d  coom  if  it  was  twenty 
mile.” 

“No,  would  you,  though?”  returned  Mr.  Squeers,  who  had 
not  expected  quite  such  a  ready  acceptance  of  his  invitation,  or 
he  would  have  considered  twice  before  he  gave  it. 

John  Browdie’s  only  reply  was  another  squeeze  of  the  hand, 
and  an  assurance  that  they  would  not  begin  to  see  London  till 
to-morrow,  so  that  they  might  be  at  Mr.  Snawley’s  at  six 
o’clock  without  fail ;  and  after  some  further  conversation, 
Mr.  Squeers  and  his  son  departed. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day  Mr.  Browdie  was  in  a  very 
odd  and  excitable  state,  bursting  occasionally  into  an  explosion 
of  laughter,  and  then  taking  up  his  hat  and  running  into  the 
coach-yard  to  have  it  out  by  himself.  He  was  very  restless  too, 
constantly  walking  in  and  out,  and  snapping  his  fingers,  and 
dancing  scraps  of  uncouth  country  dances,  and,  in  short,  con¬ 
ducting  himself  in  such  a  very  extraordinary  manner,  that  Mis? 
Squeers  opined  he  was  going  mad,  and,  begging  her  dear 
’Tilda  not  to  distress  herself,  communicated  her  suspicions  in 
80  many  words.  Mrs.  Browdie,  however,  without  discovering 
any  great  alarm,  observed  that  she  had  seen  him  so  once  before, 
and  although  he  was  almost  sure  to  be  ill  after  it,  it  would  not 
be  any  thing  very  serious  and  therefore  he  was  better  left 
alone. 

The  result  proved  her  to  be  perfectly  correct :  for  while  they 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


665 


were  all  sitting  in  Mr.  Snawley’s  parlor  that  night,  and  just  as 
it  was  beginning  to  get  dusk,  John  J3rowdie  was  taken  so  ill, 
and  seized  with  such  an  alarming  dizziness  in  the  head,  that 
the  whole  company  were  thrown  into  the  utmost  consternation, 
llis  good  lady,  indeed,  was  the  only  person  present  who  re¬ 
tained  presence  of  mind  enough  to  observe  that  if  he  were 
allowmd  to  lie  down  on  Mr.  Squeers’s  bed  for  an  hour  or  so, 
and  left  entirely  to  himself,  he  would  be  sure  to  recover  again 
almost  as  quickly  as  he  had  been  taken  ill.  Nobody  could 
refuse  to  try  the  effect  of  so  reasonable  a  proposal  before  send¬ 
ing  for  a  surgeon.  Accordingly,  John  wms  supported  up  stairs 
with  great  difficulty,  being  a  monstrous  weight,  and  regularly 
tumbling  down  two  steps  every  time  they  hoisted  him  up  three  ; 
and  being  laid  on  the  bed,  was  left  in  charge  of  his  wife,  who, 
after  a  short  interval,  reappeared  in  the  parlor  with  the  grati¬ 
fying  intelligence  that  he  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 

Now^,  the  fact  was,  that  at  that  particular  moment,  John 
Browdie  was  sitting  on  the  bed  with  the  reddest  face  ever  seen, 
cramming  the  corner  of  the  pillow  into  his  mouth  to  prevent  his 
roaring  out  loud  with  laughter.  He  had  no  sooner  succeeded 
in  suppressing  this  emotion,  than  he  slipped  otf  his  shoes,  and 
creeping  to  the  adjoining  room,  where  the  prisoner  wms  confined, 
turned  the  key,  which  was  on  the  outside,  and  darting  in, 
covered  Smike’s  mouth  with  his  huge  hand  before  he  could 
utter  a  sound. 

“  Ods-bobs,  dost  thee  not  know  me,  mun  ?”  whispered  the 
Yorkshireman  to  the  bewildered  lad.  “Browdie, — chap  as  met 
thee  afther  schoolmeasther  was  banged  ?” 

“Yes,  yes,”  cried  Smike.  “  Oh  !  help  me.” 

“Help  thee  I”  I’eplied  John,  stopping  his  mouth  again  the 
instant  he  had  said  thus  much.  “Thee  didn’t  need  help  if  thee 
war’nt  as  silly  yoongster  as  ever  draw’d  breath.  Wa’at  did 
’ee  come  here  for,  then  ?” 

“  He  brought  me  ;  oh  I  he  brought  me,”  cried  Smike. 

“  Brout  thee  1”  replied  John.  “Why  didn’t  ’ee  punch  his 
head,  or  lay  theeself  doon  and  kick,  and  squeal  out  for  the  pollis  ? 
I’d  ha’  licked  a  doozen  such  as  him  when  I  was  yoong  as  thee. 
But  thee  be’est  a  poor  broken-doon  chap,”  said  John,  sadly, 


666 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


'*  and  God  forgi'  me  for  bragging  ower  yan  o’  his  weakest 
creeturs.” 

Smike  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  John  Browdie  stopped 
liim. 

"  Stan  still,”  said  the  Yorkshireman,  “and  doant  ’ee  speak  a 
morsel  o’  talk  till  I  tell’ee.” 

With  this  caution,  John  Browdie  shook  his  head  significantly, 
and  drawing  a  screw-driver  from  his  pocket,  took  off  the  box  of 
the  lock  in  a  very  deliberate  and  workmanlike  manner,  and  laid 
it,  together  with  the  implement,  on  the  floor. 

“See  thot  ?”  said  John.  “Thot  be  thy  doin’.  Noo,  coot 
awa’.” 

Smike  looked  vacantly  at  him,  as  if  unable  to  comprehend 
his  meaning. 

“I  say,  coot  awa’,”  repeated  John,  hastily.  “Dost  thee 
know  where  thee  livest?  Thee  dost?  Week  Are  yon  thy 
clothes,  or  school-measther’s  ?” 

“  Mine,”  replied  Smike,  as  the  Yorkshireman  hurried  him  to 
the  adjoining  room,  and  pointed  out  a  pair  of  shoes  and  a  coat 
which  were  lying  on  a  chair. 

“On  wi’  ein,”  said  John,  forcing  the  wrong  arm  into  the 
wrong  sleeve,  and  winding  the  tails  of  the  coat  round  the  fugi¬ 
tive’s  neck.  “Noo,  foller  me,  and  when  thee  get’st  ootside  the 
door,  turn  to  the  right,  and  they  wean’t  see  thee  pass.” 

“But — but — he’ll  hear  me  shut  the  door,”  replied  Smike, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

“  Then  dean’t  shut  it  at  all,”  retorted  John  Browdie.  “Dang 
it,  thee  bean’t  afeard  o’  schoohneasther’s  takkin’  cold,  I  hope  ?” 

“  N-no,”  said  Smike,  his  teeth  chattering  in  his  head.  “But 
he  brought  me  back  before,  and  will  again.  He  will,  he  will 
indeed.” 

“  He  wall,  he  wull !”  replied  John  impatiently.  “  He  wean’t, 
he  wean’t.  Look  ’ee.  I  wont  to  do  this  neighborly  loike,  and 
let  them  think  thee’s  gotten  awa’  o’  theeself,  but  if  lie  cooms  oot 
o’  that  parlor  awhiles  thecr’t  clearing  off,  he  mun’  have  mercy 
on  his  oun  boans,  for  I  wean’t.  If  he  foinds  it  oot  soon  afther. 
I’ll  put  ’un  on  a  wrong  scent,  I  warrant  ’ee.  But  if  thee  kee})s’t 
a  good  hart,  thee’lt  be  at  whoara  afore  they  know  thees’t  gotten 
off.  Coom.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


567 


Smike,  who  comprehended  just  enough  of  this  to  know  it  was 
intended  as  encouragement,  prepared  to  follow  with  tottering 
steps,  when  John  whispered  in  his  ear. 

“The’lt  just  tell  yoong  Measther,  that  I’m  sploiced  to  ’Tilly 
Price,  and  to  be  heerd  on  at  the  Saracen  by  latther,  and  that  I 
bee’nt  jealous  of  ’un — dang  it,  I’m  loike  to  boost  when  I  think 
o’  that  Height ;  ’cod,  I  think  I  see  ’un  now,  a  powderin’  awa’  at 
the  thin  bread  an’  butther  !  ” 

It  was  rather  a  ticklish  recollection  for  John  just  then,  for  ho 
was  within  an  ace  of  breaking  out  into  a  loud  guffaw.  Re¬ 
straining  himself,  however,  just  in  time,  by  a  great  effort,  ho 
glided  down  stairs,  hauling  Smike  behind  him  ;  and  placing 
himself  close  to  the  parlor-door,  to  confront  the  first  person 
that  might  come  out,  signed  to  him  to  make  off. 

Having  got  so  far,  Smike  needed  no  second  bidding.  Open¬ 
ing  the  house- door  gently,  and  casting  a  look  of  mingled  grati¬ 
tude  and  terror  at  his  deliverer,  he  took  the  direction  which  had 
been  indicated  to  him,  and  sped  away  like  the  wind 

The  Yprkshireman  remained  on  his  post  for  a  few  minutes, 
but,  finding  that  there  was  no  pause  in  the  conversation  inside, 
crept  back  again  unheard,  and  stood  listening  over  the  stair-rail 
for  a  full  hour.  Everything  remaining  perfectly  quiet,  he  got 
into  Mr.  Squeers’s  bed  once  more,  and  drawing  the  clothes  over 
his  head,  laughed  till  he  was  nearly  smothered. 

If  there  could  only  have  been  somebody  by,  to  see  how  the 
bed-clothes  shook,  and  to  see  the  Yorkshireman’s  great  red 
face  and  round  head  appear  above  the  sheets  every  now  and 
then,  like  some  jovial  monster  coming  to  the  surface  to  breathe, 
and  once  more  dive  down  convulsed  with  the  laughter  which 
came  bursting  forth  afresh — that  somebody  would  have  been 
scarcely  less  amused  than  John  Browdie  himself. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


IN  WHICH  NICHOLAS  FALLS  IN  LOVE.  HE  EMPLOYS  A  MEDI¬ 
ATOR,  AVHOSE  PROCEEDINGS  ARE  CROVr^NED  WITH  UNEXPECTED 
SUCCESS,  EXCEPTING  IN  ONE  SOLITARY  PARTICULAR. 

Once  more  out  of  the  clutches  of  his  old  persecutor,  it 
needed  no  fresh  stimulation  to  call  forth  the  utmost  energy  and 
exertion  that  Smike  was  capable  of  summoning  to  his  aid 
Without  pausing  for  a  moment  to  reflect  upon  the  course  he 
was  taking,  or  the  probability  of  its  leading  him  homewards  or 
the  reverse,  he  fled  away  with  surprising  swiftness  and  constancy 
of  purpose,  borne  upon  such  wings  as  only  Fear  can  wear,  and 
impelled  by  imaginary  shouts  in  the  well-remembered  voice  of 
Squeers,  who,  with  a  host  of  pursuers,  seemed  to  the  poor 
fellow’s  disordered  senses  to  press  hard  upon  his  track  ;  now  left 
at  a  greater  distance  in  the  rear,  and  now  gaining  faster  and 
faster  upon  him,  as  the  alternations  of  hope  and  terror  agitated 
him  by  turns.  Long  after  he  had  become  assured  that  these 
sounds  were  but  the  creation  of  his  excited  brain,  he  still  held 
on  at  a  pace,  which  even  weakness  and  exhaustion  could  scarcely 
retard  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  darkness  and  quiet  of  a  country 
road  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  external  objects,  and  the  starry 
sky  above  warned  him  of  the  rapid  flight  of  time,  that,  covered 
with  dust  and  panting  for  breath,  he  stopped  to  listen  and  look 
.  about  him. 

All  was  still  and  silent.  A  glare  of  light  in  the  distance, 
casting  a  warm  glow  upon  the  sky,  marked  where  the  huge  city 
lay.  Solitary  fields,  divided  by  hedges  and  ditches,  through 
many  of  which  he  had  crashed  and  scrambled  in  his  flight, 
skirted  the  road,  both  by  the  way  he  had  come  and  upon  the 
opposite  side.  It  was  late  now.  They  could  scarcely  trace 
him  by  such  paths  as  he  had  taken,  and  if  he  could  hope  to 
regain  his  own  dwelling,  it  must  surely  be  at  such  a  time  as 
that,  and  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  This  by  degrees  became 
(568) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


669 


pretty  plain  even  to  the  minrl  of  Sinike.  lie  had  at  first  enter¬ 
tained  some  vague  and  childish  idea  of  traveling  into  the 
country  for  ten  or  a  dozen  miles,  and  then  returning  homewards 
by  a  wide  circuit,  which  should  keep  him  clear  of  London- — so 
great  was  his  apprehension  of  traversing  the  streets  alone,  lest 
he  should  again  encounter  his  dreaded  enemy — but,  yielding  to 
the  conviction  which  these  thoughts  inspired,  he  turned  back, 
and  taking  the  open  road,  though  not  without  many  fears  and 
misgivings,  made  for  London  again  with  scarcely  less  speed  of 
foot  than  that  with  which  he  had  left  the  temporary  abode  of 
Mr.  Squeers. 

By  the  time  he  re-entered  it  at  the  western  extremity,  the 
greater  part  of  the  shops  were  closed ;  of  the  throngs  of  people 
who  had  been  tempted  abroad  after  the  heat  of  the  day,  but  few 
remained  in  the  streets,  and  they  were  lounging  home.  But  of 
these  he  asked  his  way  from  time  to  time,  and  by  dint  of  repeated 
inquiries  he  at  length  reached  the  dwelling  of  Newman  Noggs. 

All  that  evening  Newman  had  been  hunting  ana  searching  in 
by-ways  and  corners  for  the  very  person  who  now  knocked  at 
his  door,  while  Nicholas  had  been  pursuing  the  same  inquiry  in 
other  directions.  He  was  sitting  with  a  melancholy  air  at  his 
poor  supper,  when  Smike’s  timorous  and  uncertain  knock  reached 
his  ears.  Alive  to  every  sound  in  his  anxious  and  expectant 
state,  Newman  hurried  down  stairs,  and,  uttering  a  cry  of  joyful 
surprise,  dragged  the  welcome  visitor  into  the  passage  and  up 
the  stairs,  and  said  not  a  word  until  he  had  him  safe  in  his  own 
garret  and  the  door  was  shut  behind  them,  when  he  mixed  a 
great  mug-full  of  gin  and  water,  and  holding  it  to  Smike’s  mouth, 
as  one  might  hold  a  bowl  of  medicine  to  the  lips  of  a  refractory 
child,  commanded  him  to  drain  it  to  the  very  last  drop. 

Newman  looked  uncommonly  blank  when  he  found  that 
Sniike  did  little  more  than  put  his  lips  to  the  precious  mi.xture; 
he  was  in  the  act  of  raising  the  mug  to  his  own  mouth  with  a 
deep  sigh  of  compassion  for  his  poor  friend’s  weakness,  when 
Smike  beginning  to  relate  the  adventures  which  had  befallen 
him,  arrested  him  half-way,  and  he  stood  listening  with  the  mug 
in  his  hand. 

It  was  odd  enough  to  see  the  change  that  came  over  New¬ 
man  as  Smike  proceeded.  At  first  he  stood  rubbing  his  lipa 


570 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


with  the  back  of  his  hand,  as  a  preparatory  ceremony  towards 
eoin[)osing  himself  for  a  draught;  then,  at  the  mention  of 
Squccrs,  lie  took  tlie  mug  under  his  arm,  and  opening  his  eyes 
very  wide,  looked  on  in  the  utmost  astonishment.  When  Sraike 
came  to  the  assault  upon  himself  in  the  hackney  coach,  he 
hastily  deposited  the  mug  on  the  table,  and  limped  up  and  down 
the  room  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  excitement,  stopping  himself 
with  a  jerk  every  now  and  then  as  if  to  listen  more  attentively. 
When  John  Brovvdie  came  to  be  spoken  of,  he  dropped  by  slow 
and  gradual  degrees  into  a  chair,  and  rubbing  his  hands  upon 
his  knees — quicker  and  quicker  as  the  story  reached  its  climax 
— burst  at  last  into  a  laugh  composed  of  one  loud  sonorous  “  Ha  1 
Ila  !”  having  given  vent  to  which,  his  countenance  immediately 
fell  again  as  he  inquired,  with  the  utmost  anxiety,  whether  it  was 
probable  that  John  Browdie  and  Squeers  had  come  to  blows. 

“  No  !  I  think  not,”  replied  Srnike.  “  I  don’t  think  he  could 
have  missed  me  till  I  had  got  quite  away.” 

Newman  scratched  his  head  with  a  show  of  great  disappoint¬ 
ment,  and  once  more  lifting  up  the  mug,  applied  himself  to  the 
contents,  smiling  meanwhile  over  the  rim  with  a  grim  and 
ghastly  smile  at  Smike. 

“You  shall  stay  here,”  said  Newman  ;  “  you’re  tired — fagged. 
I’ll  tell  them  you’re  come  back.  They  have  been  half  mad  about 
you.  Mr.  Nicholas — ” 

“  God  bless  him  !”  cried  Smike. 

“Amen!”  returned  Newman.  “lie  hasn’t  had  a  minute’s 
rest  or  peace  ;  no  more  has  the  old  lady,  nor  Miss  Nickleby.” 

“No,  no.  Has  s/ie  thought  about  me  ?”  said  Smike.  “Has 
she  though  ?  oh,  has  she — has  she  ?  Don’t  tell  me  so,  if  she  has 
not.” 

“  She  has,”  cried  Newman.  “She  is  as  noble-hearted  as  she 
is  beautiful.” 

“  Yes,  yes  I”  cried  Smike.  “  Well  said  I” 

“  So  mild  and  gentle,”  said  Newman. 

“Yes  yes,  1”  cried  Smike,  with  increasing  eagerness. 

“  And  yet,  with  such  a  true  and  gallant  spirit,”  pursued  Newman 

He  was  going  on,  in  his  enthusiasm,  v.hen  chancing  to  look 
at  his  companion,  he  saw  that  he  had  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  and  that  tears  were  stealing  out  between  his  lingers. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


671 


A  moment  before,  the  boy’s  eyes  were  sparkling  witli  unwont¬ 
ed  fire,  and  every  feature  had  been  lighted  up  with  an  excite¬ 
ment  which  made  him  appear  for  the  moment  quite  a  different 
being. 

“Well,  well,”  muttered  Newman,  as  if  he  were  a  little  puz¬ 
zled.  “  It  has  touched  me  more  than  once,  to  think  such  a 
natur(;  should  have  been  exposed  to  such  trials ;  this  poor  fel¬ 
low — yes,  yes, — he  feels  that  too — it  softens  him,- — makes  him 
think  of  his  former  misery.  Hah!  That’s  it!  Yes,  that’s — hum!” 

It  was  by  no  means  clear,  from  the  tone  of  these  broken  re¬ 
flections,  that  Newman  Noggs  considered  them  as  explaining, 
at  all  satisfactorily,  the  emotion  which  had  suggested  them. 
He  sat  in  a  musing  attitude  for  some  time,  regarding  Smike  oc¬ 
casionally  with  an  anxious  and  doubtful  glance,  which  sufficiently 
showed  that  he  was  not  very  remotely  connected  with  his 
thoughts. 

At  length  he  repeated  his  proposition,  that  Smike  should  remain 
where  he  was  for  that  night,  and  that  he  (Noggs)  should  straight¬ 
way  repair  to  the  cottage,  to  relieve  the  suspense  of  the  family. 
But  as  Smike  would  not  hear  of  this,  pleading  his  anxiety  to 
see  nis  friends  again,  they  eventually  sallied  forth  together ;  and 
the  night  being  by  this  time  far  advanced,  and  Smike  being  be¬ 
sides  so  footsore  that  he  could  hardly  crawl  along,  it  was  with¬ 
in  an  hour  of  sunrise,  when  they  I’eached  their  destination. 

At  the  first  sound  of  their  voices,  outside  the  house,  Nicholas, 
who  had  |)assed  a  sleepless  night,  devising  schemes  for  the  re¬ 
covery  of  his  lost  charge,  started  from  his  bed,  and  joyfully  ad¬ 
mitted  them. 

There  was  so  much  noisy  conversation,  and  congratulation,  and 
indignation,  that  the  remainder  of  the  family  were  soon  awakened, 
and  Smike  received  a  warm  and  cordial  welcome,  not  only  from 
Kate,  but  from  Mrs.  Nickleby  also,  who  assured  him  of  her 
future  favor  and  regard;  and  was  so  obliging  as  to  relate,  for 
his  entertainment,  and  that  of  the  assembled  circle,  a  most  re¬ 
markable  account  extracted  from  some  work,  the  name  of  which 
she  had  never  known,  of  a  miraculous  escape  from  some  prison, 
but  what  one,  she  couldn’t  remember,  effected  by  an  officer, 
wliose  name  she  had  forgetton,  confined  for  some  crime,  which 
she  didn’t  clearly  recollect. 


672 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


At  fi/st,  Nicholas  was  disposed  to  give  his  uncle  credit  fo) 
some  portion  of  this  bold  attempt  (which  had  so  nearly  proved 
successful)  to  carry  off  Smike,  but  on  more  mature  consideration 
he  was  inclined  to  think  that  the  full  merit  of  it  rested  with  Mr. 
Squeers.  Determined  to  ascertain,  if  he  could,  through  John 
Browdie,  how  the  case  really  stood,  he  betook  himself  to  hia 
daily  occupation  :  meditating  as  he  went  on  a  great  variety  of 
schemes  for  the  punishment  of  the  Yorkshire  schoolmaster,  all 
of  which  had  their  foundation  in  the  strictest  principles  of  re¬ 
tributive  justice,  and  had  but  the  one  drawback,  of  being  wholly 
impracticable. 

“  A  fine  morning,  Mr.  Linkinwater,”  said  Nicholas,  entering 
the  office. 

“Ah!”  replied  Tim,  “talk  of  the  country,  indeed!  What 
do  you  think  of  this  now  for  a  day — a  London  day. — eh  ?” 

“  It’s  a  little  clearer  out  of  town,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Clearer!”  echoed  Tim  Linkinwater.  “You  should  see 
it  from  my  bedroom  window.” 

“  You  should  see  it  from  7mne,”  replied  Nicholas,  with  a  smile. 

“Pooh  !  Pooh  !”  said  Tim  Linkinwater,  “  don’t  tell  me.  Coun¬ 
try  1”  (Bow  was  quite  a  rustic  place  to  Tim,)  “Nonsense.  What 
can  you  get  in  the  country,  but  new-laid  eggs  and  flowers  ?  I 
can  buy  new-laid  eggs  in  Leadenhall  market,  any  morning  be¬ 
fore  breakfast ;  and  as  to  flowers,  it’s  worth  a  run  up  stairs  to 
smell  my  mignonette,  or  to  see  the  double- wallflower  in  the  back- 
attic  window,  at  No.  6,  in  the  court.” 

“  There  is  a  double-wallflower  at  No.  6,  in  the  court,  is  there  1” 
said  Nicholas. 

“Yes,  is  there,”  replied  Tim,  “  and  planted  in  a  cracked  jug, 
without  a  spout.  There  were  hyacinths  there  this  last  spring 
blossoming  in - but  you’ll  laugh  at  that,  of  course.” 

“At  what?” 

“  At  their  blossoming  in  old  blacking-bottles,”  said  Tim. 

“Not  I,  indeed,”  returned  Nicholas. 

Tim  looked  wistfully  at  him  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  were  en¬ 
couraged,  by  the  tone  of  this  reply,  to  be  more  communicative 
on  the  subject ;  and  sticking  behind  his  ear  a  pen  that  he  had 
been  making,  and  shutting  up  his  knife  with  a  smart  click,  said, 

“  They  belong  to  a  sickly,  bed-ridden,  hump-backed  boy,  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


673 


seem  to  be  the  only  pleasures,  Mr.  Nickleby,  of  his  sad  existence. 
How  many  years  is  it,”  said  Tim,  pondering,  “  since  I  first  noticed 
him  quite  a  little  child,  dragging  himself  about  on  a  pair  of  tiny 
crutches  ?  Well  1  Weil !  not  many  ;  but  though  they  would  ap¬ 
pear  nothing,  if  I  thought  of  other  things,  they  seem  a  long,  long 
time,  vrhen  I  think  of  him.  It  is  a  sad  thing,”  said  Tim,  break¬ 
ing  off,  “  to  see  a  little  deformed  child,  sitting  apart  from  other 
children,  who  are  active  and  meri’y,  watching  the  games  he  is 
denied  the  power  to  share  in.  lie  made  my  heart  ache  very 
often.” 

“  It  is  a  good  heart,”  said  Nicholas,  “that  disentangles  itself 
from  the  close  avocations  of  every  day,  to  heed  such  things 
You  wmre  saying - ” 

“  That  the  flowers  belonged  to  this  poor  boy,”  said  Tim,  “that’s 
all.  When  it  is  fine  weather,  and  he  can  crawl  out  of  bed,  he  draws 
a  chair  close  to  the  window,  and  sits  there  looking  at  them,  and 
arranging  them  all  day  long.  We  used  to  nod  at  first,  and  then 
we  came  to  speak.  Formerly,  when  I  called  to  him  of  a  morn¬ 
ing,  and  asked  him  how  he  was,  he  would  smile,  and  say,  ‘bet¬ 
ter  but  now  he  shakes  his  head,  and  only  bends  more  closely 
over  his  old  plants.  It  must  be  dull  to  watch  the  dark  house¬ 
tops  and  the  flying  clouds  for  so  many  months ;  but  he  is  very 
patient.” 

“  Is  there  nobody  in  the  house  to  cheer  or  help  him?”  asked 
Nicholas. 

“  Ilis  father  lives  there  I  believe,”  replied  Tim,  “and  other 
people  too  ;  but  no  one  seems  to  care  much  for  the  poor  sickly 
cripple.  I  have  asked  him  very  often  if  I  can  do  nothing  for 
him  ;  his  answer  is  always  the  same, — ‘  Nothing.’  Ilis  voice  has 
grown  weak  of  late,  but  I  can  see  that  he  makes  the  old  rei)ly. 
He  can’t  leave  his  bed  now,  so  they  have  moved  it  close  beside 
the  window,  and  there  he  lies  all  day  :  now  looking  at  the  sky, 
and  now  at  his  flowers,  which  he  still  makes  shift  to  trim  and 
water  with  his  own  thin  hands.  At  night,  when  he  sees  my 
candle,  he  draws  back  his  curtain,  and  leaves  it  so  till  I  am  in 
bed.  It  seems  such  company  to  him  to  know  that  I  am  there, 
that  1  often  sit  at  my  window  for  an  hour  and  more,  that  he  may 
see  I  am  still  awake ;  and  sometimes  I  get  up  in  the  night  to 


b74 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


look  at  the  dull  melancholy  light  in  his  little  room,  and  wonder 
whether  he  is  awake  or  sleeping.” 

“  The  night  will  not  be  long  coming,”  said  Tim,  “  when  he  will 
sleep  and  never  awake  again  on  earth.  We  have  never  so  much 
as  shaken  hands  in  all  our  lives  ;  and  yet  I  shall  miss  him  like 
an  old  friend.  Are  there  any  country  flowers  that  could  interest 
me  like  these,  do  yon  think  ?  Or  do  you  suppose  that  the  with 
ering  ol  a  hundred  kinds  of  the  choicest  flowers  that  blow,  called 
by  the  hardest  I/atin  names  that  were  ever  invented,  would  give 
.me  one  fraction  of  the  pain  that  I  shall  feel  when  these  old  jugs 
and  bottles  are  swept  away  as  lumber  ?  Country  !”  cried  Tim, 
with  a  contemptuous  emphasis  ;  “  don’t  you  know  that  I  couldn’t 
have  such  a  court  under  my  bedroom  window  any  where  but  in 
London  ?” 

With  which  inquiry,  Tim  turned  his  back,  and  pretending  to 
be  absorbed  in  his  accounts,  took  an  opportunity  of  hastily 
wdping  his  eyes  when  he  supposed  Nicholas  was  looking  another 
way. 

Whether  it  was  that  Tim’s  accounts  were  more  than  usually 
intricate  that  morning,  or  whether  it  was  that  his  habitual  seren¬ 
ity  had  been  a  little  disturbed  by  these  recollections,  it  so  hap¬ 
pened  that  when  Nicholas  returned  from  executing  some  commis¬ 
sion,  and  inquired  whether  Mr.  Charles  Cheeryble  was  alone  in 
Ids  room,  Tim  promptly,  and  without  the  smallest  hesitation, 
replied  in  the  affirmative,  although  somebody  had  passed  into  the 
room  not  ten  minutes  before,  and  Tim  took  especial  and  particu¬ 
lar  pride  in  preventing  any  intrusion  on  either  of  the  brothers 
when  they  were  engaged  with  any  visitor  whatever. 

“  I’ll  take  this  letter  to  him  at  once,”  said  Nicholas,  “  if  that’s 
the  case.”  And  with  that  he  walked  to  the  room  and  knocked 
at  the  door. 

No  answer. 

Another  knock  and  still  no  answer. 

“  He  can’t  be  here,”  thought  Nicholas.  “  I’ll  lay  it  on  his 
table.” 

So  Nicholas  opened  the  door  and  walked  in ;  and  very  quick¬ 
ly  he  turned  to  walk  out  again,  when  he  saw  to  his  great  aston¬ 
ishment  and  discomfiture  a  young  lady  upon  her  knees  at  Mr 
Cheeryble’s  feet,  and  Mr.  Cheeryble  beseeching  her  to  rise,  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


576 


entreating  a.  third  person,  who  had  the  appearance  of  the  young 
lady’s  female  attendant,  to  add  her  persuasions  to  his  to  induce 
her  to  do  so. 

jS’icholas  stammered  out  an  awkward  apology,  and  was  pre¬ 
cipitately  retiring,  when  the  young  lady,  turning  her  head  a 
little,  presented  to  his  view  the  features  of  the  lovely  girl  whom 
he  had  seen  at  the  register-office  on  his  first  visit  long  before. 
Glancing  from  her  to  the  attendant,  he  recognized  the  same 
clumsy  servant  who  had  accompanied  her  then  ;  and  between 
his  admiration  of  the  young  lady’s  beauty,  and  the  confusion  and 
surprise  of  this  unexpected  recognition,’ he  stood  stock-still,  in 
such  a  bewildered  state  of  surprise  and  embarrassment  that  for 
the  moment  he  was  quite  bereft  of  the  power  either  to  speak  or 
move. 

“  My  dear  ma’am — my  dear  young  lady,”  cried  brother 
Charles  in  violent  agitation,  “  pray  don’t — not  another  word,  1 
beseech  and  entreat  you.  I  implore  you — I  beg  of  you — to 
rise.  We — we — are  not  alone.” 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  the  young  lady,  who  staggered  to  a 
chair  and  swooned  away. 

“  She  has  fainted.  Sir,”  said  ^Nicholas,  darting  eagerly  forward. 

“  Poor  dear,  poor  dear  !”  cried  brother  Charles.  “  Where  is 
my  brother  Ned  ?  Ned,  my  dear  brother,  come  here,  pray.” 

“  Brotlier  Charles,  my  dear  fellow,”  replied  his  brother,  hur¬ 
rying  into  the  room,  “  what  is  the - ah  !  what - ” 

“  IIusli  I  hush  ! — not  a  word  for  your  life,  brother  Ned,”  re¬ 
turned  the  other.  “  Ring  for  the  housekeeper,  my  dear  brother 
— call  Tim  Liukinwater.  Here,  Tim  Linkinwater,  Sir — Mr. 
Nickleby,  my  dear  Sir,  leave  the  room,  I  beg  and  beseech  of 
you.” 

“  I  think  she  is  better  now,”  said  Nicholas,  who  had  been 
watching  the  patient  so  eagerly  that  he  had  not  heard  the  re¬ 
quest. 

“Poor  bird!”  cried  brother  Charles,  gently  taking  her  hand 
in  his,  and  laying  her  head  upon  his  arm.  “Brother  Ned,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  will  be  surprised,  I  know,  to  witness  this  in 
business  hours;  but — here  he  was  again  reminded  of  the 
presence  of  Nicholas,  and  shaking  him  by  the  hand,  earnestly 


37 


676 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


requested  him  to  leave  the  room,  and  to  send  Tim  Linkinwater 
without  an  instant’s  delay. 

Nicholas  immediately  withdrew,  and  on  his  way  to  the  count- 
iiig-tiouse  met  both  the  old  housekeeper  and  Tim  Linkinwater, 
jostling  each  other  in  the  passage,  and  hurrying  to  the  scene  of 
action  with  extraordinary  speed.  Without  waiting  to  hear  his 
message,  Tim  Linkinwater  darted  into  the  room,  and  presently 
alierwards  Nicholas  heard  the  door  shut  and  locked  on  the 
inside. 

He  had  abundance  of  time  to  ruminate  on  this  discovery,  for 
Tim  Linkinwater  was  absent  the  greater  part  of  an  hour,  during 
the  whole  of  which  time  Nicholas  thought  of  nothing  but  the 
young  lady  and  her  exceeding  beauty,  and  what  could  possibly 
have  brought  her  there,  and  why  they  made  such  a  mystery  of 
it.  The  more  he  thought  of  all  this,  the  more  it  perplexed  him, 
and  the  more  anxious  he  became  to  know  who  and  what  she 
was.  “I  should  have  known  her  among  ten  thousand,”  thought 
Nicholas.  And  with  that  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
and  recalling  her  face  and  figure  (of  which  he  had  a  peculiarly 
vivid  remembrance),  discarded  all  other  subjects  of  reflection 
and  dwelt  upon  that  alone. 

At  length  Tim  Linkinwater  came  back — provokingly  cool, 
and  with  papers  in  his  hand,  and  pen  in  his  mouth,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

“  Is  she  quite  recovered  ?”  said  Nicholas,  impetuously. 

“  Who  ?”  returned  Tim  Linkinwater. 

“Who  ?”  repeated  Nicholas.  “  The  young  lady.” 

“What  do  you  make,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Tim,  taking  his 
pen  out  of  his  mouth,  “  what  do  you  make  of  four  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  times  three  thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty- 
eight  ?” 

“Nay,”  returned  Nicholas,  “what  do  you  make  of  my  ques¬ 
tion  first  ?  I  asked  you - ” 

“About  the  young  lady,”  said  Tim  Linkinwater,  putting  on 
his  spectacles.  “  To  be  sure.  Yes.  Oh  !  she’s  very  well.” 

“  Very  well,  is  she  ?”  returned  Nicholas. 

“  Very  well,”  replied  Mr.  Linkinwater,  gravely. 

“  Will  she  be  able  to  go  home  to-day  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“She’s  gone,”  said  Tim. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


577 


“  Gone !” 

“Yes.” 

“  I  hope  she  has  not  far  to  go  ?”  said  Nicholas,  looking  earn¬ 
estly  at  the  other. 

“Ay,”  replied  the  iramovealble  Tim,  “I  hope  she  hasn’t.” 

Nicholas  hazarded  one  or  two  further  remarks,  but  it  was 
evident  that  Tim  Linkinwater  had  his  own  reasons  for  evading 
the  subject,  and  that  he  was  determined  to  afford  no  further  in¬ 
formation  respecting  the  fair  unknown,  who  had  awakened  so 
much  curiosity  in  the  breast  of  his  young  friend.  Nothing 
daunted  by  this  repulse,  Nicholas  returned  to  the  charge  next 
day,  emboldened  by  the  circumstance  of  Mr.  Linkinwater  being 
in  a  very  talkative  and  communicative  mood ;  but  directly  he 
resumed  the  theme,  Tim  relaxed  into  a  state  of  most  provoking 
taciturnity,  and  from  answering  in  monosyllables,  came  to  re¬ 
turning  no  answers  at  all,  save  such  as  were  to  be  inferred  from 
several  grave  nods,  and  shrugs  which  only  served  to  whet  that 
appetite  for  intelligence  in  Nicholas,  which  had  already  attained 
a  most  unreasonable  height. 

Foiled  in  these  attempts,  he  was  fain  to  content  hims^elf  with 
watching  for  the  young  lady’s  next  visit,  but  here  again  he  was 
disappointed.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  she  did  not  return. 
He  looked  eagerly  at  the  superscription  of  all  the  notes  and 
letters,  but  there  was  not  one  among  them  which  he  could  fancy 
to  be  in  her  hand-writing.  On  two  or  three  occasions  ho 
was  employed  on  business  which  took  him  to  a  distance,  and 
had  formerly  been  transacted  by  Tim  Linkinwater.  Nicho¬ 
las  could  not  help  suspecting  that  for  some  reason  or  other  he 
was  sent  out  of  the  way  on  purpose,  and  that  the  young  lady 
was  there  in  his  absence.  Nothing  transpired,  however,  to 
confirm  this  suspicion,  and  Tim  could  not  be  entrapped  into 
any  confession  or  admission  tending  to  support  it  in  the  smallest 
degree. 

Mystery  and  disappointment  are  not  absolutely  indispen.-5able 
to  the  growth  of  love,  but  they  are  very  often  its  powerful  aux¬ 
iliaries.  “  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,”  is  well  enough  as  a  pro¬ 
verb  applicable  to  cases  of  friendship,  though  absence  is  not 
alv.ays  necessary  to  hollowness  of  heart  even  between  friends, 
and  truth  and  honesty,  like  precious  stones,  are  perhaps  most 


678 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


easily  imitated  at  a  distance,  when  the  counterfeits  often  pass 
for  real.  Love,  however,  is  very  materially  assisted  by  a  warm 
and  active  imagination,  which  has  a  long  memory,  and  will 
thrive  for  a  considerable  time  on  very  slight  and  sparing  food. 
Thus  it  is  that  it  often  attains  its  most  luxuriant  growth  in  sepa¬ 
ration,  and  under  circumstances  of  the  utmost  difficulty ;  and 
thus  it  was  that  Nicholas,  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  unknown 
young  lady  from  day  to  day,  and  from  hour  to  hour,  began  at 
last  to  think  that  he  was  very  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and 
that  never  was  such  an  ill-used  and  persecuted  lover  as  he. 

Still,  though  he  loved  and  languished  after  the  most  orthodox 
models,  and  was  only  deterred  from  making  a  confidante  of  Kate 
by  the  slight' considerations  of  having  never,  in  all  his  life,  spoken 
to  the  object  of  his  passion,  and  having  never  set  eyes  upon 
her  except  on  two  occasions,  on  both  of  which  she  had  come 
and  gone  like  a  flash  of  lightning — or,  as  Nicholas  himself  said, 
in  the  numerous  conversations  he  held  with  himself,  like  a  vision 
of  youth  and  beauty  much  too  bright  to  last — his  ardor  and 
devotion  remained  without  its  reward.  The  young  lady  ap¬ 
peared  no  more;  so  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  love  wasted 
(enough  indeed  to  have  set  up  half-a-dozen  young  gentlemen, 
as  times  go,  with  the  ntmost  decency)  and  nobody  was  a  bit 
the  wiser  for  it ;  not  even  Nicholas  himself,  who,  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  became  more  dull,  sentimental,  and  lackadaisical^  every 
day. 

While  matters  were  in  this  state,  the  failure  of  a  correspon¬ 
dent  of  the  Brothers  Cheerybles,  in  Germany,  imposed  upon 
Tim  Linkinwater  and  Nicholas  the  necessity  of  going  through 
some  very- long  and  complicated  accounts  extending  over  a  con¬ 
siderable  space  of  time.  To  get  through  them  with  the  greater 
dispatch,  Tim  Linkinwater  proposed  that  they  should  remain 
at  the  counting-house  for  a  week  or  so,  until  ten  o’clock  at 
night;  to  this,  as  nothing  damped  the  zeal  of  Nicholas  in  the 
service  of  his  kind  patrons — not  even  romance,  which  has  sel¬ 
dom  business  habits — he  cheerfully  assented.  On  the  very  first 
night  of  those  late  hours,  at  nine  exactly,  there  came  :  not 
the  young  lady  herself,  but  her  servant,  who  being  closeted 
with  brother  Charles  for  some  time,  went  away,  and  returned 


THE  MEDITATIVE  OGRE. 


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NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


579 


next  night  at  the  same  hour,  and  on  the  next,  and  on  the  next 
again. 

These  repeated  visits  inflamed  the  curiosity  of  Nicholas  to 
the  very  highest  i)itch.  Tantalized  and  excited  beyond  all 
bearing,  and  unable  to  fathom  the  mystery  without  neglecting 
his  duty,  he  confided  the  whole  secret  to  Newman  Noggs,  implor¬ 
ing  him  to  be  on  the  watch  next  night,  to  follow  the  girl  hone 
to  set  on  foot  such  inquiries  relative  to  the  name,  condition, 
and  history  of  her  mistress,  as  he  could  without  exciting  sus¬ 
picion  ;  and  to  report  the  result  to  him  with  the  least  possible 
delay. 

Beyond  all  measure  proud  of  this  commission,  Newman 
Noggs  took  up  his  post  in  the  square  on  the  following  evening, 
a  full  hour  before  the  needful  time,  and  planting  himself  behind 
the  pump,  and  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  began  his  watch 
with  an  elaborate  appearance  of  mystery,  admirably  calculated 
to  excite  the  suspicion  of  all  the  beholders.  Indeed,  divers  ser¬ 
vant-girls  who  came  to  draw  water,  and  sundry  little  boys  who 
stoi)ped  to  drink  at  the  ladle,  were  almost  scared  out  of  their 
senses  by  the  apparition  of  Newman  Noggs,  looking  stealthily 
around  the  pump,  with  nothing  of  him  visible  but  his  face,  and 
that  wearing  the  expression  of  a  meditative  Ogre. 

Punctual  to  her  time,  the  messenger  came  again,  and  after  an 
interview  of  rather  longer  duration  than  usual,  departed.  New¬ 
man  had  made  two  appointments  with  Nicholas,  one  for  the 
next  evening  conditional  on  his  success,  and  one  the  next  night 
following  which  was  to  be  kept  under  all  circumstances.  The 
first  night  he  was  not  at  the  place  of  meeting  (a  certain  tavern 
about  half-way  between  the  City  and  Golden  Square),  but  on 
the  second  night  he  was  there  before  Nicholas,  and  received  him 
with  open  arms. 

“  It’s  all  right,”  whispered  Newman.  “  Sit  down — sit  down, 
there’s  a  dear  young  man,  and  let  me  tell  you  all  about  it.” 

Nicholas  needed  no  second  invitation,  and  eagerly  inquired 
what  was  the  news. 

“  There’s  a  great  deal  of  news,”  said  Newman  in  a  flutter  of 
exultation.  “  It’s  all  right.  Don’t  be  anxious.  I  don’t  know 
where  to  begin.  Never  mind  that.  Keep  up  your  spirits.  It’s 
all  right.” 


580 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Well?”  said  Nicholas,  eagerly.  “Yes?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Newman.  “That’s  it.” 

“What’s  it?”  said  Nicholas.  “The  name — the  name,  my 
dear  fellow.” 

“  The  name’s  Bobstcr,”  replied  Newman. 

“Bobsterl”  repeated  Nicholas,  indignantly. 

“That’s  the  name,”  said  Newman.  “I  remembered  it  by 
lobster.” 

“Bobster!”  repeated  Nicholas,  more  emphatically  than 
before.  “  That  must  be  the  servant’s  name.” 

“No,  it  ain’t,”  said  Newman,  shaking  his  head  with  great 
positiveness.  “Miss  Cecilia  Bobster.” 

“  Cecilia,  eh  ?”  returned  Nicholas,  muttering  the  two  names 
together  over  and  over  again  in  every  variety  of  tone,  to  try  the 
effect.  “Well,  Cecilia  is  a  pretty  name.” 

“  Yery.  And  a  pretty  creature  too,”  said  Newman. 

“Who?”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Miss  Bobster.” 

“Why,  where  have  you  seen  her?”  demanded  Nicholas. 

“Never  mind,  my  dear  boy,”  retorted  Noggs,  clapping  him 
on  the  shoulder.  “I  have  seen  her.  You  shall  see  her.  I 
have  managed  it  all.” 

“  My  dear  Newman,”  cried  Nicholas,  grasping  his  hand, 
“  are  you  serious  ?” 

“  I  am,”  replied  Newman.  “  I  mean  it  all.  Every  word. 
You  shall  see  her  to-morrow  night.  She  consents  to  hear  you 
speak  for  yourself.  I  persuaded  her.  She  is  all  affability, 
goodness,  sweetness,  and  beauty.” 

“I  know  she  is;  I  know  she  must  be,  Newman,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  wringing  his  hand. 

“You  are  rigid,”  returned  Newman. 

“Where  docs  she  live?”  cried  Nicholas.  “What  have  you 
learnt  of  her  history  ?  lias  she  a  father — mother — any  brothers 
—sisters?  What  did  she  say?  How  came  you  to  see  her? 
Was  she  not  very  much  surprised  ?  Did  you  say  how  passion¬ 
ately  I  have  longed  to  speak  to  her  ?  Did  you  tell  her  where  I 
had  seen  her  ?  Did  you  tell  her  how,  and  when,  and  where,  and 
how  long  and  how  often  I  have  thought  of  that  sweet  face  which 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


581 


came  upon  me  in  my  bitterest  distress  like  a  glimpse  of  some 
better  world — did  you,  Newman — did  you?” 

Poor  Noggs  literally  gasped  for  breath  as  this  flood  of  ipies- 
tions  rushed  upon  him,  and  moved  spasmodically  in  his  chair  at 
every  fresh  inquiry,  staring  at  Nicholas  meanwhile  with  a  most 
ludicrous  expression  of  perplexity. 

“No,”  said  Newman,  “I  didn’t  tell  her  that.” 

“Didn’t  tell  her  which?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“About  the  glimpse  of  the  better  world,”  said  Newman.  “I 
didn’t  tell  her  who  you  were,  either,  or  where  you’d  seen  her. 
I  said  you  loved  her  to  distraction.” 

“  That’s  true,  Newman,”  replied  Nicholas,  with  his  character¬ 
istic  vehemence.  “  Heaven  knows  I  do  1” 

“I  said  too,  that  you  had  admired  her  for  a  long  time  in 
secret,”  said  Newman. 

“  Yes,  yes.  What  did  she  say  to  that  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Blushed,”  said  Newman. 

“To  be  sure.  Of  course  she  would,”  said  Nicholas,  approv 
ingly. 

Newman  then  went  on  to  say  that  the  young  lady  was  an 
only  child,  that  her  mother  was  dead,  and  that  she  resided  with 
her  father;  and  that  she  had  been  induced  to  allow  her  lover  a 
secret  interview  at  the  intercession  of  her  servant,  who  had  great 
influence  with  her.  He  further  related  how  it  had  required 
much  moving  and  great  eloquence  to  bring  the  young  lady  to 
this  pass ;  how  it  was  expressly  understood  that  she  merely 
afforded  Nicholas  an  opportunity  of  declaring  his  passion,  and 
how  she  by  no  means  pledged  herself  to  be  favorably  impressed 
^\'ith  his  attentions.  The  mystery  of  her  visits  to  the  Brothers 
(Ihecryble  remained  wholly  unexplained,  for  Newman  had  not 
alluded  to  them,  either  in  his  preliminary  conversations  with  the 
servant  or  his  subsequent  interview  with  the  mistress,  merely 
remarking  that  he  had  been  instructed  to  watch  the  girl  home 
and  ])lead  his  young  friend’s  cause,  and  not  saying  how  far  he 
had  followed  her,  or  from  what  point.  But  Newman  hinted 
-  that  from  what  had  fallen  from  the  confidante,  he  had  been  led 
to  suspect  that  the  young  lady  led  a  very  miserable  and  unhappy 
life,  under  the  strict  control  of  her  only  parent,  who  was  of  a 
violent  and  brutal  temper — a  circumstance  which  he  thought 


682 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


might  ill  some  degree  account,  both  for  her  having  sought  the 
protection  and  friendship  of  the  brothers,  and  her  suffering  her 
self  to  be  prevailed  upon  to  grant  the  promised  interview.  The 
last  he  held  to  be  a  very  logical  deduction  from  the  premises, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  but  natural  to  suppose  that  a  young  lady,' 
whose  present  condition  was  so  unenviable,  would  be  more  than 
commonly  desirous  to  change  it. 

It  appeared  on  further  questioning — for  it  was  only  by  a  very 
long  and  arduous  process  that  all  this  could  be  got  out  of 
Newman  Noggs — that  Newman,  in  explanation  of  his  shabby 
appearance,  had  represented  himself  as  being,  for  certain  wise 
and  indispensable  purposes  connected  with  that  intrigue,  in 
disguise ;  and  being  questioned  how  he  had  come  to  exceed  his 
commission  so  far  as  to  procure  an  interview,  he  responded, 
that  the  lady  appearing  willing  to  grant  it,  he  considered  him¬ 
self  bound,  both  in  duty  and  gallantry,  to  avail  himself  of  such 
a  golden  means  of  enabling  Nicholas  to  prosecute  his  addresses. 
After  these  and  all  possible  questions  had  been  asked  and 
answered  twenty  times  over,  they  parted,  undertaking  to  meet 
on  the  following  night  at  half-past  ten,  for  the  purpose  of  ful¬ 
filling  the  appointment,  which  was  for  eleven  o’clock. 

“Things  come  about  very  strangely,”  thought  Nicholas,  as 
he  walked  home.  “  I  never  contemplated  any  thing  of  this 
kind ;  never  dreamt  of  the  possibility  of  it.  To  know  some¬ 
thing  of  the  life  of  one  in  whom  I  felt  such  interest ;  to  see 
her  in  the  street,  to  pass  the  house  in  which  she  lived,  to  meet 
her  sometimes  in  her  walks,  to  hope  that  a  day  might  come 
when  I  might  be  in  a  condition  to  tell  her  of  my  love ;  this  was 
the  utmost  extent  of  my  thoughts.  Now,  however — but  I  should 
be  a  fool,  indeed,  to  repine  at  my  own  good  fortune.” 

Still  Nicholas  was  dissatisfied ;  and  there  was  more  in  the 
dissatisfaction  than  mere  revulsion  of  feeling.  He  was  angry 
with  the  young  lady  for  being  so  easily  won,  “because,”  reasoned 
Nicholas,  “it  is  not  as  if  she  knew  it  was  I,  but  it  might  have  been 
any  body,” — which  was  certainly  not  pleasant.  The  next  mo¬ 
ment  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  entertaining  such  thoughts, 
arguing  that  nothing  but  goodness  could  dwell  in  such  a  tein- 
l)lc,  and  that  the  behavior  of  the  brothers  sufficiently  showed 
the  estimation  in  which  they  held  her.  “The  fact  is.  she’s  a 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


583 


mystery  altogether,”  said  Nicholas.  This  was  not  more  satis¬ 
factory  than  his  previous  course  of  reflection,  and  only  drove 
him  out  upon  a  new  sea  of  speculation  and  conjecture,  where  he 
tossed  and  tumbled  in  great  discomfort  of  mind  until  the  clock 
struck  ten,  and  the  hour  of  meeting  drew  nigh. 

Nicholas  had  dressed  himself  with  great  care,  and  even  New¬ 
man  Noggs  had  trimmed  himself  up  a  little  ;  his  coat  presenting 
llie  phenomenon  of  two  consecutive  buttons,  and  the  supple¬ 
mentary  pins  being  inserted  at  tolerably  regular  intervals.  He 
wore  his  hat,  too,  in  the  newest  taste,  with  a  pocket-handker¬ 
chief  in  the  crown,  and  a  twisted  end  of  it  straggling  out  be¬ 
hind,  after  the  fashion  of  a  pigtail,  though  he  could  scarcely 
lay  claim  to  the  ingenuity  of  inventing  this  latter  decoiaition, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  irtterly  unconscious  of  it :  being  in  a  ner¬ 
vous  and  excited  condition  which  rendered  him  quite  insensible 
to  every  thing  but  the  great  object  of  the  expedition. 

They  traversed  the  streets  in  profound  silence  ;  and  after 
walking  at  a  round  pace  for  some  distance,  arrived  in  one  of  a 
gloomy  appearance  and  very  little  frequented,  near  the  Edge- 
ware-road. 

“  Number  twelve,”  said  Newman. 

“  Oh  1”  replied  Nicholas,  looking  about  him. 

“  Good  street  ?”  said  Newman. 

“Yes,”  returned  Nicholas,  “rather  dull.” 

Newman  made  no  answer  to  this  I’emark,  but  halting  ab- 
ru]flly,  planted  Nicholas  with  his  back  to  some  area  railings, 
and  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  was  to  wait  there,  without 
moving  hand  or  foot,  until  it  was  satisfactorily  ascertained  that 
the  coast  was  clear.  This  done,  Noggs  limped  away  with  great 
alacrity,  looking  over  his  shoulder  every  instant,  to  make  quite 
certain  that  Nicholas  was  obeying  his  directions;  and  ascending 
the  steps  of  a  house  some  half-dozen  doors  off,  was  lost  to 
view. 

After  a  short  delay,  he  reappeared,  and  limping  back  again, 
halted  midway,  and  beckoned  Nicholas  to  follow  him. 

“  Well  I”  said  Nicholas,  advancing  towards  him  on  tiptoe. 

“All  right,”  replied  Newman,  in  high  glee.  “All  ready; 
nobody  at  home.  “  Couldn’t  be  better.  Ha  !  ha  1” 

With  this  fortifying  assurance,  he  stole  past  a  street  door  on 


684 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


which  Nicholas  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  brass  plate,  witb 
•‘Bobster,”  in  very  large  letters;  and  stopping  at  the  area- 
gate,  which  was  open,  signed  to  his  young  friend  to  descend. 

“What  the  devil!”  cried  Nicholas,  drawing  back.  “Are 
we  to  sneak  into  the  kitchen  as  if  we  came  after  the  forks  ?” 

“Hush  !”  replied  Newman.  “  Old  Bobster — ferocious  Turk. 
He’d  kill  ’em  all — box  the  young  lady’s  ears — he  does — often.” 

“What!”  cried  Nicholas,  in  high  wrath,  “do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  any  man  would  dare  to  box  the  ears  of  such  a - ” 

He  had  no  time  to  sing  the  praises  of  his  mistress  just  then, 
for  Newman  gave  him  a  gentle  push  which  had  nearly  precipi¬ 
tated  him  to  the  bottom  of  the  area  steps.  Thinking  it  best  to 
take  the  hint  in  good  part,  Nicholas  descended  without  further 
remonstrance ;  but  with  a  countenance  bespeaking  any  thing 
rather  than  the  hope  and  rapture  of  a  passionate  lover.  New¬ 
man  followed — he  would  have  followed  head  first,  but  for  the 
tiuiely  assistance  of  Nicholas — and  taking  his  hand,  led  him 
through  a  stone  passage,  profoundly  dark,  into  a  back  kitchen 
or  cellar  of  the  blackest  and  most  pitchy  obscurity,  where  they 
stopped. 

“Well!”  said  Nicholas,  in  a  discontented  whisper,  “this  is 
not  all,  I  suppose,  is  it?” 

“No,  no,”  rejoined  Noggs  ;  “they’ll  be  here  directly.  It’s 
all  right. 

“  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,”  said  Nicholas.  “  I  shouldn’t  have 
thought  it,  I  confess.” 

They  exchanged  no  further  words,  and  there  Nicholas  stood, 
listening  to  the  loud  breathing  of  Newman  Noggs,  and  im¬ 
agining  that  his  nose  seemed  to  glow  like  a  red-hot  coal,  even 
in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  which  enshrouded  them.  Suddenly 
the  sound  of  cautious  footsteps  attracted  his  ear,  and  directly 
afterwards  a  female  voice  inquired  if  the  gentleman  were  there. 

“Yes,”  replied  Nicholas,  turning  towards  the  corner  from 
which  the  voice  proceeded.  “  Who  is  that  ?”, 

“  Only  me,  sir,”  replied  the  voice.  “Now  if  you  please  ma’am.” 

A  gleam  of  light  shone  into  the  place,  and  presently  the  ser¬ 
vant-girl  appeared,  bearing  a  light,  and  followed  by  her  young 
mistress,  who  seemed  to  be  overwhelmed  by  modesty  and  con¬ 
fusion. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


585 


At  sight  01  the  young  lady,  Nicholas  started  and  changed 
color ;  his  heai’t  beat  violently,  and  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot, 

At  that  instant,  and  almost  simultaneously  with  her  arrival 
and  that  of  the  candle,  there  was  heard  a  loud  and  furious  knock¬ 
ing  at  the  street-door,  which  caused  Newman  Noggs  to  jump  up 
with  great  agility  from  a  beer-barrel,  on  which  he  had  been 
seated  astride,  and  to  exclaim  abruptly,  and  with  a  face  of 
ashy  paleness,  “Bobster,  by  the  Lord  I” 

The  young  lady  shrieked,  the  attendant  wrung  her  hands, 
Nicholas  gazed  from  one  to  the  other  in  apparent  stupefaction, 
and  Newman  hurried  to  and  fro,  thrusting  his  hands  into  all 
his  pockets  successively,  and  drawing  out  the  linings  of  every 
one  in  the  excess  of  his  irresolution.  It  was  but  a  moment,  but 
the  confusion  crowded  into  that  one  moment  no  imagination 
can  exaggerate. 

“Leave  the  house,  for  Heaven’s  sake  !  We  have  done  wrong 
— we  deserve  it  all,”  cried  the  young  lady.  “  Leave  the  house, 
or  I  am  ruined  and  undone  for  ever.” 

“  Will  you  hear  me  say  but  one  word  I”  cried  Nicholas.  “  Only 
one.  I  will  not  detain  you.  Will  you  hear  me  say  one  word 
in  explanation  of  this  mischance  ?” 

But  Nicholas  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  wind,  for  the 
young  lady  with  distracted  looks  hurried  up  the  stairs.  He 
would  have  followed  her,  but  Newman  twisting  his  hand  in  his 
coat  collar,  dragged  him  towards  the  passage  by  which  they 
had  entered. 

"Let  me  go,  Newman,  in  the  Devil’s  name,”  cried  Nicholas. 
“  I  must  speak  to  her — I  will ;  I  will  not  leave  this  house  without.” 

“  Reputation— character — violence — consider,”  said  Newman, 
clinging  round  him  with  both  arms,  and  hurrying  him  away, 
“Let  them  open  the  door.  We’ll  go  as  we  came  directly  it’s 
shut.  Come.  This  way.  Here. 

Overpowered  by  the  remonstrances  of  Newman  and  the  tears 
and  prayers  of  the  girl,  and  the  tremendous  knocking  above, 
which  Imd  never  ceased,  Nicholas  allowed  himself  to  be  hurried 
olf ;  and  precisely  as  Mr.  Bobster  made  his  entrance  by  the  street 
door,  he  and  Noggs  made  their  exit  by  the  area-gate. 

They  hurried  away  through  several  streets  without  stopping 


586 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


or  speaking.  At  last  they  halted,  and  confronted  each  other 
with  blank  and  rueful  faces. 

“  Never  mind,”  said  Newman,  gasping  for  breath.  “  Don’t  bo 
cast  down.  It’s  all  right.  More  fortunate  next  time.  It  couldn’t 
be  helped.  I  did  my  part.” 

"Excellently,”  replied  Nicholas,  taking  his  hand.  “Excel 
lently,  and  like  the  true  and  zealous  friend  you  are.  Only- 
mind,  I  am  not  disappointed,  Newman,  and  feel  just  as  much 
indebted  to  you — only  it  was  the  wrong  lady.'’’ 

“  Eh  ?”  cried  Newman  Noggs.  “  Taken  in  by  the  servant  ?” 

“  Newman,  Newman,”  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder;  “it  was  the  wrong  servant  too.” 

Newman’s  under-jaw  dropped,  and  he  gazed  at  Nicholas  with 
his  sound  eye  fixed  fast  and  motionless  in  his  head. 

“Don’t  take  it  to  heart,”  said  Nicholas;  “it’s  of  no  conse¬ 
quence  ;  you  see  I  don’t  care  about  it ;  you  followed  the  wrong 
person,  that’s  all.” 

That  was  all.  Whether  Newman  Noggs  had  looked  round 
the  pump  in  a  slanting  direction  so  long,  that  his  sight  became 
impaired,  or  whether,  finding  that  there  was  time  to  spare,  he 
had  recruited  himself  with  a  few  drops  of  something  stronger 
than  the  pump  could  yield — by  whatsoever  means  it  had  come 
to  pass,  this  was  his  mistake.  And  Nicholas  went  home  to  brood 
upon  it,  and  to  meditate  upon  the  charms  of  the  unknown  young 
lady,  now  as  far  beyond  his  reach  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XL  I. 


CONTATNINQ  SOME  ROMANTIC  PASSAGES  BETWEEN  MRS.  NICKEEB? 

A  N  D  THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  THE  SMALL-CLOTHES  NEXT  DOOR. 

Ever  since  her  last  momentous  conversation  with  her  son, 
M  rs,  Nickleby  had  by  little  and  little  begun  to  display  unusual 
care  in  the  adornment  of  her  person,  gradually  superadding  to 
those  staid  and  matronly  habiliments,  which  had  up  to  that  time 
formed  her  ordinary  attire,  a  variety  of  embellishments  and  de¬ 
corations,  slight  perhaps  in  themselves,  but,  taken  together,  and 
considered  with  reference  to  the  subject  of  her  disclosure,  of  no 
mean  importance.  Even  her  black  dress  assumed  something  of 
a  deadly-lively  air  from  the  jaunty  style  in  which  it  was  worn  ; 
and,  eked  out  as  its  lingering  attractions  were,  by  a  prudent 
disposal  here  and  there  of  certain  juvenile  ornaments  of  little  or 
no  value,  which  had  for  that  reason  alone  escaped  the  general 
wreck  and  been  permitted  to  slumber  peacefully  in  odd  corners 
of  old  drawers  and  boxes  where  daylight  seldom  shone,  her 
mourning  garments  assumed  quite  a  new  character,  and  from 
being  the  outward  tokens  of  respect  and  sorrow  for  the  dead, 
were  converted  into  signals  of  very  slaughterous  and  killing  de¬ 
signs  upon  the  living. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  might  have  been  stimulated  to  this  proceeding 
by  a  lofty  sense  of  duty,  and  impulses  of  unquestionable  excel¬ 
lence.  She  might  by  this  time  have  become  impressed  with  the 
sinfulness  of  long  indulgence  in  unavailing  woe,  or  the  necessity 
of  setting  a  proper  example  of  neatness  and  decorum  to  her 
blooming  daughter.  Considerations  of  duty  and  responsibility 
ni)art,  the  change  might  have  taken  its  rise  in  feelings  of  the 
))urcst  and  most  disinterested  charity.  The  gentleman  next  door 
bad  been  vilified  by  Nicholas;  rudely  stigmatised  as  a  dotard 
and  an  idiot;  and  for  these  attacks  upon  his  understanding, 
Mrs.  Nickleby  was  in  some  sort  accountable.  She  might  hav^ 
felt  that  it  was  the  act  of  a  good  Christian  to  show,  by  all  means 

(587) 


688 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


in  her  power,  that  the  abused  gentleman  was  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other.  And  what  better  means  could  she  adopt  towards 
so  virtuous  and  laudable  an  end,  than  proving  to  all  men,  in  her 
own  person,  that  his  passion  was  the  most  rational  and  reason¬ 
able  in  the  world,  and  just  the  very  result  of  all  others  which 
discreet  and  thinking  persons  might  have  foreseen,  from  her  in¬ 
cautiously  displaying  her  matured  charms,  without  reserve,  under 
the  very  eye,  as  it  were,  of  an  ardent  and  too-susceptible  man  ? 

“Ahl”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  gravely  shaking  her  head,  “if 
Nicholas  knew  what  his  poor  dear  papa  suffered  before  we  were 
engaged,  when  I  used  to  hate  him,  he  would  have  a  little  more 
feeling.  Shall  I  ever  forget  the  morning  I  looked  scornfully  at 
him  when  he  offered  to  carry  my  parasol  ?  Or  that  night  when 
I  frowned  at  him  ?  It  was  a  mercy  he  didn’t  emigrate.  It 
very  nearly  drove  him  to  it.” 

Whether  the  deceased  might  not  have  been  better  off  if  ho 
had  emigrated  in  his  bachelor  days,  was  a  question  which  his 
relict  did  not  stop  to  consider,  for  Kate  entered  the  room  with 
her  work-box  in  this  stage  of  her  reflections ;  and  a  much  slighter 
interruption,  or  no  interruption  at  all,  would  have  diverted  Mrs. 
Nickleby ’s  thoughts  into  a  new  channel  at  any  time. 

“Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “I  don’t  know  how 
it  is,  but  a  fine  warm  summer  day  like  this,  with  the  birds  sing¬ 
ing  in  every  direction,  always  puts  me  in  mind  of  roast  pig, 
with  sage  and  onion  sauce  and  made  gravy.” 

“  That’s  a  curious  association  of  ideas,  is  it  not,  mamma  ?” 

“Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  don’t  know,”  replied  Mrs 
Nickleby.  “  Roast  pig — let  me  see.  On  the  day  five  weeks 
after  you  were  christened,  we  had  a  roast — no  that  couldn’t  hav« 
been  a  pig,  either,  because  I  recollect  there  were  a  pair  of  them 
to  carve,  and  your  poor  papa  and  I  could  never  have  thought  oi 
sitting  down  to  two  pigs — they  must  have  been  partridges.  Roast 
pig  1  I  hardly  think  we  ever  could  have  had  one,  now  I  come 
to  remember,  for  youi  papa  could  never  bear  the  sight  of  them 
in  the  shops,  and  used  to  say  that  they  always  put  him  in  mind 
of  very  little  babies,  only  the  pigs  had  much  fairer  complexions; 
and  he  had  a  horror  of  little  babies,  too,  because  he  couldn’t 
very  well  afford  any  increase  to  his  family,  and  had  a  natural 
dislike  to  the  subject.  It’s  very  odd  now,  what  can  put  that  in 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


589 


my  head.  1  recollect  dining  once  at  Mrs.  Bevan’s,  in  that  broad 
street,  round  the  corner  by  the  coachmaker’s,  where  the  tipsy 
man  fell  through  the  cellar-flap  of  an  empty  house  nearly  a  week 
before  quarter-day,  and  wasn’t  found  till  the  new  tenant  went  in 
• — and  we  had  roast  pig  there.  It  must  be  that,  T  think,  that 
reminds  me  of  it,  especially  as  there  was  a  little  bird  in  the 
room  that  would  keep  on  singing  all  the  time  of  dinner — at 
least,  not  a  little  bird,  for  it  was  a  parrot,  and  he  didn’t  sing 
exactly,  for  he  talked  and  swore  dreadfully  ;  but  1  think  it  must 
be  that.  Indeed  I  am  sure  it  must.  Shouldn’t  you  say  so,  my 
dear  ?” 

“  I  should  say  there  was  not  a  doubt  about  it,  mamma,”  re¬ 
turned  Kate,  with  a  cheerful  smile. 

“No ;  but  do  you  think  so,  Kate  ?”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with 
as  much  gravity  as  if  it  were  a  question  of  the  most  imminent 
and  thrilling  interest.  “If  you  don’t,  say  so  at  once,  you  know; 
because  it’s  just  as  well  to  be  correct,  particularly  on  a  point 
of  this  kind,  which  is  very  curious  and  worth  settling  while  one 
thinks  about  it.” 

Kate  laughingly  replied  that  she  was  quite  convinced  ;  and 
as  her  mamma  still  appeared  undetermined  whether  it  was  not 
absolutely  essential  that  the  subject  should  be  renewed,  proposed 
that  they  should  take  their  work  into  the  summer-house  and 
enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Nickleby  readily 
assented,  and  to  the  summer-house  they  repaired  without  further 
discussion. 

“  Well,  I  will  say,”  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  as  she  took  her 
seat,  “that  there  never  was  such  a  good  creature  as  Smike. 
Upon  my  word,  the  pains  he  has  taken  in  putting  this  little 
arbor  to  rights  and  training  the  sweetest  flowers  about  it,  are 

beyond  any  thing  I  could  have - 1  wish  he  wouldn’t  put  all 

the  gravel  on  your  side,  Kate,  my  dear,  though,  and  leave 
nothing  but  mould  for  me.” 

“Dear  mamma,”  returned  Kate,  hastily,  “take  this  seat — do 
. — to  oblige  me,  mamma.” 

“  No,  indeed,  my  dear.  I  shall  keep  my  own  side,”  said  Mrs, 
Nickleby.  “  W ell !  I  declare  1” 

Kate  looked  up  inquiringly. 

“  If  he  nasu’i  been,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “  and  got  from 


690 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


soraewlicre  or  other,  a  couple  of  roots  of  those  flowers  that  I 
said  I  was  so  fond  of  the  other  night,  and  asked  you  if  you  were 
not — no,  that  you  said  you  were  so  fond  of,  tlie  other  night,  and 
asked  rae  if  I  wasn’t — it’s  the  same  thing — now,  upon  my  word, 
1  take  tliat  as  very  kind  and  attentive  indeed !  I  don’t  see,” 
added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  looking  narrowly  about  her,  “any  ot 
tliem  on  my  side,  but  I  suppose  they  grow  best  near  the  gravel. 
You  may  depend  upon  it  they  do,  Kate,  and  that’s  the  reason 
the  j  are  all  near  you,  and  he  has  put  the  gravel  tliere  beeause 
it’s  the  sunny  side.  Upon  my  word,  that’s  very  clever  now.  I 
shouldn’t  have  had  half  as  much  thought  myself!” 

“Mamma,”  said  Kate,  hurriedly,  bending  over  her  work  so 
that  her  face  was  almost  hidden,  “  before  you  were  married — ” 

“Dear  me,  Kate,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Kickleby,  “what  in  the 
name  of  goodness  graeiousness  makes  you  fly  off  to  the  time 
before  I  was  married,  when  I’m  talking  to  you  about  his 
thoughtfulness  and  attention  to  me  ?  You  don’t  seem  to  take 
the  smallest  interest  in  the  garden.” 

“Oh  1  mamma,”  said  Kate,  raising  her  face  again,  “you  know 
I  do.” 

“  Well  then,  my  dear,  why  don’t  you  praise  the  neatness  and 
prettiness  with  which  it  is  kept,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “How 
very  odd  you  are,  Kate  1” 

“  I  do  praise  it,  mamma,”  answered  Kate,  gently.  “  Poor 
fellow !” 

“I  scarcely  ever  hear  you,  my  dear,”  retorted  Mrs.  Nickleby; 
“that’s  all  I’ve  got  to  say.”  By  this  time  the  good  lady  had 
been  a  long  while  upon  one  topic,  so  she  fell  at  once  into  her 
daughter’s  little  trap  for  changing  it — if  trap  it  were — and  in¬ 
quired  what  she  had  been  going  to  say. 

“About  what,  mamma?”  said  Kate,  who  had  apparently 
quite  forgotten  her  diversion. 

“  Lor,  Kate,  my  dear,”  returned  her  mother,  “  why,  you’re 
asleep  or  stupid.  About  the  time  before  I  was  married.” 

“Oh  yes  I”  said  Kate,  “  I  remember.  I  was  going  to  ask, 
mamma,  before  you  were  married,  had  you  many  suitors  ?” 

“  Suitors,  my  dear  I”  cried-  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  smile  of 
wonderful  complacency.  “First  and  last,  Kate,  I  must  have 
had  a  dozen  at  least.” 


NICHOLAS  NIC  KLEE  Y. 


591 


“  Mamma  1”  returned  Kate,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance. 

“  I  had  indeed,  my  dear,’*  said  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “  not  including 
your  poor  papa,  or  a  young  gentleman  who  used  to  go  at  that 
time  to  the  same  dancing  school,  and  wlio  would  send  gold 
watches  and  bracelets  to  our  house  in  gilt-edged  paper,  (which 
were  always  returned),  and  who  afterwards  unfortunately  went 
out  to  Botany  Bay  in  a  cadet  ship — a  convict  ship  I  mean — 
and  escaped  into  a  bush  and  killed  sheep  (I  don’t  know  how 
they  got  there),  and  was  going  to  be  hung,  only  he  accidentally 
choked  himself,  and  the  government  pardoned  him.  Then 
there  was  young  Lukin,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  beginning  with 
her  left  thumb  and  checking  off  tlie  names  on  her  fingers — 
"  Mogley — Tipslark — Cabbery — Smifser - ” 

Having  now  reached  her  little  finger,  Mrs.  Nickleby  was 
carrying  the  account  over  to  the  other  hand,  when  a  loud 
“  Hem  1”  wliich  appeared  to  come  from  the  very  foundation  of 
the  garden  wall,  gave  both  herself  and  her  daughter  a  violent 
start. 

“  Mamma  I”  what  was  that  ?”  said  Kate,  in  a  low  tone  of 
voice. 

“Upon  my  word,  my  dear,”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  con¬ 
siderably  startled,  “unless  it  was  the  gentleman  belonging  to 
the  next  house,  I  don’t  know  what  it  could  possibly — ” 

“A — hem  1”  cried  tlie  same  voice  ;  and  that  not  in  the  tone 
of  an  ordinary  clearing  of  the  throat,  but  in  a  kind  of  bellow, 
which  woke  up  all  the  echoes  in  the  neighborhood,  and  was 
prolonged  to  an  extent  which  must  have  made  the  unseen 
bellower  quite  black  in  the  face. 

“I  understand  it  now,  iny  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  laying 
her  hand  on  Kate’s;  “don’t  be  alarmed,  my  love,  it’s  not 
directed  to  you,  and  is  not  intended  to  frighten  any  body.  Let 
us  give  every  body  their  due,  Kate;  I  am  bound  to  say  that.” 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Nickleby  nodded  her  head,  and  patted  the 
Lack  of  her  daughter’s  hand  a  great  many  times,  and  looked  as 
if  she  could  tell  something  vastly  important  if  she  chose,  but 
had  self-denial,  thank  God  !  and  wouldn’t  do  it. 

“What  do  you  mean,  mamma?”  demanded  Kate,  in  evident 
surprise. 

“Don’t  bo  fiurried,  mv  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  looking 
38 


692 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


towards  the  garden-wall,  “for  you  see  I’m  not,  and  if  it  would 
be  excusable  in  any  body  to  be  flurried,  it  certainly  would — ^ 
under  all  the  circumstances — be  excusable  in  me,  but  I  am  not, 
Kate — not  at  all,” 

“It  seems  designed  to  attract  our  attention,  mamma,”  said 
K  ate. 

“  It  is  designed  to  attract  our  attention,  my  dear — at  least,” 
rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drawing  herself  up,  and  patting  her 
daughter’s  hand  more  blandly  than  before,  “to  attract  the 
attention  of  one  of  us.  Hem  I  you  needn’t  be  at  all  uneasy, 
my  dear.” 

Kate  looked  very  much  perplexed,  and  was  apparently  about 
to  ask  for  further  explanation,  when  a  shouting  and  scuffling 
noise,  as  of  an  elderly  gentleman  whooping,  and  kicking  up  his 
legs  on  loose  gravel  with  great  violence,  was  heard  to  proceed 
from  the  same  direction  as  the  former  sounds ;  and,  before  they 
had  subsided,  a  large  cucumber  was  seen  to  shoot  up  in  the 
air  with  the  velocity  of  a  sky-rocket,  whence  it  descended 
tumbling  over  and  over,  until  it  fell  at  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  feet. 

This  remarkable  appearance  was  succeeded  by  another  of  a 
precisely  similar  description  ;  then  a  fine  vegetable-marrow,  of 
unusually  large  dimensions,  was  seen  to  whirl  aloft,  and  come 
toppling  down  ;  then  several  cucumbers  shot  up  together ;  and, 
finally,  the  air  was  darkened  by  a  shower  of  onions,  turnip- 
radishes,  and  other  small  vegetables,  which  fell  rolling  and 
scattering  and  bumping  about  in  all  directions. 

As  Kate  rose  from  her  seat  in  some  alarm,  and  caught  her 
mother’s  hand  to  run  with  her  into  the  house,  she  felt  herself 
rather  retarded  than  assisted  in  her  intention  ;  and,  following 
Ihe  direction  of  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  eyes,  was  quite  terrified  by  the 
apparition  of  an  old  black  velvet  cap,  which,  by  slow  degrees, 
as  if  its  wearer  were  ascending  a  ladder  or  pair  of  steps,  rose 
above  the  wall  dividing  their  garden  from  that  of  the  next 
cottage  (which,  like  their  own,  was  a  detached  building),  and 
was  gradually  followed  by  a  very  large  head,  and  an  old  face, 
in  which  were  a  pair  of  most  extraordinary  grey  eyes,  very 
wild,  very  wide  open,  and  rolling  in  their  sockets  with  a  dull, 
languishing,  and  leering  look,  most  ugly  to  behold. 

“Mamma  I”  cried  Kate,  really  terrified  for  the  moment,  “why 


NICHOLAS  MCKLEBY. 


698 


do  you  stop,  why  do  you  lose  an  instant? — Mamma,  pray 
come  in  1” 

“Kate,  my  dear,”  returned  her  mother,  still  holdinf^  back, 
“  how  can  you  be  so  foolish  ?  I’m  ashamed  of  you.  How  do 
you  suppose  you  are  ever  to  get  through  life,  if  you’re  such  a 
coward  as  this  I  What  do  you  want.  Sir  ?”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
addressing  the  intruder  with  a  sort  of  simpering  displeasure. 
“  H  ow  dare  you  look  into  this  garden  ?” 

“  Queen  of  my  soul,”  replied  the  stranger,  folding  his  hands 
together,  “this  goblet  sip.” 

“Nonsense,  Sir,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “Kate,  my  love,  pray 
be  quiet.” 

“Won’t  you  sip  the  goblet?”  urged  the  stranger,  with  his 
head  imploringly  on  one  side,  and  his  right  hand  on  his  breast. 
“  Oh,  do  sip  the  goblet !” 

“I  shall  not  consent  to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  Sir,”  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  haughty  air.  “Pray,  begone.” 

“  Why  is  it,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  coming  up  a  step 
higher,  and  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  wall,  with  as  much  com¬ 
placency  as  if  he  were  looking  out  of  a  window,  “  why  is  it  that 
beauty  is  always  obdurate,  even  when  admiration  is  as  honorable 
and  respectful  as  mine  ?”  Here  he  smiled,  kissed  his  hand,  and 
made  several  low  bows.  “Is  it  owing  to  the  bees,  who,  when 
the  honey  season  is  over,  and  they  are  supposed  to  have  been 
killed  with  brimstone,  in  reality  fly  to  Barbary  and  lull  the 
captive  Moors  to  sleep  with  their  drowsy  songs  ?  Or  is  it,”  he 
added,  dropping  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  “  in  consequence 
of  Ihe  statue  at  Charing  Cross  having  been  lately  seen  on  the 
Stock  Exchange  at  midnight,  walking  arm-in-arm  with  the 
pump  from  Aldgate,  in  a  riding-habit?” 

“Mamma,”  murmured  Kate,  “do  you  hear  him?” 

“  Hush,  my  dear  1”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  the  same  tone 
of  voice,  “he  is  very  ])olite  and  I  think  that  was  a  quotation 
from  the  poets.  Pray,  don’t  worry  me  so — you’ll  pinch  my  arm 
black  and  blue.  Go  away,  sir.” 

“Quite  away  ?”  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  languishing  look, 
“  Oh  I  quite  away.” 

“  Yea,”  returned  Mrs  Nickleby,  “certainly.  You  have  no 


594 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


business  here.  This  is  private  property,  Sir ;  you  ought  to  know 
that.” 

“  I  do  know,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  laying  his  finger  on 
his  nose  with  an  air  of  familiarity  most  reprehensible,  ”  that  this 
is  a  sacred  and  enchanted  spot,  where  the  most  divine  charms,” 
—here  he  kissed  his  hand  and  bowed  again — “  waft  mellifluous- 
ness  over  the  neighbors’  gardens,  and  force  the  fruit  and  vege¬ 
tables  into  premature  existence.  Tliat  fact  I  am  acquainted 
will,.  But  will  you  permit  me,  fairest  creature,  to  ask  you  one 
question,  in  the  absence  of  the  planet  Venus,  who  has  gone  on 
business  to  the  Horse  Guards,  and  would  otherwise — jealous  of 
your  superior  charms — interpose  between  us  ?” 

“Kate,”  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  turning  to  her  daughter, 
“it’s  very  awkward,  positively.  I  really  don’t  know  what  to 
say  to  this  gentleman.  One  ought  to  be  civil,  you  know.” 

“Hear  mamma,”  rejoined  Kate,  “don’t say  a  word  to  him,  but 
let  us  run  away  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  shut  ourselvs  up  till 
Nicholas  comes  home.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  looked  very  grand,  not  to  say  contemptuous, 
at  this  humiliating  proposal ;  and  turning  to  the  old  gentleman, 
who  had  watched  them  during  these  whispers  with  absorbing 
eagerness,  said — 

“  If  you  will  conduct  yourself,  sir,  like  the  gentleman  which 
I  should  imagine  you  to  be  from  your  language  and — and — ap¬ 
pearance  (quite  the  counterpart  of  your  grand-papa,  Kate,  my 
dear,  in  his  best  days),  and  will  put  your  question  to  me  in  plain 
words,  I  will  answer  it. 

If  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  excellent  papa  had  borne,  in  his  best  days, 
a  resemblance  to  the  neighbor  now  looking  over  the  wall,  he 
must  have  been,  to  say  the  least,  a  very  queer-looking  old  gen¬ 
tleman  in  his  prime.  Perhaps  Kate  thought  so,  for  she  ven¬ 
tured  to  glance  at  his  living  portrait  with  some  attention,  as  he 
took  off  his  black  velvet  cap,  and,  exhibiting  a  perfectly  bald 
Iiead,  made  a  long  series  of  bows,  each  accompanied  with  a  fresh 
kiss  of  the  hand.  After  exhausting  himself,  to  all  appearance, 
with  this  fatiguing  performance,  he  covered  his  head  once  more, 
pulled  the  cap  very  carefully  over  the  tips  of  his  ears,  and  re¬ 
suming  his  former  attitude,  said, 

“  The  question  is - ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


696 


Here  he  broke  off  to  look  round  in  every  direction,  and  satisfy 
himself  beyond  all  doubt  that  there  were  no  listeners  near.  As¬ 
sured  that  there  were  not,  he  tapped  his  nose  several  times,  ac¬ 
companying  the  action  with  a  cunning  look,  as  though  congrat¬ 
ulating  himself  on  his  caution ;  and  stretching  out  his  neck,  said 
in  a  loud  whisper, 

“  Are  you  a  princess  ?” 

“You  are  mocking  me,  sir,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  making 
e  feint  of  retreating  towards  the  house. 

“  No,  but  are  you  said  the  old  gentleman. 

“You  know  1  am  not,  sir,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“  Then  are  you  any  relation  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canter¬ 
bury  ?”  inquired  the  old  gentleman  with  great  anxiety,  “or  to 
the  Pope  of  Home  ?  or  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  ? 
Forgive  me,  if  I  am  wrong,  but  I  was  told  you  were  niece  to  the 
Commissioners  of  Paving,  and  daughter-in-law  to  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  Court  of  Common  Council,  which  would  account 
for  your  relationship  to  all  three.” 

“  Whoever  has  spread  such  repoi’ts,  sir,”  returned  Mrs.  Nick¬ 
leby,  with  some  warmth,  “  has  taken  great  liberties  with  my 
name,  and  one  which  I  am  sure  my  son  Nicholas,  if  he  was  aware 
of  it,  would  not  allow  for  an  instant.  The  idea!”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  drawing  herself  up,  “niece  to  the  Commissioners  of 
Paving  I” 

“  Pray,  mamma,  come  away  I”  whispered  Kate. 

“  ‘  Pray,  mamma  1’  Nonsense,  Kate,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  an¬ 
grily,  “  but  that’s  just  the  way.  If  they  had  said  I  was  niece  to  a 
pil)ing  bullfinch,  what  would  you  care  !  But  I  have  no  sym- 
])athy” — whimpered  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “I  don’t  expect  it,  that’s 
one  thing.” 

“  Tears  1”  cried  the  old  gentleman,  with  such  an  energetic 
jump,  that  he  fell  down  two  or  three  steps,  and  grated  his  chin 
against  the  wall.  “  Catch  the  crystal  globules — catch  'em — 
bottle  ’em  u[) — cork  ’em  tight — put  sealing-wax  on  the  top — 
seal  ’em  with  a  cupid — label  ’em  ‘  Best  quality’. — and  stow  ’em 
away  in  the  fourteen  binn,  with  a  bar  of  iron  on  the  top  to  keep 
the  thunder  off !” 

Issuing  these  commands,  as  if  there  were  a  dozen  attendants 
dll  actively  engaged  in  their  execution,  he  turned  his  velvet  cap 


596 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


inside  out,  put  it  on  with  great  dignity  so  as  to  obscure  hia 
right  eye  and  three-fourths  of  his  nose,  and  sticking  his  arms 
a-kimbo,  looked  very  fiercely  at  a  sparrow  hard  by,  till  the  bird 
flew  a.way,  when  he  put  his  cap  in  his  pocket  with  an  air  of  great 
satisfaction,  and  addressed  himself  with  a  respectful  demeanor 
to  Mrs  Nickleby. 

“  Beautiful  madam,”  such  were  his  words — "  if  I  have  made 
any  mistake  with  regard  to  your  family  or  connexions,  I  humbly 
beseech  j  ou  to  pardon  me.  If  I  supposed  you  to  be  related  to 
Foreign  Powers  or  Native  Boards,  it  is  because  you  have  a  man¬ 
ner,  a  carriage,  a  dignity,  which  you  will  excuse  my  saying  that 
none  but  yourself  (with  the  single  exception  perhaps  of  tho 
tragic  muse,  when  playing  extemporaneously  on  the  barrel 
organ  before  the  East  India  Company)  can  parallel.  I  am  not 
a  youth,  ma’am,  as  you  see;  and  although  beings  like  you  can 
never  grow  old,  I  venture  to  presume  that  we  are  fitted  for  each 
other.” 

“Really,  Kate,  my  love  1”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby  faintly,  and 
looking  another  way. 

“  I  have  estates,  ma’am,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  flourishing 
his  hand  negligently,  as  if  he  made  very  light  of  such  matters, 
and  speaking  very  fast;  “jewels,  light-houses,  fish-ponds,  a 
whalery  of  my  own  in  the  North  Sea,  and  several  oyster-beds 
of  great  profit  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  If  you  will  have  the  kind¬ 
ness  to  step  down  to  the  Royal  Exchange  and  to  take  the  cocked 
hat  off  the  stoutest  beadle’s  head,  you  will  find  my  card  in  the 
lining  of  the  crown,  wrapped  up  in  a  piece  of  blue  paper.  My 
walking-stick  is  also  to  be  seen  on  application  to  the  chaplain 
of  the  Honse  of  Commons,  who  is  strictly  forbidden  to  take  any 
money  for  showing  it.  I  have  enemies  about  me,  ma’am,”  he 
looked  towards  his  honse  and  spoke  very  low,  “who  attack  me 
on  all  occasions,  and  wish  to  secure  my  property.  If  you  bless 
me  with  your  hand  and  heart,  you  can  apply  to  the  Lord  Chan¬ 
cellor  or  call  out  the  military  if  necessary — sending  my  tooth¬ 
pick  to  tlie  coinmander-in-chief  will  be  sufficient — and  so  clear 
the  house  of  them  before  the  ceremony  is  performed.  After 
that,  love,  bliss  and  rapture ;  rapture,  love  and  bliss.  Be  mine, 
be  mine  I” 

Repeating  these  last  words  with  great  rapture  and  enthu- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


597 


siasra,  the  old  gentleman  put  on  his  black  velvet  cap  again,  and 
looking  up  into  the  sky  in  a  hasty  manner,  said  something  that 
was  not  quite  intelligible  concerning  a  balloon  he  expected,  and 
which  was  rather  after  its  time. 

“Be  mine,  be  mine  I”  repeated  the  old  gentleman. 

“Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “I  have  hardly  the 
power  to  speak  ;  but  it  is  necessary  for  the  happiness  of  all 
parties  that  this  matter  should  be  set  at  rest  for  ever. 

“  Surely  there  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  say  one  word, 
mamma  ?”  reasoned  Kate. 

“  y  ou  will  allow  me,  my  dear,  if  you  please,  to  judge  for 
myself,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“  Be  mine,  be  mine  I”  cried  the  old  gentleman. 

“  It  can  scarcely  be  expected.  Sir,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  fixing 
her  eyes  modestly  on  the  ground,  “  that  I  should  tell  a  stranger 
whether  I  feel  flattered  and  obliged  by  such  proposals,  or  not. 
They  certainly  are  made  under  very  singular  circumstances; 
still  at  the  same  time,  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  to  a  certain  extent 
of  course,”  (Mrs.  Nickleby’s  customary  qualification,)  “they 
must  be  gratifying  and  agreeable  to  one’s  feelings.” 

“  Be  mine,  be  mine  1”  cried  the  old  gentleman.  “  Gog  and 
Magog,  Gog  and  Magog.  Be  mine,  be  mine  1” 

“  It  will  be  sufficient  for  me  to  say.  Sir,”  resumed  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  with  ])erfect  seriousness — “  and  I’m  sure  you’ll  see 
the  propriety  of  taking  an  answer  and  going  away — that  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  remain  a  widow,  and  to  devote  myself  to 
my  children.  You  may  not  suppose  I  am  the  mother  of  two 
children — indeed  many  people  have  doubted  it,  and  said  that 
nothing  on  earth  could  ever  make  ’em  believe  it  possible — but 
it  is  the  case  and  they  are  both  grown  up.  We  shall  be  very 
glad  to  have  you  for  a  neighbor — very  glad  ;  delighted,  I’m  sure 
—  b\it  in  any  other  character  it’s  quite  impossible,  quite.  As 
to  my  being  young  enough  to  marry  again,  that  perhaps  may 
be  so,  or  it  may  not  be  ;  but  I  couldn’t  think  of  it  for  an  in- 
ctant,  not  on  any  account  whatever.  I  said  I  never  would,  and 
I  never  will.  It’s  a  very  painful  thing  to  have  to  reject  pro¬ 
posals,  and  I  would  much  rather  that  none  were  made ;  at  the 
same  time  this  is  the  answer  that  I  determined  long  ago  to 
make,  and  this  is  the  answer  I  shall  always  give.” 


598 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


These  observations  were  partly  addressed  to  the  old  gentle¬ 
man,  partly  to  Kate,  and  partly  delivered  in  soliloquy. 
Towards  their  conclusion,  the  suitor  evinced  a  very  irreve¬ 
rent  degree  of  inattention,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  scarcely 
finished  speaking,  when,  to  the  great  terror  both  of  that 
lady  and  her  daughter,  he  suddenly  flung  off  his  coat,  and 
springing  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  threw  himself  into  an  attitude 
which  displayed  his  small-clothes  and  grey  worsteds  to  the 
fullest  advantage,  and  concluded  by  standing  on  one  leg,  and 
repeating  his  favorite  bellow  with  increased  vehemence. 

While  he  was  still  dwelling  on  the  last  note,  and  embellishing 
it  with  a  prolonged  flourish,  a  dirty  hand  was  observed  to 
glide  stealthily  and  swiftly  along  the  top  of  the  wall,  as  if  in 
pursuit  of  a  fly,  and  then  to  clasp  with  the  utmost  de.xterity  one 
of  the  old  gentleman’s  ancles.  This  done,  the  companion  hand 
appeared,  and  clasped  the  other  ancle. 

Thus  encumbered  the  old  gentleman  lifted  his  legs  awkwardly 
once  or  twice,  as  if  they  were  very  clumsy  and  imperfect  pieces 
of  machinery,  and  then  looking  down  on  his  own  side  of  the 
wall,  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

“  It’s  you,  is  it  ?”  said  the  old  gentleman, 

“Yes,  it’s  me,”  replied  a  gruff  voice. 

“  How’s  the  Emperor  of  Tartary  ?”  said  the  old  gentleman. 

“  Oh  1  he’s  much  the  same  as  usual,”  was  the  reply.  “  No 
better  and  no  worse.” 

“  The  young  prince  of  China,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  with 
much  interest.  “  Is  he  reconciled  to  his  father-in-law,  the  great 
potato  salesman  ?” 

“  No,”  answered  the  gruff  voice  ;  “  and  he  says  he  never  will 
be,  that’s  more,” 

“  If  that’s  the  case,”  observed  the  old  gentleman,  “  perhaps 
]’d  better  come  down,” 

“Well,”  said  the  man  on  the  other  side,  “I  think  you  had, 
perhaps.” 

One  of  the  hands  being  then  cautiously  unclasped,  the  old 
gentleman  dropped  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  was  looking  round 
to  smile  and  bow  to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  when  he  disappeared  with 
some  precipitation,  as  if  his  legs  had  been  pulled  from  below. 

Very  much  relieved  by  his  disappearance,  Kate  was  turning 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


699 


to  speak  to  her  mamma,  when  the  dirty  hands  again  became 
visible,  and  were  immediately  followed  by  the  figure  of  a  coarse 
squat  man,  who  ascended  by  the  steps  which  had  been  recently 
occupied  by  their  singular  neighbor. 

“Beg  your  pardon,  ladies,”  said  this  new  comer,  grinning 
and  touching  his  hat.  “  Has  he  been  making  love  to  either 
of  you  ?” 

“  Yes,”  said  Kate. 

“Ah  I”  rejoined  the  man,  taking  his  handkerchief  out  of  hla 
hat  and  wiping  his  face,  “he  always  will,  you  know.  Nothing 
will  prevent  his  making  love.” 

“  I  need  not  ask  you  if  he  is  out  of  his  mind,  poor  creature,” 
said  Kate. 

“Why  no,”  replied  the  man,  looking  into  his  hat,  throwing 
his  handkerchief  in  at  one  dab,  and  putting  it  on  again. 
“That’s  pretty  plain,  that  is.” 

“  Has  he  been  long  so  ?”  asked  Kate. 

“A  long  while.” 

“  And  is  there  no  hope  for  him  ?”  said  Kate  compassionately. 

“Not  a  bit,  and  don’t  deserve  to  be,”  replied  the  keeper. 
“  He’s  a  deal  pleasanter  without  his  senses  than  with  ’em.  He 
was  tlie  cruelest,  wickedest,  out-and-outerest  old  flint  that  ever 
drawed  breath.” 

“  Indeed  I”  said  Kate. 

“  By  George  1”  replied  the  keeper,  shaking  his  head  so 
emphatically  that  he  was  obliged  to  frown  to  keep  his  hat  on, 
“  I  never  come  across  such  a  vagabond,  and  my  mate  says  the 
same.  Broke  his  poor  wife’s  heart,  turned  his  daughters  out 
of  doors,  drove  his  sons  into  the  streets — it  was  a  blessing  he 
went  mad  at  last,  through  evil  tempers,  and  covetousness,  and 
selflshiiess,  and  guzzling,  and  drinking,  or  he’d  have  drove 
many  others  so.  Hope  for  hivi,  an  old  rip !  There  isn’t  too 
much  ho}m  going,  but  I’ll  bet  a  crown  that  what  there  is,  is 
saved  for  more  deserving  chaps  than  him,  anyhow.” 

With  which  confession  of  his  faith,  iie  keeper  shook  his 
head  again,  as  much  as  to  say  that  nothing  short  of  this  would 
do,  if  things  were  to  go  on  at  all ;  and  touching  his  hat  sulkily 
• — not  that  he  was  in  an  ill  humor,  but  that  his  subject  ruffled 
him — descended  the  ladder,  and  took  it  away. 


600 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


During  this  conversation,  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  regarded  the 
man  with  a  severe  and  steadfast  look.  She  now  heaved  a  pro¬ 
found  sigh,  and  pursing  up  her  lips,  shook  her  head  in  a  slow 
and  doubtful  manner. 

“  Poor  creature  1”  said  Kate. 

“  Ah  1  poor  indeed  I”  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby  “  It’s  shame¬ 
ful  that  such  things  should  be  allowed.  Shameful !” 

“How  can  they  be  helped,  mamma  ?”  said  Kate  mournfully. 

“The  infirmities  of  nature - ” 

“ Nature  1”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “What!  Do  you  suppose 
this  poor  gentleman  is  out  of  his  mind  ?” 

“  Can  any  body  who  sees  him  entertain  any  other  opinion, 
mamma  ?” 

“Why  then,  I  just  tell  you  this,  Kate,”  returned  Mrs.  Nick¬ 
leby,  “  tliat  he  is  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  I  am  surprised  you 
can  be  so  imposed  upon.  It’s  some  plot  of  these  people  to 
possess  themselves  of  his  property — didn’t  he  say  so  himself  ? 
He  may  be  a  little  odd  and  flighty,  perhaps,  many  of  us  are 
that ;  but  downright  mad  1  and  express  himself  as  he  does, 
respectfully,  and  in  quite  poetical  language,  and  making  offers 
with  so  much  thought,  and  care,  and  prudence — not  as  if  he 
ran  into  the  streets,  and  went  down  upon  his  knees  to  the  first 
:hit  of  a  girl  he  met,  as  a  madman  would!  No,  no,  Kate, 
there’s  a  great  deal  too  much  method  in  his  madness ;  depend 
upon  that,  my  dear.” 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


ijjLustrative  of  the  convivial  sentiment,  that  the  best 

OF  FRIENDS  MUST  SOMETIMES  PART. 

The  pavement  of  Snow  Hill  bad  been  baking  and  frying  all 
day  in  the  heat,  and  the  twain  Saracens’  heads  guarding  the 
entrance  to  the  hostlery  of  whose  name  and  sign  they  are  the 
duplicate  presentments,  looked — or  seemed  in  the  eyes  of  jaded 
and  foot-sore  passers-by,  to  look — more  vicious  than  usual,  after 
blistering  and  scorching  in  the  sun,  when,  in  one  of  the  inn’s 
smallest  sitting-rooms,  through  whose  open  window  there  rose, 
in  a  palpable  steam,  wholesome  exhalations  from  reeking  coach- 
horses,  the  usual  furniture  of  a  tea-table  was  displayed  in  neat 
and  inviting  order,  fianked  by  large  joints  of  roast  and  boil,  a 
tongue,  a  pigeon-pie,  a  cold  fowl,  a  tankard  of  ale,  and  other  little 
matters  of  the  like  kind,  which,  in  degenerate  towns  and  cities, 
are  generally  understood  to  belong  more  particularly  to  solid 
lunches,  stage-coach  dinners,  or  unusually  substantial  break¬ 
fasts. 

Mr.  John  Browdie,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  hovered 
restlessly  about  these  delicacies,  stopping  occasionally  to  whisk 
the  flies  out  of  the  sugar-basin  with  his  wife’s  pocket-handker¬ 
chief,  or  to  dip  a  tea-spoon  in  the  milk-pot  and  carry  it  to  his 
mouth,  or  cut  off  a  little  knob  of  crust,  and  a  little  corner  of 
meat,  and  swallow  them  at  two  gulps  like  a  couple  of  pills. 
After  every  one  of  these  flirtations  with  the  eatables,  he  pulled 
out  his  watch,  and  declared  with  an  earnestness  quite  pathetic 
that  he  couldn’t  undertake  to  hold  out  two  minutes  longer. 

“  Tilly  !”  said  John  to  his  lady,  who  was  reclining  half  awake 
and  half  asleep  upon  a  sofa. 

“Well,  John!” 

“  Weel,  John  !”  retorted  her  husband,  impatiently.  “  Dost 
thou  feel  hungry,  lass  ?” 

“Not  very,”  said  Mrs.  Browdie. 


(600 


602 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Not  vary  1”  repeated  John,  raising  his  eyes  to  tlie  ceiling 
“  Hear  her  say  not  vary,  and  us  dining  at  three,  and  loonching 
oif  pasthry  that  aggravates  a  inon  ’stead  of  pacifying  him  t 
Not  vary  I” 

“  Here’s  a  gen’l’raan  for  yon,  Sir,”  said  ilie  waiter,  looking  in. 

“A  wa’at,  for  me?”  cried  John,  as  though  he  thought  it  must 
be  a  letter,  or  a  parcel. 

“  A  gen’l’raan.  Sir.” 

“Stars  and  garthers,  chap!”  said  John,  “wa’at  dost  thoo 
coom  and  say  thot  for.  In  wi’  ’un.” 

“  Arc  you  at  home.  Sir  ?” 

“At  whoam  !”  cried  John,  “I  wish  I  wur ;  I’d  ha  tea’d  two 
hour  ago.  Why,  I  told  t’oother  chap  to  look  sharp  ootside 
door,  and  tell  ’un  d’rectly  he  coom,  that  we  war  faint  wi’ 
hoonger.  In  wi’  ’un.  Aha  I  Thee  bond,  Misther  Nickleby. 
This  is  nigh  to  be  the  proodest  day  o’  my  life.  Sir.  Hoo  be  all 
wi’  ye  ?  Ding  I  But  I’m  glod  o’  this  I” 

Quite  forgetting  even  his  hunger  in  the  lieartiness  of  his  salu¬ 
tation,  John  Browdie  shook  Nicholas  by  the  hand  again  and 
again,  slapping  his  palm  wdth  great  violence  between  each  shake, 
to  add  warmth  to  the  reception. 

“  Ah  !  there  she  be  1”  said  John,  observing  the  look  which 
Nicholas  directed  towards  his  wife.  “  There  she  be — we  shan’t 
quarrel  about  her  noo- — Eh  !  Ecod,  when  I  think  o’  thot — but 
thou  want’st  soom’at  to  eat.  Fall  to,  mun,  fall  to,  and  for 
wa’at  we’re  aboot  to  receive - ” 

No  doubt  the  grace  was  properly  finished,  but  nothing  more 
was  heard,  for  John  had  already  begun  to  play  such  a  knife 
and  fork,  that  his  speech  was,  for  the  time,  gone. 

“  I  shall  take  the  usual  license,  Mr.  Browdie,”  said  Nicholas, 
as  he  placed  a  chair  for  the  bride. 

“  Tak’  whatever  thou  like’st,”  said  John,  “and  when  a’s 
gane,  ca’  for  more.” 

Without  stopping  to  explain,  Nicholas  kissed  the  blushing 
Mrs.  Browdie,  and  handed  her  to  her  seat. 

“  I  say,”  said  John,  rather  astounded  for  the  moment,  “  male’ 
theeself  quite  at  whoam,  will  ’ee  ?” 

“You  may  depend  upon  that,”  replied  Nicholas;  “on  one 
condition.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


603 


“  And  wa’at  may  tlmt  be  ?”  asked  John. 

“  That  you  make  me  a  godfather  the  very  first  time  you  hare 
occasion  for  one.” 

“Eh!  d’ye  hear  thot  I”  cried  Jolin,  laying  down  his  knife 
and  fork.  “  A  godfeyther  !  Ila  I  ha  1  ha  I  Tilly — hear  till 
’un — a  godfeyther  I  Jlivn’t  say  a  "word  more,  ye’ll  never  beat 
thot.  Occasion  for  ’un — a  godfeyther  1  ITa  !  ha  !  ha  I” 

Never  was  man  so  tickled  witli  a  respectable  old  juke,  as 
John  Browdie  was  with  this.  lie  chuckled,  roared,  half  suR'o 
cated  himself  by  laughing  large  pieces  of  beef  into  his  wind[)ipe, 
roared  again,  persisted  in  eating  at  the  same  time,  got  red  in 
the  face  and  black  in  the  forehead,  coughed,  cried,  got  better, 
went  off  again  laughing  inwardly,  got  worse,  choked,  had  his 
back  thumped,  stamped  about,  frightened  his  wife,  and  at  last 
recovered  in  a  state  of  the  last  exliaustion  and  with  the  water 
streaming  from  his  eyes,  but  still  faintly  ejaculating  “  A  god- 
feyther — a  godfeyther,  Tilly  !”  in  a  tone  bes])eaking  an  excpu- 
site  relish  of  the  sally,  which  no  suffering  could  diminish. 

“  You  remember  the  night  of  our  first  tea-drinking  ?”  said 
Nicholas. 

“  Sliall  I  e’er  forget  it,  mun  !”  replied  John  Browdie. 

“He  was  a  desperate  fellow  that  night  though,  was  he  not, 
^Irs.  Browdie  ?”  said  Nicholas.  “  Quite  a  monster  ?” 

“If  you  had  only  heard  him  as  we  were  going  home,  IMr. 
Nickleby,  you’d  have  said  so  indeed,”  returned  the  bride 
“  I  never  was  so  frightened  in  all  my  life.” 

“  Coom,  cooni,”  said  John,  with  a  broad  grin;  “thou 
know’st  betther  than  thot,  Tilly.” 

“  So  I  was,”  rei)lied  Mrs.  Browdie.  “  I  almost  made  up 
my  mind  never  to  speak  to  you  again.” 

“A’most!”  said  John,  with  a  broader  grin  than  the  last 
“  A’most  made  up  her  mind !  And  she  wur  coaxin’,  and 
coaxin’,  and  wheedlin’,  and  wheedlin’,  a’  the  blessed  wa’. 
‘  \Va’at  did’st  thou  let  yon  chap  mak’  oop  tiv’ee  for  ?’  says  I. 
'I  dcedu’t,  John,’  says  she,  a  squcedgin  my  arm.  ‘You 
dcetln’t  ?’  says  I.  ‘  Noa,’  says  she,  a  s(pieedgin  of  me  agean.” 

“  Lor,  John  I”  interposed  his  pretty  wife,  coloring  very  much 
“  How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense  ?  As  if  I  should  have 
dreamt  of  such  a  thing  1” 


604 


NICHOLAS  NIOKLEBy. 


“  I  dinnot  know  whether  thou’d  ever  dreamt  of  it,  though  I 
think  that’s  loike  eneaf,  mind,”  retorted  John  ;  “  but  thou  didst 
it.  ‘  Ye’re  a  feeckle,  changeable  weathercock,  lass,’  says  I. 
‘Not  feeckle,  John,’  says  she.  ‘Yes,’  says  I,  ‘feeckle,  dom’d 
feeckle.  Dinnot  tell  me  thou  bean’t,  afther  you  chap  at  school- 
measther’s,’  says  I.  ‘  Him  !’  says  she,  quite  screeching.  ‘  Ah  1 
him!’  says  I.  ‘Why,  John,’  says  she — and  she  ccom  a  deal 
closer  and  squeedged  a  deal  harder  than  she’d  deane  afore — 
‘  dost  thou  think  it’s  nat’ral  noo,  that  having  such  a  proper 
mun  as  thou  to  keep  company  wi’,  I’d  ever  tak’  oop  wi’  such  a 
leetle  scanty  whipper-snapper  as  yon  I’  she  says.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
She  said  whipper-snapper !  ‘  Ecod  !’  I  says,  ‘  efther  thot,  neamo 
the  day,  and  let’s  have  it  ower  !’  Ha !  ha !  ha  !” 

Nicholas  laughed  very  heartily  at  this  story,  both  on  account 
of  its  telling  against  himself,  and  his  being  desirous  to  spare  the 
blushes  of  Mrs.  Browdie,  whose  protestations  were  drowned  in 
peals  of  laughter  from  her  husband.  His  good-nature  soon  put 
her  at  her  ease ;  and  although  she  still  denied  the  charge,  she 
laughed  so  heartily  at  it,  that  Nicholas  had  the  satisfaction  of 
feeling  assured  that  in  all  essential  respects  it  was  strictly  true. 

“  This  is  the  second  time,”  said  Nicholas,  “  that  we  have 
ever  taken  a  meal  together,  and  only  the  third  I  have  ever  seen 
you ;  and  yet  it  really  seems  to  me  as  if  I  were  among  old 
friends.” 

“  Weel !”  observed  the  Yorkshireman,  “  so  I  say.” 

“  And  I  am  sure  I  do,”  added  his  young  wife. 

“  I  have  the  best  reason  to  be  impressed  with  the  feeling, 
mind,”  said  Nicholas;  “for  if  it  had  not  been  for  your  kindness 
of  heart,  my  good  friend,  when  I  had  no  right  or  reason  to 
expect  it,  I  know  not  what  might  have  become  of  rae  or  what 
plight  I  should  have  been  in  by  this  time.” 

“  Talk  aboot  soom’at  else,”  replied  John,  gruffly,  “  and  din¬ 
not  bother.” 

‘  It  must  be  a  new  song  to  the  same  tune  then,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  smiling.  “  I  told  you  in  my  letter  that  I  deeply  felt  and 
admired  your  sympathy  with  that  poor  lad,  whom  you  released 
at  the  risk  of  involving  yourself  in  trouble  and  difficulty  ;  but  I 
can  never  tell  you  how  grateful  he  and  I,  and  otherri  whom  you 
don’t  know,  are  to  you  for  taking  pity  on  him.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


COa 

“Ecod!”  rejoined  John  Browdie,  drawing  up  his  chair; 

“  and  I  can  never  tell  you  hoo  gratful  soom  folks  that  we  do 
know  would  be  loikewise,  if  they  know’d  I  had  takkeii  pity  on 
him.” 

“  Ah  I”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Browdie,  “  what  a  state  I  was  in, 
thal  night  1” 

“  Were  they  at  all  disposed  to  give  you  credit  foi  assisting 
in  the  escape  ?”  inquired  Nicholas  of  John  Browdie. 

“Not  a  bit,”  replied  the  Yorkshireman,  extending  his  mouth 
from  ear  to  ear.  “  There  I  lay,  snoog  in  schoolmeasther’s  bed 
long  efther  it  was  dark,  and  nobody  cooni  nigh  the  pleace. 

‘  Weel !’  thinks  I,  ‘  he’s  got  a  pretty  good  start,  and  if  he  bean’t 
whoam  by  noo,  he  never  will  be;  so  you  may  coom  as  quick  as 
you  loik,  and  foind  us  reddy’ — that  is,  you  know,  schoolmeasther 
might  coom.” 

“  I  understand,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Presently,”  resumed  John,  “  he  did  coom.  I  heerd  door 
shut  doon  stairs,  and  him  a  warking  oop  in  the  dark.  ‘  Slow 
and  steddy,’  I  says  to  myself,  ‘tak’  your  time.  Sir — no  hurry.’ 
He  cooms  to  the  door,  turns  the  key — turns  the  key  wdien  there 
warn’t  nothing  to  hoold  the  lock — and  ca’s  oot,  ‘  Halloo,  there  I’ 

. — ‘Yes,’ thinks  I,  ‘you  may  do  thot  agean,  and  not  wakkeu 
any  body.  Sir.’  ‘  Halloo,  there,’  he  says,  and  then  he  stops. 
‘Thou’d  betther  not  aggravate  me,’  says  schoolmeasther,  efthei 
a  little  time.  ‘PH  brak  every  boan  in  your  boddy,  Smike,’  he 
says,  efther  another  little  time.  Then  all  of  a  soodden,  he  sings 
oot  for  a  loight,  and  when  it  comes — ecod,  such  a  hoorly- 
boorly  !  ‘  Wa’at’s  the  matther  V  says  I.  ‘  He’s  gane,’  says  he, 
stark  mad  wi’  vengeance.  ‘Have  you  heerd  nought?’  ‘Ees,’ 
says  I,  ‘  I  heerd  street  door  shut,  no  time  at  a’  ago.  I  heerd  a 
person  run  doon  there,’  (pointing  t’other  wm’ — eh  ?)  ‘  Help  !’ 

he  cries.  ‘I’ll  heb)  you,’ says  I;  and  off  we  set — the  wrong 
wa’  I  IIo  !  ho  !  ho  !” 

”  Did  you  go  far  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Far  I”  replied  John  ;  “  I  run  him  clean  off  his  legs  in  qnar- 
ther  of  an  hoor.  To  see  old  schoolmeasther  wi’out  his  hat, 
skimming  along  oop  to  his  knees  in  mud  and  wather,  tumbling 
over  fences,  and  rowling  into  ditches,  and  bawling  oot  like  mad, 
wi’  his  one  eye  looking  sharp  out  for  the  lad,  and  his  coattails 


COG 


NICHOLAS  NICKLE13Y. 


Oying  out  behind,  and  him  spattered  wi’  mud  all  ower — face  and 
all ; — I  thought  I  should  ha’  dropped  doon,  and  killed  myself 
wi’  laughing.” 

John  laughed  so  heartily  at  the  mere  recollection,  that  he 
communicated  the  contagion  to  both  his  hearers,  and  all  three 
burst  into  peals  of  laughter,  which  were  renewed  again  and 
again,  until  they  could  laugh  no  longer, 

“  He’s  a  bad  ’un,”  said  John,  wiping  his  eyes;  “  a  very  bad 
’uu,  is  schoolmeasther.” 

“I  can’t  bear  the  sight  of  him,  John,”  said  his  wife, 

“  Coom,”  retorted  John,  “thot’s  tidy  in  you,  thot  is.  If  it 
wa’ant  along  o’  you,  we  shouldn’t  know  nought  aboot  ’un. 
Thou  know’d  ’un  first,  Tilly,  didn’t  thou  ?” 

“  I  couldn’t  help  knowing  Fanny  Squeers,  John,”  returned 
his  wife;  “she  was  an  old  playmate  of  mine,  you  know.” 

“Weel,”  replied  John,  “dean’t  I  say  so,  lass?  It’s  best  to 
be  neighborly,  and  keep  up  old  acquaintance  loike;  and  what  I 
say  is,  dean’t  quarrel  if  ’ee  can  help  it.  Diniiot  think  so,  Mr, 
Nickleby  ?” 

“  Certainly,”  returned  Nicholas;  “and  you  acted  upon  that 
principle  when  I  met  you  on  horseback  on  the  road,  after  our 
memorable  evening.” 

“  Sure-ly,”  said  John.  “Wa’at  I  say,  I  stick  by.” 

“And  that’s  a  fine  thing  to  do,  and  manly  too,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  “  though  it’s  not  exactly  what  we  understand  by  ‘  coming 
Yorkshire  over  us’  in  London.  Miss  Squeers  is  stopping  with 
you,  you  said  in  your  note.” 

“Yes,”  replied  John,  “Tilly’s  bridesmaid;  and  a  queer 
bridesmaid  she  be,  too.  She  wean’t  be  a  bride  in  a  hurry,  I 
reckon.” 

“For  shame,  John,”  said  Mrs.  Browdie;  with  an  acute  per¬ 
ception  of  the  joke  though,  being  a  bride  herself. 

“The  groom  will  be  a  blessed  niun,”  said  John,  his  eyes 
twinkling  at  the  idea.  “He’ll  be  in  luck,  he  will.” 

“You  sec,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  his  wife,  “that  it  was  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  her  being  here,  that  John  wrote  to  you  and  fi.xed  to¬ 
night,  because  we  thought  that  it  wouldn’t  lie  pleasant  for  you 
to  meet,  after  what  has  passed — ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


007 


“  Unquestionably,  You  were  quite  ri^ht  in  that,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  interrupting'. 

“Especially,”  observed  Mrs.  Browdie,  looking  very  sly,  “after 
what  we  know  about  past  and  gone  love  matters.” 

“We know,  indeed!” said  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head.  “You 
behaved  rather  wickedly  there,  I  suspect.” 

“  O’ course  she  did,”  said  John  Brovvdie,  passing  his  huge 
fore-finger  through  one  of  his  wife’s  pretty  ringlets,  and  looking 
very  proud  of  her.  “  She  wur  always  as  skittish  and  full  o’ 
tricks  as  a - ” 

“Well,  as  a  what  ?”  said  his  wife. 

“As  a  woman,”  returned  John.  “Ding!  But  I  dinnot  know 
ought  else  that  comes  near  it.” 

“You  were  speaking  about  Miss  Squeers,”  said  Nicholas, 
with  the  view  of  stopping  some  slight  connubialities  which  had 
begun  to  pass  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie,  and  which 
rendered  the  position  of  a  third  party  in  some  degree  embar¬ 
rassing,  as  occasioning  him  to  feel  rather  in  the  way  than  other¬ 
wise. 

“  Oh  yes,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Browdie.  “John  ha’  done - John 

dxed  to-night,  because  she  had  settled  that  she  would  go  and 
drink  tea  with  her  father.  And  to  make  quite  sure  of  there  be¬ 
ing  nothing  amiss,  and  of  your  being  quite  alone  with  us,  he 
settled  to  go  out  there  and  fetch  her  home.” 

“  That  was  a  very  good  arrangement,”  said  Nicholas;  “though 
I  am  sorry  to  be  the  occasion  of  so  much  trouble.” 

“  Not  the  least  in  the  world,”  returned  Mrs.  Browdie;  “for 
we  have  looked  forward  to  seeing  you — John  and  I  have — 
with  the  greatest  possible  pleasure.  Do  you  know,  Mr. 
Nickleby,”  said  Mrs.  Browdie,  with  her  archest  smile,  “that  I 
really  think  Fanny  Squeers  was  very  fond  of  you  ?” 

“I  am  very  much  obliged  to  her,”  said  Nicholas;  “but,  upon 
my  word,  I  never  aspired  to  making  any  impression  upon  her 
vii-gin  heart.” 

“  How  you  talk  !”  tittered  IMrs.  Browdie.  “No,  but  do  you 
know  tiiat  really — seriously  now  and  without  any  joking — I  was 
given  to  nuderstand  by  Fanny  herseif,  that  you  had  made  au 
offer  to  her,  and  that  you  two  were  gohig  to  be  engaged  quite 
Bolemu  and  regular.” 

39 


608 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Was  you,  Ma’am — was  you  ?”  cried  a  slirill  female  voice, 
“  was  you  given  to  understand  that  I — I — was  going  to  be  en¬ 
gaged  to  an  assassinating  thief  that  slied  the  gore  of  my  pa  ? 
Do  you — do  you  think,  Ma’am — that  I  was  very  fond  of  such 
dirt  beneath  my  feet,  as  1  couldn’t  condescend  to  touch  with 
kitchen  tongs,  without  blacking  and  crocking  myself  by  the 
contract  ?  Do  you.  Ma’am — do  you  ?  Oh  !  base  and  degrading 
’Tilda !” 

With  these  reproaches  Miss  S queers  flung  the  door  wide  open, 
and  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the  Browdies  and  Nicholas,  not 
only  her  own  symmetrical  form,  arrayed  in  the  chaste  white 
garments  before  described  (a  little  dirtier),  but  the  form  of  her 
brother  and  father,  the  pair  of  Wackfords. 

“  This  is  the  hend,  is  it  ?”  continued  Miss  Squeers,  who  being 
excited,  aspirated  her  h’s  strongly  ;  “  this  is  the  hend,  is  it,  of 
all  my  forbearance  and  friendship  for  that  double-faced  thing — ■ 
that  viper,  that — that — mermaid  ?”  (Miss  Squeers  hesitated  a 
long  time  for  this  last  epithet,  and  brought  it  out  triumphantly 
at  last,  as  if  it  quite  clinched  the  business.)  “  This  is  the  hend, 
is  it,  of  all  my  bearing  with  her  deceitfulness,  her  lowness,  her 
falseness,  her  laying  herself  out  to  catch  the  admiration  of  vulgar 
minds,  in  a  way  which  made  me  blush  for  my — for  my - ” 

“  Gender,”  suggested  Mr.  Squeers,  regarding  the  spectators 
with  a  malevolent  eye — literally  a  malevolent  eye. 

“Yes,”  said  Miss  Squeers;  “but  I  thank  my  stars  that  my 
ma’  is  of  the  same - ” 

“Hear,  hear!”  remarked  Mr.  Squeers;  “and  I  wish  she  was 
here  to  have  a  scratch  at  this  company.” 

“This  is  the  hend,  is  it,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  tossing  her  head, 
and  looking  contemptuously  at  the  floor,  “  of  my  taking  notice 
of  that  rubbishing  creature,  and  demeaning  myself  to  patronize 
her  ?” 

“Oh,  come,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Browdie,  disregarding  all  the  en¬ 
deavors  of  her  spouse  to  restrain  her,  and  forcing  herself  into  a 
front  row,  “  don’t  talk  such  nonsense  as  that.” 

“Have  I  not  patronized  you.  Ma’am,”  demanded  Miss 
Squeers. 

“  No,”  returned  Mrs.  Browdie. 

“I  will  not  look  for  blushes  in  such  a  quarter,”  said  Miss 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


609 


Squeers,  hauglitily,  “for  that  countenance  is  a  stranger  to  every 
thing  but  hi2:noiniuiousness  and  red-faced  boldness.  ” 

“  I  say,”  interposed  John  Browdie,  nettled  by  these  accumu¬ 
lated  attacks  on  his  wife,  “dra’  it  mild,  dra’  it  mild.” 

“You,  Mr.  Browdie,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  taking  him  up  very 
quickly,  “  I  pity.  I  have  no  feeling  for  you,  Sir,  but  one  of 
unliquidated  pity.” 

“  Oh  1”  said  John. 

“No,”  said  Miss  Squeers,  looking  sideways  at  her  parent, 

“  although  I  am  a  queer  bridesmaid,  and  shanH  be  a  bride  in  a 
hurry,  and  although  my  husband  will  be  in  luck,  I  entertain  no 
sentiments  towards  you.  Sir,  but  sentiments  of  pity.” 

Here  Miss  Squeers  looked  sideways  at  her  father  again,  who 
looked  sideways  at  her,  as  much  as  to  say,  “  There  you  had 
him.  ” 

“7  know  what  yon’ve  got  to  go  through,”  said  Miss  Squeers, 
shaking  her  curls  violently,  “/know  what  life  is  before  you, 
and  if  you  was  my  bitterest  and  deadliest  enemy,  I  could  wish 
you  nothing  worse.” 

“  Couldn’t  you  wish  to  be  married  to  him  yourself,  if  that 
was  the  case  ?”  inquired  Mrs.  Browdie,  with  great  suavity  of 
manner. 

“  Oh,  Ma’am,  how  witty  you  are  !”  retorted  Miss  Squeers, 
with  a  low  courtesy,  “  almost  as  witty.  Ma’am,  as  you  are  clever. 
How  very  clever  it  was  in  you.  Ma’am,  to  choose  a  time  when 
I  had  gone  to  tea  with  my  pa’,  and  was  sure  not  to  come  back 
without  being  fetched  I  What  a  pity  you  never  thought  that 
other  people  might  De  as  clever  as  yourself,  and  spoil  your 
plans !” 

“  You  won’t  vex  me,  child,  with  such  airs  as  these,”  said  the 
late  Miss  Price,  assuming  the  matron. 

“  Don’t  Missis  me.  Ma’am,  if  you  please,”  returned  Miss 
Squeers,  sharply.  “  I’ll  not  bear  it.  “  Is  this  the  hend - ” 

“Dang  it  a’,”  cried  John  Browdie,  impatiently.  “  Say  thee 
say  oat,  Fanny,  and  mak’  sure  it’s  the  end,  and  dinnot  ask 
nobody  whether  it  is  or  not.” 

“  Thanking  you  for  your  advice,  which  was  not  required,  Mr. 
Browdie,”  returned  Miss  Squeers,  with  laborious  politeness 
“  have  the  goodness  not  to  presume  to  meddle  with  my  chria 


610 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


tian  name.  Even  my  pity  shall  never  make  me  forj^et  what’s 
clue  to  myself,  IMr.  Browdie.  ’Tilda,”  said  Miss  Sqiieers  with 
such  a  sudden  accession  of  violence  that  John  started  in  his 
boots,  “  I  throw  you  off  for  ever,  Miss.  I  abandon  you,  I  re¬ 
nounce  you.  “I  wouldn’t,”  cried  Miss  Squeers  in  a  solemn 
voice,  “  have  a  child  named  ’Tilda — not  to  save  it  from  its 
grave.” 

“As  for  the  matther  o’  that,”  observed  John,  “it’ll  be  time 
eueaf  to  think  aboot  nearaing  of  it  when  it  cooms.” 

“John  !”  interposed  his  wife,  “don’t  tease  her.” 

“  Oh !  Tease,  indeed  !”  cried  Miss  Squeers,  bridling  up. 
“Tease,  indeed!  He!  he!  Tease,  too!  Ho,  don’t  tease 
her.  Consider  her  feelings,  pray.” 

“  It  is  fated  that  listeners  are  never  to  hear  any  good  of 
themselves,”  said  Mrs.  Browdie.  “  I  can’t  help  it,  and  I  am  very 
sorry  for  it.  But  I  will  say,  Fanny,  that  times  out  of  number 
I  have  spoken  so  kindly  of  you  behind  your  back,  that  even  you 
could  have  found  no  fault  with  what  I  said.” 

“Oh,  I  dare  say  not.  Ma’am!”  cried  Miss  Squeers,  with 
another  courtesy.  “  Best  thanks  to  you  for  your  goodness,  and 
begging  and  praying  you  not  to  be  hard  upon  me  another 
time  !” 

“I  don’t  know,”  resumed  Mrs.  Browdie,  “that  I  have  said 
any  thing  very  bad  of  you,  even  now — at  all  events,  what  I  did 
say  was  quite  true  ;  but  if  I  have,  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  and 
I  l)eg  ycur  pardon.  You  have  said  much  worse  of  me,  scores 
of  times,  Fanny  ;  but  I  have  never  borne  any  malice  to  you, 
and  I  hope  you’ll  not  bear  any  to  me.” 

IMiss  Scpceers  made  no  more  direct  reply  than  surveying  her 
former  friend  from  top  to  toe,  and  elevating  her  nose  in  the  air 
with  inetTable  disdain.  But  some  indistinct  allusions  to  a  “]iuss,” 
and  a  “minx,”  and  a  “contemptible  creature,”  escaped  her; 
and  this,  together  with  a  severe  biting  of  the  lips,  gi’eat  diffi¬ 
culty  in  swallowing,  and  very  frequent  comings  and  goings  of 
breath,  seemed  to  imply  that  feelings  were  swelling  in  Miss 
Squeers’s  bosom  too  great  for  utterance. 

While  the  foregoing  conversation  was  proceeding.  Master 
Wackford,  tinding  himself  unnoticed,  and  feeling  his  prepon¬ 
derating  inclinations  strong  upon  him,  had  by  little  and  little 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


611 


sidled  up  to  the  table  and  attacked  the  food  with  such  slight  skir¬ 
mishing  as  drawing  his  fingers  round  and  round  the  inside  of  the 
plates,  and  afterwards  sucking  them  with  infinite  relish — picking 
the  bread,  and  dragging  the  pieces  over  the  surface  of  the  butter — 
pocketing  lumps  of  sugar,  pretending  all  the  time  to  be  aijsorbed 
in  thought — and  so  forth.  Einding  that  no  interference  was 
attempted  with  these  small  liberties,  he  gradually  mounted  to 
greater,  and,  after  helping  himself  to  a  moderately  good  cold 
collation,  was,  by  this  time,  deep  in  the  pie. 

Nothing  of  this  had  been  unobserved  by  Mr.  Squeers,  who,  so 
long  as  the  attention  of  the  company  was  fixed  upon  other 
objects,  hugged  himself  to  think  that  his  son  and  heir  should  be 
fattening  at  the  enemy’s  expense.  But  there  being  now  an  ap¬ 
pearance  of  a  temporary  calm,  in  which  the  proceedings  of  little 
Wackford  could  scarcely  fail  to  be  observed,  he  feigned  to  be 
aware  of  the  circumstance  for  the  first  time,  and  inflicted  upon 
the  face  of  that  young  gentleman  a  slap  that  made  the  very  tea¬ 
cups  ring. 

“Ealing!”  cried  Mr.  Squeers,  “of  what  his  father’s  enemies 
has  left  I  It’s  fit  to  go  and  poison  you,  you  unnat’ral  boy.” 

“It  wean’t  hurt  him,”  said  John,  apparently  very  ranch 
relieved  by  the  prospect  of  having  a  man  in  the  quarrel ;  “  let 
’uii  eat.  I  wish  the  whole  school  was  here.  I’d  give  ’em  soom’uc 
to  stay  their  uiifort’nate  stomachs  wi’,  if  I  spent  the  last  penny 
I  had  I” 

Squeers  scowled  at  him  with  the  worst  and  most  malicious 
expression  of  which  his  face  was  capable — it  was  a  face  of 
remarkable  capability,  too,  in  that  way — and  shook  his  fist 
stealthily. 

“  Coom,  coom,  schoolmcasther,”  said  John,  “dinnot  make  a 
fool  o’  thyself;  for  if  I  was  to  sheake  mine — only  once — thou’d 
fa’  doon  wi’  the  wind  o’  it. 

“It  was  you,  was  it,”  returned  Squeers,  “that  helped  off  my 
runaway  boy  ?  It  was  you,  was  it  ?” 

“Me!”  returned  John,  in  a  loud  tone.  “Yes,  it  wa’  me; 
coom,  wa’at  o’tluit !  It  wa’  me.  Noo  then  !” 

“You  hear  him  say  he  did  it,  my  child!”  said  Squeers  ap¬ 
pealing  to  his  daughter.  “  You  hear  him  say  he  did  it !” 

“  Did  it !”  cried  John.  “  I’ll  tell  ’ce  more  ;  hear  this  too.  If 


812 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LED  Y. 


thou'd  get  another  roonaway  boy,  I’d  do  it  agean.  If  thou’d 
got  twonty  roonaway  boys,  I’d  do  it  twonty  times  ower,  and 
twenty  more  to  thot;  and  I  tell  thee  more,”  said  John,  “noo 
my  blood  is  oop,  that  thou’rt  an  old  ra’asCal ;  and  that  it’s  wee! 
for  thou,  thou  be’st  an  old  ’un,  or  I’d  ha  poonded  thee  to  flour, 
when  thou  told  an  honest  mun  hoo  thou’d  licked  that  poor 
chap  in  t’  coorch. 

“An  honest  manl”  cried  Squeers,  with  a  sneer. 

“  Ahl  an  honest  manl”  replied  John;  “honest  in  ought  but 
ever  putting  legs  under  seamc  table  wi’  such  as  thou.” 

“  Scandal  I”  said  Squeers,  exultiugly.  “  Two  witnesses  to  it ; 
Wackford  knows  the  nature  of  an  oath,  he  does — we  shall  have 
you  there,  Sir.  Rascal,  eh  ?  Mr.  Squeers  took  out  his  pocket- 
book  and  made  a  note  of  it. — “Very  good.  .  I  should  say  that 
was  worth  full  twenty  pound  at  the  next  assizes,  without  the 
honesty.  Sir.” 

“’Soizes,”  cried  John,  “thou’d  betther  not  talk  to  me,  o’ 
’Soizes.  Yorkshire  schools  have  been  shown  up  at  ’Soizes  afore 
noo,  mun,  and  it’s  a  ticklish  soobjact  to  revive,  I  can  tell  ye.” 

Mr.  Squeers  shook  his  head  in  a  threatening  manner,  looking 
very  white  with  passion  ;  and  taking  his  daughter’s  arm,  and 
dragging  little  Wackford  by  the  hand,  retreated  towards  the 
door. 

“As  for  you,”  said  Squeers,  turning  round  and  addressing 
Nicholas,  who  as  he  had  caused  him  to  smart  pretty  soundly  on 
a  former  occasion,  purposely  abstained  from  taking  any  part  in 
the  discussion,  “see  if  I  ain’t  down  upon  you  before  long. 
“You’ll  go  a  kidnapping  of  boys,  will  you?  Take  care  their 
fathers  don’t  turn  up — mark  that — take  care  their  fathers  don’t 
turn  up,  and  send  ’em  back  to  me  to  do  as  I  like  with,  in  spite 
of  you.” 

“I  am  not  afraid  of  that,”  replied  Nicholas,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  contemptuously,  and  turning  away. 

“Ain’t  you!”  retorted  Squeers,  with  a  diabolical  look. 
“Now  then,  come  along.” 

“I  leave  such  society,  with  my  pa’,  for  Aever,”  said  Misa 
Squeers,  looking  contemptuously  and  loftily  round.  “I  am 
deflled  by  breathing  the  air  with  such  creatures.  Poor  Mr.  Brow- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


618 


die  1  He  1  lie !  he  !  I  do  pity  him,  that  I  do ;  he’s  so  deluded  1 
Tie!  he!  he!— — Artful  and  designing  ’Tilda!” 

With  this  sudden  relapse  into  the  sternest  and  most  majestic 
wrath,  Miss  Squeers  swept  from  the  room  ;  and  having  sustained 
her  dignity  until  the  last  possible  moment,  was  heard  to  sob  and 
sci’eam  and  struggle  in  the  passage. 

John  Browdie  remainevl  standing  behind  the  table,  looking 
from  his  wife  to  Nicholas  and  back  again,  with  his  mouth  wide 
open,  until  his  hand  accidentally  fell  upon  the  tankard  of  ale, 
when  he  took  it  up,  and  having  obscured  his  features  therewith 
for  some  time,  drew  a  long  breath,  handed  it  over  to  Nicholas, 
and  rang  the  bell. 

“Here,  waither,”  said  John,  briskly.  “Look  alive  here. 
Tak’  these  things  awa’,  and  let’s  have  soomat  broiled  for  sooper 
• — vary  comfortable  and  plenty  o’  it — at  ten  o’clock.  Bring 
soom  brandy  and  soom  wather,  and  a  pair  o’  slippers — the 
largest  pair  in  the  house — and  be  quick  aboot  it.  Dash  ma’ 
wig  !”  said  John,  rubbing  his  hands,  “there’s  no  ganging  oot  to 
neeght,  noo,  to  fetch  any  body  whoam,  and  ecod,  we’ll  begin  to 
spend  the  evening  in  airnest.” 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


OFFICIATES  Ab  A  KIND  OP  GENTLEMAN  USHER,  IN  BRINGING 
VARIOUS  PEOPLE  TOGETHER. 

The  storm  had  long  given  place  to  a  calm  the  most  profound 
and  the  evening  was  pretty  far  advanced — indeed  supper  was 
over,  and  the  process  of  digestion  proceeding  as  favorably  as, 
under  the  influence  of  complete  tranquility,  cheerful  conversation, 
and  a  moderate  allowance  of  brandy  and  water,  most  wise  men 
conversant  with  the  anatomy  and  functions  of  the  human  frame 
will  consider  that  it  ought  to  have  proceeded,  when  the  three 
friends,  or  as  one  might  say,  both  in  a  civil  and  religious  sense, 
and  with  proper  deference  and  regard  to  the  holy  state  of  ma¬ 
trimony,  the  two  friends,  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie  counting  as  no 
more  than  one,)  were  startled  by  the  noise  of  loud  and  angry 
threatenings  below  stairs,  which  presently  attained  so  high  a 
pitch,  and  were  conveyed  besides  in  language  so  towering,  san¬ 
guinary  and  ferocious,  that  it  could  hardly  have  been  surpassed, 
if  there  had  actually  been  a  Sai’acen’s  head  then  present  in  the 
establishment,  supported  on  the  shoulders  and  surmounting  the 
trunk  of  a  real,  live,  furious,  and  most  unappeasable  Saracen. 

This  turmoil,  instead  of  quickly  subsiding  after  the  first  out¬ 
burst,  (as  turmoils  not  unfrequently  do,  whether  in  taverns,  legisla¬ 
tive  assemblies,  or  elsewhere,)  into  a  mere  grumbling  and  growl¬ 
ing  squabble,  increased  every  moment;  and  althougu  the  whole 
din  appeared  to  be  raised  by  but  one  pair  of  lungs,  yet  that 
one  pair  was  of  so  powerful  a  quality,  and  repeated  such  words 
as  “scoundrel,”  “rascal,”  “insolent  puj^py,”  and  a  variety  of  ex¬ 
pletives  no  less  flattering  to  the  party  addressed,  with  such  great 
relish  and  strength  of  tone,  that  a  dozen  voices  raised  in  concert 
under  any  ordinary  circumstances  would  have  made  far  less  up¬ 
roar  and  created  much  smaller  consternation. 

“  Why,  what’s  the  matter  ?”  said  Nicholas,  moving  hastily 
towards  the  door. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


6J5 


John  Browdie  was  striding  in  the  same  direction  when  Mrs. 
Browdie  turned  pale,  and,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  requested 
him  with  a  faint  voice  to  take  notice,  that  if  he  ran  into  any  dan¬ 
ger  it  was  her  intention  to  fall  into  hysterics  immediately,  and 
that  the  coiihe^juences  might  be  more  serious  than  he  thought 
for.  John  looked  rather  disconcerted  by  this  intelligence,  though 
there  was  a  lurking  grin  on  his  face  at  the  same  time  ;  but,  being 
quite  nnal)le  to  keei)  out  of  the  fray,  he  compromised  the  mat 
ter  by  tucking  his  wife’s  arm  under  his  own,  and,  thus  accompa¬ 
nied,  following  Nicholas  down  stairs  with  all  speed. 

The  passage  outside  the  coftee-room  door  was  the  scene  of  dis¬ 
turbance,  and  here  were  congregated  the  coffee-room  customers 
and  waiters,  together  with  two  or  three  coachmen  and  helpers 
from  the  yard.  I'liese  had  hastily  assembled  round  a  young 
man  who  from  his  appearance  might  have  been  a  year  or  two 
older  than  Nicholas,  and  Avho,  besides  having  given  utterance 
to  the  defiances  just  now  described,  seemed  to  have  proceeded 
to  even  greater  lengths  in  his  indignation,  inasmuch  as  his  feet 
had  no  other  covering  than  a  pair  of  stockings,  while  a  couple 
of  sli[)pers  lay  at  no  great  distance  from  the  head  of  a  pros¬ 
trate  figure  in  an  opposite  corner,  who  bore  the  appearance  of 
having  been  shot  into  his  present  retreat  by  moans  of  a  kick,  and 
comi)limented  by  having  the  slippers  flung  about  his  ears  after¬ 
wards. 

The  coffee-room  customers,  and  the  waiters,  and  the  coach¬ 
men,  and  the  helpers — not  to  mention  a  barmaid  who  was  look¬ 
ing  on  from  behind  an  open  sash  window — seemed  at  that  mo¬ 
ment,  if  a  spectator  might  judge  from  their  winks,  nods,  and  mut¬ 
tered  exclamations,  strongly  disposed  to  take  part  against  the 
young  gentleman  in  the  stockings.  Observing  this,  and  that 
the  young  gentleman  was  nearly  of  his  own  age  and  had  in 
nothing  the  a])pearance  of  an  habitual  brawler,  Nicholas,  im- 
])elled  by  such  feelings  as  will  influence  young  men  sometimes,  felt 
a  very  strong  disposition  to  side  with  the  weaker  party,  and  so 
thrust  himself  at  once  into  the  centre  of  the  gi’oup,  and  in  a 
more  enqdiatic  tone  ])erhaps  than  circumstances  might  seem  to 
warrant,  demanded  what  all  that  noise  was  about. 

“  Hallo  !”  said  one  of  the  men  from  the  yard,  “  this  is  some¬ 
body  in  disguise,  this  is.” 


61G 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


“Koom  for  the  eldest  son  of  the  Emperor  of  Koosher,  gen’P- 
men  !”  cried  another  fellow. 

Disregarding  these  sallies,  which  were  uncommonly  well  re¬ 
ceived,  as  sallies  at  the  expense  of  the  best-dressed  persons  in  a 
crowd  usually  are,  Nicholas  glanced  carelessly  round,  and  ad¬ 
dressing  the  young  gentleman,  who  had  by  this  time  picked  up 
his  slippers  and  thrust  his  feet  into  them,  repeated  his  inquiries 
with  a  courteous  air. 

“  A  mere  nothing  !”  he  replied. 

At  this  a  murmur  was  raised  by  the  lookers-on,  and  some  of 
the  boldest  cried,  “Oh,  indeed  ! — Wasn’t  it  though  ? — Nothing, 
eh  ? — He  called  that  nothing,  did  he  ?  Lucky  for  him  if  he 
found  it  nothing.”  These  and  many  other  expressions  of  iron¬ 
ical  disapprobation  having  been  exhausted,  two  or  three  of  the 
out-of-doors  fellows  began  to  hustle  Nicholas  and  the  young 
gentleman  who  had  made  the  noise  :  stumbling  against  them  by 
accident,  and  treading  on  their  toes,  and  so  forth.  But  this 
being  a  round  game,  and  one  not  necessarily  limited  to  three  or 
four  players,  was  open  to  John  Browdie  too,  who,  bursting  into 
the  little  crowd — to  the  great  terror  of  his  wife — and  falling 
about  in  all  directions,  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  now 
forwards,  now  backwards,  and  accidentally  driving  his  elbow 
through  the  hat  of  the  tallest  helper,  who  had  been  particularly 
active,  speedily  caused  the  odds  to  wear  a  very  different  appeai’- 
ance ;  while  more  than  one  stout  fellow  limped  away  to  a  re¬ 
spectful  distance,  anathematising  with  tears  in  his  eyes  the  heavy 
tread  and  ponderous  feet  of  the  burly  Yorkshireman. 

“  Let  me  see  him  do  it  again,”  said  he  who  had  been  kicked 
into  the  corner,  rising  as  he  spoke,  apparently  more  from  the 
fear  of  John  Browdie’s  inadvertently  treading  upon  him,  than 
from  any  desire  to  place  himself  on  equal  terras  with  his  late 
adversary.  “Let  me  see  him  do  it  again.  That’s  all.” 

“  Let  me  hear  you  make  those  remarks  again,”  said  the 
young  man,  “  and  I’ll  knock  that  head  of  yours  in  among  the 
wine-glasses  behind  you  there.” 

Here  a  waiter  who  had  been  rubbing  his  hands  in  excessive 
enjoyment  of  the  scene,  so  long  as  only  the  breaking  of  heads 
was  in  question,  adjured  the  spectators  with  great  earnestness 
to  fetch  the  police,  declaring  that  otherwise  murder  would  bo 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


617 


surely  done,  and  that  he  was  responsible  for  all  the  glass  and 
china  on  the  premises. 

“  No  one  need  trouble  himself  to  stir,”  said  the  young  gentle 
man  ;  ”  I  am  going  to  remain  in  the  house  all  night,  and  shall 
be  found  here  in  the  morning  if  there  is  any  assault  to  answer 
for.” 

“  What  did  you  strike  him  for?”  asked  one  of  the  bystanders 

“  Ah  1  what  did  you  strike  him  for  ?”  demanded  the  others. 

The  unpopular  gentleman  looked  coolly  round,  and  address¬ 
ing  himself  to  Nicholas,  said  : — 

"  You  inquired  just  now  what  was  the  matter  here.  The 
matter  is  simply  this.  Yonder  person,  who  was  drinking  with 
a  friend  in  the  colfee-room  when  I  took  my  seat  there  for  half 
an  hour  before  going  to  bed,  (for  I  have  just  come  off  a  journey, 
and  preferred  stopping  here  to-night,  to  going  home  at  this 
hour,  where  I  was  not  expected  until  to-morrow,)  chose  to 
express  himself  in  very  disrespectful,  and  insolently  familiar 
terms,  of  a  young  lady,  whom  I  recognized  from  his  description 
and  other  circumstances,  and  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  know. 
As  he  spoke  loud  enough  to  be  overheard  by  the  other  guests 
who  were  present,  I  informed  him  most  civilly  that  he  was  mis¬ 
taken  in  his  conjectures,  which  were  of  an  olfensive  nature, 
and  requested  him  to  forbear,  lie  did  so  for  a  little  time,  but 
as  he  chose  to  renew  his  conversation  when  leaving  the  room, 
in  a  more  offensive  strain  than  before,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
making  after  him,  and  facilitating  his  departure  by  a  kick, 
which  reduced  him  to  the  posture  in  which  you  saw  him  just 
now.  I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  own  affairs,  I  take  it,”  said 
the  young  man,  who  had  certainly  not  quite  recovered  from  his 
recent  heat,  “  if  any  body  here  thinks  proper  to  make  this  quar¬ 
rel  his  own  I  have  not  the  smallest  earthly  objection,  I  do 
assure  him.” 

Of  all  possible  courses  of  proceeding  under  the  circumstances 
detailed,  there  was  certainly  not  one  which,  in  his  then  state 
of  mind,  could  have  appeared  more  laudable  to  Nicholas  than 
this  There  were  not  many  subjects  of  dispute  which  at  that 
moment  could  have  come  home  to  his  own  breast  more  power¬ 
fully,  for  having  the  unknown  up})ermost  in  his  thoughts,  it 
naturally  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  have  done  just  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Cl  8 

same  if  any  audacious  gossipcr  durst  have  presumed  in  his  hear¬ 
ing  to  speak  lightly  of  her.  Influenced  by  these  considerations, 
he  espoused  the  young  gentleman’s  quarrel  with  great  warmth, 
protesting  that  he  had  done  quite  right,  and  that  he  respected 
him  for  it;  which  John  lirowdie  (albeit  not  quite  clear  as  to 
the  merits)  immediately  protested  too,  with  not  inferior  vehe¬ 
mence. 

"  Let  him  take  care,  that’s  all,”  said  the  defeated  party,  who 
was  being  rubbed  down  by  a  waiter,  after  his  recent  fall  on  the 
dusty  boards.  “  lie  don’t  knock  me  about  for  nothing,  I  can 
tell  him  that.  A  pretty  state  of  things,  if  a  man  isn’t  to  admire 
a  handsome  girl  without  being  beat  to  pieces  for  it  I” 

This  reflection  appeared  to  have  great  weight  with  the  young 
lady  in  the  bar,  who  (adjusting  her  cap  as  she  spoke,  and 
glancing  at  a  mirror)  declared  that  it  would  be  a  very  pretty  state 
of  things  indeed  ;  and  that  if  people  were  to  be  ])unished  for 
actions  so  innocent  and  natural  as  that,  there  would  be  more 
people  to  be  knocked  down  than  there  would  be  people  to 
knock  them  down,  and  that  she  wondered  what  the  gentleman 
meant  by  it,  that  she  did. 

“  My  dear  girl,”  said  the  young  gentleman  in  a  low  voice, 
advancing  towards  the  sash  window. 

“  Nonsense,  Sir  !”  replied  the  young  lady  shar])ly,  smiling 
though  as  she  turned  aside,  and  biting  her  lip,  (whereat  Mrs. 
Browdie,  who  was  still  standing  on  the  stairs,  glanced  at  her 
with  disdain,  and  called  to  her  husband  to  come  away). 

"  No,  but  listen  to  me,”  said  the  young  man.  “  If  admira¬ 
tion  of  a  pretty  face  were  criminal,  I  should  be  the  most  hope¬ 
less  person  alive,  for  I  cannot  resist  one.  It  has  the  most 
extraordinary  effect  upon  me,  checks  and  controls  me  in  the 
most  furious  and  obstinate  mood.  You  see  what  an  effect 
yours  has  had  ui)on  me  already.” 

“  Oh,  that’s  very  pretty,”  replied  the  young  lady,  tossing  hei 
head,  “  but — ” 

"  Yes,  I  know  it’s  very  pretty,”  said  the  young  man,  looking 
with  an  air  of  admiration  in  the  barmaid’s  face,  “I  said  so, 
you  know,  just  this  moment.  But  beauty  should  be  spoken  of 
respectfully — respectfully,  and  in  proper  terms,  and  with  a  be- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


619 


comins:  sense  of  its  worth  and  excellence,  whereas  this  fellow 
ha^  no  more  notion - ” 

The  young  lady  interrupted  the  conversation  at  tins  point, 
by  thrusting  her  head  out  of  the  bar-window,  and  inquiring  of 
the  waiter  in  a  shrill  voice  whether  that  young  man  who  had 
been  knocked  down  was  going  to  stand  in  the  ])assage  all  night, 
01  whether  the  entrance  was  to  be  left  clear  for  other  people. 
The  waiters  taking  the  hint,  and  communicating  it  to  the 
hostlers,  wci'e  not  slow  to  change  their  tone  too,  and  the  result 
was,  that  the  unfortunate  victim  was  bundled  out  in  a  twinkling. 

“  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  that  fellow  before,*’  said  jNicholas. 

“  Indeed  !”  replied  his  new  acquaintance. 

“  I  am  certain  of  it,”  said  Nicholas,  pausing  to  reflect. 
“  Where  can  I  have — stop  !■ — yes,  to  be  sure — he  belongs  to  a 
register-office  up  at  the  west  end  of  the  town.  I  knew  I  recol¬ 
lected  the  face.” 

It  was,  indeed,  Tom- — the  ugly  clerk. 

“  That’s  odd  enough  !”  said  Nicholas,  ruminating  upon  the 
strange  manner  in  which  that  register-office  seemed  to  start  up 
and  stare  him  in  the  face  every  now  and  then,  and  when  he 
least  expected  it. 

“  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  advocacy  of  my 
cause  when  it  most  needed  an  advocate,”  said  the  young  man, 
laughing,  and  drawing  a  card  from  his  pocket.  “Perhaps 
you’ll  do  me  the  favor  to  let  me  know  where  I  can  thank  you.” 

Nicholas  took  the  card,  and  glancing  at  it  involuntarily  as  he 
returned  the  compliment,  evinced  very  great  surprise. 

“  ‘  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble  !’”  said  Nicholas.  “  Surely  not  the 
nephew  of  Cheeryble  Brothers,  who  is  expected  to-morrow  !” 

“  1  don’t  usually  call  myself  the  nephew  of  the  firm,”  returned 
Mr.  Frank,  good-humoredly,  “but  of  the  two  excellent  indi- 
vi.lnals  who  compose  it,  I  am  proud  to  say  I  am  the  nephew. 
And  you,  I  see,  are  Mr.  Nickleby,  of  wdiom  I  have  heard  so 
much!  This  is  a  most  unexpected  meeting,  but  not  the  less 
welcome,  I  assure  you.” 

Nicholas  responded  to  these  com|)limcnts  with  others  of  the 
same  kind,  and  they  shook  hands  wmrmly.  Then  he  introduced 
John  Brownlie,  who  had  remained  in  a  state  of  great  adniirn,- 
tion  ever  since  the  young  lady  in  the  bar  had  been  so  skillfully 


620 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


won  over  to  the  right  side.  Then  Mrs.  John  Browdie  was 
introduced,  and  finally  they  all  went  up  stairs  together  and  spent 
the  next  half  hour  with  great  satisfaction  and  mutual  entertain¬ 
ment ;  Mrs.  Browdie  beginning  the  conversation  by  declaring 
that  of  all  the  made-up  things  she  ever  saw,  that  young  woman 
below  stairs  was  the  vainest  and  the  plainest. 

This  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble,  although,  to  judge  from  what 
had  recently  taken  place,  a  hot-headed  young  man,  (which  ia 
not  an  absolute  miracle  and  phenomenon  in  nature,)  was  a 
sprightly,  good-humored,  pleasant  fellow,  with  much  both  in 
his  countenance  and  disposition  that  reminded  Nicholas  very 
strongly  of  the  kind-hearted  brothers.  His  manner  was  as  un¬ 
affected  as  theirs,  and  his  demeanor  full  of  that  heartiness 
which,  to  most  people  who  have  any  thing  generous  in  their 
composition,  is  peculiarly  prepossessing.  Add  to  this  that  he 
was  good-looking  and  intelligent,  had  a  plentiful  share  of  viva¬ 
city,  was  extremely  cheerful,  and  accommodated  himself  in  five 
minutes’  time  to  all  John  Browdie’s  oddities  with  as  much  ease 
as  if  he  had  known  him  from  a  boy;  and  it  will  be  a  source  of 
no  great  wonder  that,  when  they  parted  for  the  night,  he  had 
produced  a  most  favorable  impression,  not  only  upon  the  worthy 
Yorkshireman  and  his  wife,  but  upon  Nicholas  also,  who,  revolv¬ 
ing  all  these  things  in  his  mind  as  he  made  the  best  of  his  way 
home,  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  he  had  laid  the  foundation 
of  a  most  agreeable  and  desirable  acquaintance. 

“  But  it’s  a  most  extraordinary  thing  about  that  register- 
office  fellow  !”  thought  Nicholas.  “  Is  it  likely  that  this  nephew 
can  know  any  thing  about  that  beautiful  girl  ?  When  Tim 
Linkinwater  gave  me  to  understand  the  other  day  that  he  was 
coming  to  take  a  share  in  the  business  here,  he  said  he  had  been 
superintending  it  in  Germany  for  four  years,  and  that  during  the 
last  six  months  he  had  been  engaged  in  establishing  an  agency 
in  the  north  of  England.  That’s  four  years  and  a  h.alf — four 
years  and  a  half.  She  can’t  be  more  than  seventeen — say  eigh¬ 
teen  at  the  outside.  She  was  quite  a  child  when  he  went  away, 
then.  I  should  say  he  knew  nothing  about  her  and  had  never 
seen  her,  so  he  can  give  me  no  information.  At  all  events,” 
thought  Nicholas,  coming  to  the  real  point  in  his  mind,  “there 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


621 


can  be  no  danger  of  any  prior  occupation  of  her  affections  in 
that  quarter;  that’s  quite  clear.” 

Is  selfishness  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the  composition  of  that 
passion  called  love,  or  does  it  deserve  all  the  fine  things  which 
poets,  in  the  exercise  of  their  undoubted  vocation,  have  said  of 
it  ?  There  are,  no  doubt,  authenticated  instances  of  gentlemen 
having  given  up  ladies,  and  ladies  having  given  up  gentlemen 
to  meritorious  rivals,  under  circumstances  of  great  high-minded¬ 
ness  ;  but  is  it  quite  established  that  the  majority  of  such  ladies 
and  gentlemen  have  not  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  nobly  re¬ 
signed  what  was  beyond  their  reach;  as  a  private  soldier  might 
register  a  vow  never  to  accept  the  order  of  the  Garter,  or  a 
poor  curate  of  great  piety  and  learning,  but  of  no  family — save 
a  very  large  family  of  children-^might  renounce  a  bishopric  ? 

Here  was  Nicholas  Niekleby,  who  would  have  scorned  the 
thought  of  counting  how  the  chances  stood  of  his  rising  in  favor 
or  fortune  with  the  Brothers  Cheeryble,  now  that  their  nephew 
had  returned,  already  deep  in  calculations  whether  that  said 
nephew  was  likely  to  rival  him  in  the  affections  of  the  fair  un¬ 
known — discussing  the  matter  with  himself  too,  as  gravely  as  if, 
with  that  one  exception,  it  were  all  settled;  and  recurring  to 
the  subject  again  and  again,  and  feeling  quite  indignant  and  ill- 
used  at  the  notion  of  any  body  else  making  love  to  one  with 
whom  he  had  never  exchanged  a  word  in  all  his  life.  To  be 
sure,  he  exaggerated  rather  than  depreciated  the  merits  of  his 
new  acquaintance ;  but  still  he  took  it  as  a  kind  of  personal 
offence  that  he  should  have  any  merits  at  all — in  the  eyes  of 
this  particular  young  lady,  that  is  ;  for  elsewhere  he  was  quite 
welcome  to  have  as  many  as  he  pleased.  There  was  undoubted 
selfishness  in  all  this,  and  yet  Nicholas  was  of  a  most  free  and 
generous  nature,  with  as  few  mean  or  sordid  thoughts,  perhaps, 
as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  any  man ;  and  there  is  no  reason  to 
su]>))Ose  that,  being  in  love,  he  felt  and  thought  differently  from 
other  people  in  the  like  sublime  condition. 

He  did  not  stop  to  set  on  foot  an  inquiry  into  his  train  of 
thought  or  state  of  feeling,  however  ;  he  went  thinking  on  all  the 
way  home,  and  continued  to  dream  on  in  the  same  strain  aP 
night.  For,  having  satislied  himself  that  Frank  Cheeryble 
could  have  no  knowledge  of,  or  acquaiutaime  with  the  mysteri- 


G22 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ons  young;  lady,  it  began  to  occnr  to  bini  that  even  ho  hiraself 
niigiit  never  see  her  again ;  upon  which  hypothesis  he  built  up 
a  very  ingenious  succession  of  tormenting  ideas  wliich  answered 
his  })urpose  even  better  tlian  the  ■vision  of  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble, 
and  tantalized  and  worried  him,  waking  and  sleeping. 

Notwithstandwig  all  that  has  been  said  and  sung  to  the 
contrary,  there  is  no  well-established  case  of  morning  having 
either  deferred  or  hastened  its  approach  by  the  term  of  an  hour 
or  so  for  the  mere  gratification  of  a  splenetic  feeling  against 
some  unoffending  lover:  the  sun  having,  in  the  discharge  of  his 
public  duty,  as  the  books  of  precedent  report,  invariably  risen 
according  to  the  almanacs,  and  without  suffering  himself  to  be 
swayed  by  any  private  considerations.  So  morning  came  as 
usual,  and  with  it  business  hours,  and  with  them  Mr.  Frank 
Cheeryble,  and  with  him  a  long  train  of  smiles  and  welcomes 
from  the  worthy  brothers,  and  a  more  grave  and  clerk-like, 
but  scarcely  less  hearty  reception,  from  Mr.  Timothy  Linkin- 
water. 

“  That  !Mr.  Frank  and  Mr.  Nickleby  should  have  met  last 
night,”  said  Tim  Linkinwater,  getting  slowly  off  his  stool,  and 
looking  round. the  counting-house  with  his  back  planted  against 
the  desk,  as  was  his  custom  when  he  had  any  thing  very  par¬ 
ticular  to  say — “  that  those  two  young  men  should  have  met 
last  night  in  that  manner  is,  I  say,  a  coincidence,  a  remarkable 
coincidence.  Why,  I  don’t  believe  now,”  added  Tim,  taking 
off  his  spectacles,  and  smiling  as  with  gentle  pride,  “  that  there’s 
such  a  place  in  all  the  world  for  coincidences  as  London  is  !” 

“  I  don’t  know  about  that,”  said  Mr.  Frank  ;  “  but - ” 

“Don’t  know  about  it,  Mr.  Francis!"”  interrupted  Tim,  with 
an  obstinate  air.  “Well,  but  let  us  know.  If  there  is  any 
better  place  for  such  things,  where  is  it?  Is  it  in  Europe? 
No,  that  it  isn’t.  Is  it  in  Asia  ?  Why,  of  course  it’s  not.  Is 
it  in  Africa?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Is  it  in  America?  You  know 
better  than  that  at  all  events.  Well,  then;”  said  Tim,  folding 
his  arms  resolutely,  “where  is  it?” 

“  I  was  not  about  to  dispute  the  point,  Tim,”  said  young 
Cheeryble,  laughing.  “  I  am  not  such  a  heretic  as  that.  All 
I  was  going  to  say  was,  that  I  hold  myself  under  an  obligation 
to  the  coincidence,  that’s  all.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


623 


“Oh!  if  you  don’t  dispute  it,”  said  Tim,  cpiite  satiLfied, 
“that’s  anotlier  thing.  I’ll  tell  you  what  though — I  wish  you 
had.  I  \\dsh  you  or  anybody  would.  I  would  so  put  that  man 
down,”  said  Tim,  tapping  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand  em¬ 
phatically  with  his  spectacles,  “so  put  that  man  down  by  argu¬ 
ment - ” 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  find  language  to  express  the  degree 
of  mental  prostration  to  which  such  an  adventurous  wight  would 
be  reduced  in  the  keen  encounter  with  Tim  Linkinwater,  so  Tim 
gave  up  the  rest  of  his  declaration  in  pure  lack  of  words,  and 
mounted  his  stool  again. 

“  We  may  consider  ourselves,  brother  Ned,”  said  Charles, 
after  he  had  patted  Tim  Linkinwater  approvingly  on  the  back, 
“very  fortunate  in  having  two  such  young  men  about  us  as  our 
nephew  Frank  and  Mr.  Nickleby.  It  should  be  a  source  of 
great  satisfaction  and  pleasure  to  us.” 

“  Certainly,  Charles,  certainly,”  returned  the  other. 

“  Of  Tim,”  added  brother  Ned,  “  I  say  nothing  whatever,  be¬ 
cause  Tim  is  a  mere  child — an  infant — a  nobody — that  we  never 
think  of  or  take  into  account  at  all.  Tim,  you  villain,  what  do 
you  say  to  that.  Sir  ?” 

“  I  am  jealous  of  both  of  ’em,”  said  Tim,  “and  mean  to  look 
out  for  another  situation ;  so  provide  yourselves,  gentlemen,  if 
you  please.” 

Tim  thought  this  such  an  exquisite,  unparalleled,  and  most 
extraordinary  joke,  that  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  inkstand, 
and  rather  tumbling  olF  his  stool  than  getting  down  with  his 
usual  deliberation,  laughed  till  he  was  quite  faint,  shaking  his 
head  all  the  time  so  that  little  particles  of  powder  flew  palpably 
about  the  office.  Nor  were  the  brothers  at  all  behindhand,  for 
they  laughed  almost  as  heartily  at  the  ludicrous  idea  of  any 
voluntary  se[)aration  between  themselves  and  old  Tim.  Nicholas 
and  Mr.  Frank  laughed  quite  boisterously,  perhaps  to  conceal 
some  other  emotion  awakened  by  this  little  incident,  (and  so, 
indeed,  did  the  three  old  fellows  after  the  first  burst,)  so  perhaps 
there  was  as  much  keen  enjoyment  and  relish  in  that  laugh 
altogether,  as  the  imlitest  assembly  ever  derived  from  the  most 
poignant  witticism  uttered  at  any  one  person’s  expense. 

“Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  brother  Charles,  calling  him  aside,  and 
40 


624 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


taking  him  kindly  by  the  liand,  “  I — I — am  anxious,  my  dear 
Sir,  to  see  that  you  are  properly  and  comfortably  settled  in  the 
cottage.  We  cannot  allow  those  who  serve  us  well  to  laboi 
under  any  privation  or  discomfort  that  it  is  in  our  power  to  re¬ 
move.  I  wish,  too,  to  see  your  mother  and  sister — to  know 
them,  Mr.  Nickleby,  and  have  an  opportunity  of  relieving  their 
minds  by  assuring  them  that  any  trifling  service  we  have  been 
able  to  do  them  is  a  great  deal  more  than  repaid  by  the  zeal 
and  ardor  you  display. — Not  a  word,  my  dear  Sir,  I  beg.  To¬ 
morrow  is  Sunday,  I  shall  make  bold  to  come  out  at  tea-time, 
and  take  the  chance  of  finding  you  at  home ;  if  you  are  not, 
you  know,  or  the  ladies  should  feel  a  delicacy  in  being  intruded 
on,  and  would  rather  not  be  known  to  me  just  now,  why  I  can 
come  again  another  time,  any  other  time  would  do  for  me. 
Let  it  remain  upon  that  understanding.  Brother  Ned,  my  dear 
fellow,  let  me  have  a  word  with  you  this  way.” 

The  twins  went  out  of  the  office  arm  in  arm,  and  Nicholas, 
who  saw  in  this  act  of  kindness,  and  many  others  of  which  he 
had  been  the  subject  that  morning,  only  so  many  delicate  re¬ 
newals  on  the  arrival  of  their  nephew  of  the  kind  assurances 
which  the  brothers  had  given  him  in  his  absence,  could  scarcely 
feel  sufficient  admiration  and  gratitude  for  such  extraordinary 
consideration. 

The  intelligence  that  they  were  to  have  a  visitor — and  such 
a  visitor — next  day,  awakened  in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Nickleby 
mingled  feelings  of  exultation  and  regret ;  for  whereas  on  the 
one  hand  she  hailed  it  as  an  omen  of  her  speedy  restoration  to 
good  society  and  the  almost  forgotten  pleasures  of  morning  calls 
and  evening  tea-drinkings,  she  could  not,  on  the  Other,  but  re¬ 
flect  with  bitterness  of  spirit  on  the  absence  of  a  silver  teapot 
with  an  ivory  knob  on  the  lid,  and  a  milk-jug  to  match,  which 
had  been  the  pride  of  her  heart  in  days  of  yore,  and  had  been 
kept  from  year’s  end  to  year’s  end  wrapped  up  in  wash-leather 
on  a  certain  top  shelf  which  now  presented  itself  in  lively  colors 
to  her  sorrowing  imagination. 

"  I  wonder  who’s  got  that  spice-box,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
shaking  her  head.  “  It  used  to  stand  in  the  left-hand  corner, 
next  but  two  to  the  pickled  onions.  You  remember  that  spice- 
box,  Kate  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


625 


“  Perfectly  well,  mamma.” 

“I  shouldn’t  think  you  did,  Kate,”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
in  a  severe  manner,  “talking  about  it  in  that  cold  and  unfeeling 
way  I  If  there  is  any  one  thing  that  vexes  me  in  these  losses 
more  than  the  losses  themselves,  I  do  protest  and  declare,”  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  rubbing  her  nose  with  an  impassioned  air,  “that 
it  is  to  have  people  about  me  who  take  things  with  such  pro¬ 
voking  calmness.” 

“  My  dear  mamma,”  said  Kate,  stealing  her  arm  round  her 
mother’s  neck,  “  why  do  you  say  what  I  know  you  cannot 
seriously  mean  or  think,  or  why  be  angry  with  me  for  being 
happy  and  content  ?  You  and  Nicholas  are  left  to  me  ;  we  are 
together  once  again,  and  what  regard  can  I  have  foi  a  few 
trifling  things  of  wdiich  we  never  feel  the  want  ?  When  I  have 
seen  all  the  misery  and  desolation  that  death  can  bring,  and 
known  the  lonesome  feeling  of  being  solitary  and  alone  in 
crowds,  and  all  the  agony  of  separation  in  grief  and  poverty 
when  we  most  needed  comfort  and  support  from  each  other,  can 
you  wonder  that  I  look  upon  this  as  a  place  of  such  delicious 
quiet  and  rest,  that  with  you  beside  me  I  have  nothing  to  wish 
for  or  regret?  There  was  a  time,  and  not  long  since,  when  all 
the  comforts  of  our  old  home  did  come  back  upon  me,  I  own, 
very  often — oftener  than  you  wmuld  think,  perhaps — but  I 
affected  to  care  nothing  for  them,  in  the  hope  that  you  would 
so  be  brought  to  regret  them  less.  I  was  not  insensible,  indeed. 
I  might  have  felt  happier  if  I  had  been.  Dear  mamma,”  said 
Kate,  in  great  agitation,  “I  know  no  difference  between  this 
home  and  that  in  which  we  were  all  so  happy  for  so  many  years, 
except  that  the  kindest  and  gentlest  heart  that  ever  ached  on 
earth  has  passed  in  peace  to  heaven.” 

“Kate,  my  dear,  Kate,”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  folding  her  in 
her  arms. 

“I  have  so  often  thought,”  sobbed  Kate,  “of  all  his  kind 
words — of  the  la.st  time  he  looked  into  my  little  room,  as  he 
passed  up  stairs  to  bed,  and  said,  ‘God  bless  you,  darling.’ 
There  was  a  paleness  in  his  face,  mamma — the  broken  heart — I 
know  it  was — I  little  thought  so — then — ” 

A  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  Kate  laid  her  head 
upon  her  mother’s  breast,  and  wept  like  a  litttle  child. 


626 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


It  is  an  exquisite  and  b^eautifui  tiling  in  our  nature,  that  when 
tlie  heart  is  touched  and  softened  by  some  tranquil  haiipiness  or 
aO'ectionate  feeling,  the  memory  of  the  dead  comes  over  it  most 
powerfully  and  irresistibl3\  It  would  almost  seem  as  though 
our  better  thoughts  and  sympathies  were  charms,  in  virtue  of 
which  the  soul  is  enabled  to  hold  some  vague  and  mysterious  in¬ 
tercourse  Avith  the  siiirjts  of  those  wdiom  we  dearly  loved  in 
dfe.  Alas  I  how  often  and  how  long  may  those  patient  angels 
hover  about  ns,  watching  for  the  spell  which  is  so  seldom  uttered, 
end  so  soon  forgotten  ! 

Poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  accustomed  to  give  ready  utterance  to 
W'hatever  came  uppermost  in  her  mind,  had  never  conceived  the 
possibility  of  her  daughter’s  dwelling  upon  these  thoughts  in 
secret,  the  more  especially  as  no  hard  trial  or  querulous  reproach 
had  ever  drawn  them  from  her.  But  now,  when  the  happiness 
of  all  that  Nicholas  had  just  told  them,  and  of  their  new  and 
peaceful  life,  brought  these  recollections  so  strongly  upon  Kate 
that  she  could  not  suppress  them,  Mrs.  Nickleby  began  to  have 
a  glimmering  that  she  had  been  rather  thoughtless  now  and  then, 
and  was  conscious  of  something  like  self-reproach  as  she  em¬ 
braced  her  daughter,  and  yielded  to  the  emotions  which  such  a 
conversation  naturally  awakened. 

There  was  a  mighty  bustle  that  night,  and  a  vast  quantity  of 
preparation  for  the  e.xpected  visitor,  and  a  very  large  nosegay 
Avas  brought  from  a  gardener’s  hard  by  and  cut  up  into  a  number 
of  very  small  ones  with  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  Avonld  have  gar¬ 
nished  the  little  sitting-room,  in  a  style  that  certainly  could  not 
liave  failed  to  attract  any  body’s  attention,  if  Kate  had  not  offered 
to  spare  her  the  trouble,  and  arranged  them  in  the  prettiest  and 
neatest  manner  possible.  If  the  cottage  ever  looked  pretty,  it 
must  have  been  on  such  a  bright  and  sunshiny  day  as  the  next 
day  was.  But  Sraike’s  pride  in  the  garden,  or  Mrs,  Nickleby’a 
in  the  condition  of  the  furniture,  or  Kate’s  in  every  thing,  was 
nothing  to  the  pride  Avith  Avhich  Nicholas  looked  at  Kate  her¬ 
self  ;  and  surely  the  costliest  mansion  in  all  England  might  have 
found  in  her  beautiful  face  and  graceful  form  its  most  exquisite 
and  peerless  ornament. 

About  six  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  Mrs,  Nickleby  AA’as  thrown 
into  a  great  flutter  of  spirits  by  the  long-expected  knock  at  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


627 


door,  nor  was  this  tlutter  at  all  composed  by  the  audible  tread 
of  two  pair  of  boots  in  the  jiassage,  which  l\lrs.  Nicklcby 
augured,  in  a  breathless  state,  must  be  “the  two  Mr  Chcery- 
bles  as  it  certainly  was,  thoiig-h  not  the  two  Mrs.  Nicklcby 
expected,  because  it  was  Mr.  Charles  Cheeryblc,  and  his  nephew, 
]\lr.  Frank,  who  made  a  thousand  apologies  for  his  intrusion, 
which  Mrs.  Nickleby  (having  tea-spoons  enough  and  to  spare  for 
all)  most  graciously  received.  Nor  did  the  ap])earance  of  this  un¬ 
expected  visitor  occasion  the  least  emirarrassment,  (save  in  Kate, 
and  that  oidy  to  the  extent  of  a  blush  or  two  at  first,)  for  the  old 
gentleman  was  so  kind  and  cordial,  and  the  young  gentleman 
imitated  him  in  this  respect  so  well,  that  the  usual  stiffness  and 
formality  of  a  first  meeting  showed  no  signs  of  appearing,  and 
Kate  really  more  than  once  detected  herself  in  the  act  of  won¬ 
dering  when  it  was  going  to  begin. 

At  the  tea-table  there  was  plenty  of  conversation  on  a  great 
variety  of  subjects,  nor  were  there  wanting  jocose  matters  of  dis¬ 
cussion,  such  as  they  were  ;  for  young  Mr.  Cheeryble’s  recent 
stay  in  Germany  happening  to  be  alluded  to,  old  Mr.  Cheery- 
ble  informed  the  company  that  the  aforesaid  young  Mr.  Cheery- 
ble  was  suspected  to  have  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  the  daughter 
of  a  certain  German  burgomaster.  This  accusation  young  Mr. 
Cliecryble  most  indignantly  repelled,  upon  which  Mrs.  Nickleby 
slily  remarked,  that  she  suspected  from  the  very  warmth  of  the 
denial,  there  must  be  something  in  it.  Young  IMr.  Cheeryble 
then  earnestly  entreated  old  Mr.  Cheeryble  to  confess  that  it 
was  all  a  jest,  which  old  IMr.  Cheeryl)le  at  last  did,  young  Mr. 
Cheeryble  being  so  much  in  earnest  about  it,  that — as  Mrs. 
Nickleby  said  many  thousand  times  afterwards  in  recalling  the 
scene — he  “quite  colored,”  which  she  rightly  considered  a 
memorable  circumstance,  and  one  worthy  of  remark,  young  men 
not  being  as  a  class  remarkable  for  modesty  or  self-denial,  espe¬ 
cially  when  there  is  a  lady  in  the  case,  when,  if  they  color  at  all, 
it  is  rather  their  practice  to  color  the  story,  and  not  themselves. 

After  tea  there  was  a  walk  in  the  garden,  and  the  evening 
being  veiy  fine  they  strolled  out  at  the  garden  gate  into  some 
lanes  and  l)y-roads,  and  sauntered  up  and  down  nntil  it  grew 
quite  dark.  The  time  seemed  to  pass  very  quickly  with  all  the 
party.  Kate  went  first,  leaning  upon  her  brother’s  arm,  and 


628 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


talking  w  ith  him  and  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble  ;  and  Mrs.  Nicklehy 
and  the  elder  gentleman  followed  at  a  short  distance,  the  kind¬ 
ness  of  the  irood  merchant,  his  interest  in  the  welfare  of  Niciiolas, 
and  his  admiration  of  Kate,  so  operating  upon  the  good  lady’s 
feelings,  that  the  usual  current  of  her  speech  was  confined  within 
very  narrow  and  circumscribed  limits.  Smike  (wdio,  if  he  had 
ever  been  an  object  of  interest  in  his  life  had  been  one  that 
day)  accompanied  them,  joining  sometimes  one  group  and  some¬ 
times  the  other,  as  brother  Charles,  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
ehoulder,  bade  him  walk  with  him,  or  Nicholas,  looking  smilingly 
round,  beckoned  him  to  come  and  talk  with  the  old  friend  who 
understood  him  best,  and  who  could  win  a  smile  into  his  care- 
w'orii  face  when  none  else  could. 

Pride  is  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins ;  but  it  cannot  be  the 
pride  of  a  mother  in  her  children,  for  that  is  a  compound  of 
two  cardinal  virtues — faith  and  hope.  This  wms  the  pride  which 
swelled  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  heart  that  night,  and  this  it  was  wdiich 
left  upon  her  face,  glistening  in  the  light  wdieii  they  returned 
home,  traces  of  the  most  grateful  tears  she  had  ever  shed. 

There  was  a  quiet  mirth  about  the  little  supper,  wdiich  har¬ 
monized  exactly  with  this  tone  of  feeling,  and  at  length  the 
two  gentlemen  took  their  leave.  There  wms  one  circumstance 
in  the  leave-taking  which  occasioned  a  vast  deal  of  smiling  and 
pleasantry,  and  that  was,  that  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble  offered  his 
hand  to  Kate  twice  over,  quite  forgetting  that  he  had  bade  her 
adieu  already.  This  wms  held  by  the  elder  Mr.  Cheeryble  to  be 
a  convincing  proof  that  he  was  thinking  of  his  German  flame, 
and  the  jest  occasioned  immense  laughter.  So  easy  is  it  to 
move  light  hearts. 

•  In  short,  it  w'as  a  day  of  serene  and  tranquil  happiness ;  and 
as  w'e  all  have  some  bright  day — many  of  us,  let  us  hope,  among 
a  crowd  of  others — to  which  we  revert  with  particular  delight, 
so  this  one  was  often  looked  back  to  afteiwvards,  as  holding  a 
conspicuous  place  in  the  calendar  of  those  wdio  shared  it. 

AVas  there  one  exception,  and  that  one  he  who  needed  to  have 
been  most  happy  ? 

Who  was  that  who,  in  the  silence  of  his  owm  chamber,  sunk 
upon  his  knees  to  pray  as  his  first  friend  had  taught  him,  and 
folding  his  bauds  and  stretching  them  w  ildly  in  the  air,  fell  upon 
his  face  in  a  passion  of  bitter  grief? 


CHAPTER  XLIY. 


MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  CUTS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.  IT  WOULD 
ALSO  APPEAR  FROM  THE  CONTENTS  HEREOF,  THAT  A  JOKE, 
EVEN  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE,  MAY  BE  SOMETIMES 
CARRIED  TOO  FAR. 

There  are  some  men,  who,  living  with  the  one  object  of  en¬ 
riching  themselves,  no  matter  by  what  means,  and  being  per¬ 
fectly  conscious  of  the  baseness  and  rascality  of  the  means 
which  they  will  use  every  day  towards  this  end,  affect  neverthe¬ 
less — even  to  themselves — a  high  tone  of  moral  rectitude  and 
shake  their  heads  and  sigh  over  the  depravity  of  the  world. 
Some  of  the  craftiest  scoundrels  that  ever  walked  this  earth,  or 
rather — for  walking  implies,  at  least,  an  erect  position  and  the 
bearing  of  a  man — that  ever  crawled  and  crept  through  life  by 
its  dirtiest  and  narrowest  ways,  will  gravely  jot  down  in  diaries 
the  events  of  every  day,  and  keep  a  regular  debtor  and  creditor 
account  with  heaven,  which  shall  always  show  a  floating  balance 
in  their  own  favor.  Whether  this  is  a  gratuitous  (the  only 
gratuitous)  part  of  the  falsehood  and  trickery  of  such  men’s 
lives,  or  whether  they  really  hope  to  cheat  heaven  itself,  and  lay 
up  treasure  in  the  next  world  by  the  same  process  which  has 
enabled  them  to  lay  up  treasure  in  this — not  to  question  how 
it  is,  so  it  is.  And,  doubtless,  such  book-keeping  (like  certain 
autobiographies  which  have  enlightened  the  world)  cannot  fail 
to  prove  serviceaoie,  in  the  one  respect  of  sparing  the  recording 
angel  some  time  and  labor. 

Ralph  Nickleby  was  not  a  man  of  this  stamp.  Stern,  un¬ 
yielding,  dogged,  and  impenetrable,  Ralph  cared  for  nothing  in 
life,  or  beyond  it,  save  the  gratification  of  two  ])assions,  avarice, 
the  first  and  ]>redominant  appetite  of  his  nature,  and  hatred, 
the  second.  Affecting  to  consider  himself  but  a  type  of  all 
numanity,  he  was  at  little  i)ains  to  conceal  his  true  charaeter 
from  the  world  in  general,  and  in  his  own  heart  he  exulted  over 

(G2<)) 


630 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  cherished  ever^  bad  design  as  it  had  birth.  The  only 
scriptural  admonition  that  Ral])h  Nickleby  heeded,  in  the  letter, 
was  “know  thjself.”  lie  knew  himself  well,  and  choosiiig  to 
imagine  that  all  mankind  were  cast  in  the  same  mould,  hated 
them  ;  for,  though  no  man  hates  himself,  the  coldest  among  us 
having  too  much  self-love  for  that,  yet  most  men  unconsciously 
judge  the  world  from  themselves,  and  it  will  be  very  generally 
found  that  those  who  sneer  habitually  at  human  nature,  and 
affect  to  despise  it,  are  among  its  worst  and  least  pleasant 
samples. 

But  the  present  business  of  these  adventures  is  with  Ral})h 
himself,  who  stood  regarding  Newman  Noggs  with  a  heavy 
frown,  while  that  worthy  took  off  his  fingerless  gloves,  aud 
spreading  them  carefully  on  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  and  flat¬ 
tening  them  with  his  right  to  take  the  creases  out,  proceeded 
to  roll  them  up  with  an  absent  air  as  if  he  were  utterly  regard¬ 
less  of  all  things  else,  in  the  deep  interest  of  the  ceremonial. 

“Gone  out  of  town!”  said  Ralph,  slowly.  “A  mistake  of 
yours.  Go  back  again.” 

“No  mistake,”  returned  Newman.  “Not  even  going; — 
gone.” 

“  Has  he  turned  girl  or  baby  ?”  muttered  Ralph,  with  a 
fretful  gesture. 

“I  don’t  know,”  said  Newman,  “but  he’s  gone.” 

The  repetition  of  the  word,  “gone,”  seemed  to  afford  New¬ 
man  Noggs  ine.xpressible  delight,  in  proportion  as  it  annoyed 
Ral])!!  Nickleby.  He  uttered  the  word  with  a  full  round  em¬ 
phasis,  dwelling  upon  it  as  long  as  he  decently  could,  and 
when  he  could  hokl  out  no  longer  without  attracting  observa¬ 
tion,  stood  gasping  it  to  himself,  as  if  even  that  were  a  satis¬ 
faction. 

‘'And  ivhere  has  he  gone  ?”  said  Ralph. 

“France,”  re[)lied  Newman.  “Danger  of  another  attack  of 
erysipelas — a  woise  attack — in  the  head.  So  the  doctors  or¬ 
dered  him  off.  And  he’s  gone.” 

“And  Lord  Frederick - ?”  began  Ralph. 

“  He’s  gone  too,”  rei)lied  Newman. 

“And  he  carries  his  drubbing  with  him,  docs  he  !”  said  Ralph, 


NK’IIOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


63] 


turning  away — "pockets  liis  bruises,  and  sneaks  off  willioiit  tbe 
retaliation  of  a  word,  or  seeking  the  smallest  reparation  1” 

"He’s  too  ill,”  said  Newman. 

"  Too  ill  !”  repeated  Ralph  "  Why  I  would  have  it  if  I  wore 
dying;  in  that  case  I  should  only  be  the  more  determined  to 
have  it,  and  that  without  delay — I  mean  if  I  were  he.  Rut  he’s 
too  ill  I  Poor  Sir  Mulberry  !  Too  id  !” 

Uttering  these  words  with  supreme  contempt  and  great  irri¬ 
tation  of  manner,  Ralph  signed  hastily  to  Newman  to  leave  the 
room  ;  and  throwing  himself  into  his  chair,  beat  his  foot  impa¬ 
tiently  upon  the  ground. 

"There  is  some  sjiell  about  that  boy,”  said  Ralph,  grinding 
his  teeth.  "  Circumstances  conspire  to  help  him.  Talk  of  for¬ 
tune’s  favors  !  What  is  even  money  to  such  devil’s  luck  as  this  !” 

He  thrust  his  hands  impatiently  into  his  pockets,  but  not¬ 
withstanding  his  previous  reflection  there  was  some  consolation 
there,  for  his  face  relaxed  a  little  ;  and  although  there  was  still 
a  deep  frown  upon  the  contracted  brow,  it  was  one  of  calcula¬ 
tion  and  not  of  disappointment. 

“  This  Hawk  will  come  back,  however,”  muttered  Ralph  ; 
"  and  if  I  know  the  man — -and  I  should  by  this  time — his  wrath 
will  have  lost  nothing  of  its  violence  in  the  meanwhile.  Obliged 
to  live  in  retirement — the  monotony  of  a  sick  room  to  a  man  of 
his  habits — no  life — no  drink — no  play — nothing  that  he  likes 
and  lives  by.  He  is  not  likely  to  forget  his  obligations  to  the 
cause  of  all  this.  Few  men  would  ;  but  he  of  all  others — no,  no  !” 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  hea'd,  and  resting  his  chin  upon  his 
hand  fell  a  musing,  and  smiled  again.  After  a  time  he  rose  and 
rang  the  bell. 

"  'riiat  Mr.  Squeers  ;  has  he  been  here  ?”  said  Ralph. 

"  ile  was  here  last  night.  I  left  him  here  when  I  went  home,” 
returnetl  Newman. 

"  1  know  that,  fool,  do  I  not  ?”  said  Ralph,  irascibly.  "  Has 
he  l)(‘en  here  since?  Was  he  here  this  morning?” 

“  No,”  bawled  Newman,  in  a  very  loud  key. 

"  If  he  comes  while  I  am  out — he  is  pretty  sure  to  be  here  by 
nine  to-night- — let  him  wait.  And  if  there’s  another  man  with 
tiiin,  as  there  will  be- — perhaps,”  said  Ralph,  checking  himself, 
"  let  him  wait  too.” 


632 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


“J^et’em  both  wait?”  said  Newman. 

"Ay,”  replied  Ralph,  turning  upon  him  with  an  angry  look. 

Help  me  on  with  this  spencer,  and  don’t  repeat  after  me, 
like  a  croaking  parrot,” 

"  1  wish  I  was  a  parrot,”  said  Newman,  sulkily. 

"  I  wish  you  were,”  rejoined  Ralph,  drawing  his  spencer  on  ; 
"I’d  have  wrung  your  neck  long  ago.” 

Newman  returned  no  answer  to  this  compliment,  but  looked 
over  Ralph’s  shoulder  for  an  instant,  (he  was  adjusting  the  col¬ 
lar  of  the  spencer  behind,  just  then,)  as  if  he  were  strongly  dis¬ 
posed  to  tweak  him  by  the  nose.  Meeting  Ralph’s  eye,  how¬ 
ever,  he  suddenly  recalled  his  wandering  fingers  and  rubbed  his 
own  red  nose  with  a  vehemence  quite  astonishing. 

Bestowing  no  further  notice  upon  his  eccentric  follower  than 
a  threatening  look,  and  an  admonition  to  be  careful  and  make 
no  mistake,  Ralph  took  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  walked  out. 

He  appeared  to  have  a  very  extraordinary  and  miscellaneous 
connection,  and  very  odd  calls  he  made — some  at  great  rich 
houses,  and  some  at  sma’l  poor  ones — but  all  upon  one  subject: 
money.  Ilis  face  was  a  talisman  to  the  porters  and  servants  of 
his  more  dashing  clients,  and  procured  him  ready  admission, 
though  he  trudged  on  foot,  and  others  who  were  denied,  rattled 
to  the  door  in  caciiages.  Here  he  was  all  softness  and  cringing 
civility  ;  his  step  so  light,  that  it  scarcely  produced  a  sound 
upon  the  thick  carpets  ;  his  voice  so  soft,  that  it  was  not  audi¬ 
ble  beyond  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  But  in  the 
poorer  habitations,  Ralph  was  another  man  ;  his  boots  creaked 
upon  the  passage  floor  as  he  walked  boldly  in,  his  voice  was 
harsh  and  loud  as  he  demanded  the  money  that  was  over-due  ; 
his  threats  were  coarse  and  angry.  With  another  class  of  cus¬ 
tomers,  Ralph  was  again  another  man.  These  were  attorneys 
of  more  than  doubtful  reputation,  who  helped  him  to  new  busi¬ 
ness,  or  raised  fresh  profits  upon  old.  With  them  Ralph  was 
familiar  and  jocose — humorous  upon  the  topics  of  the  da}  and 
especially  pleasant  upon  bankruptcies  and  pecuniary  difficulties 
that  made  good  for  trade.  In  short,  it  would  have  been  diffi¬ 
cult  to  have  recognized  the  same  man  under  these  various  aspects, 
but  for  the  bulky  leather  case  full  of  bills  and  notes  which  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  at  every  house,  and  the  constant  repeti- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


033 


Liou  of  the  same  complaint,  (varied  only  in  tone  and  style  of  deli¬ 
very,)  that  the  world  thought  him  rich,  and  that  perhaps  he 
might  be  if  he  had  his  own ;  but  there  was  no  getting  money  in 
when  it  was  once  out,  either  principal  or  interest,  and  it  was  a 
nard  matter  to  live — even  to  live  from  day  to  day. 

It  was  evening  before  a  long  round  of  such  visits  (interrupted 
only  by  a  scanty  dinner  at  an  eating-house)  terminated  at  Pim¬ 
lico,  and  Ralph  walked  along  Saint  James’s  Park  on  his  way 
home. 

There  were  some  deep  schemes  in  his  head,  as  the  puckered 
brow  and  firmly-set  mouth  would  have  abundantly  testified,  even 
if  they  had  been  unaccompanied  by  a  complete  indifference  to, 
or  unconsciousness  of,  the  objects  about  him.  SO  complete  was 
his  abstraction,  however,  that  Ralph,  usually  as  quick-siglited 
as  any  man,  did  not  observe  that  he  was  followed  by  a  sham¬ 
bling  figure,  which  at  one  time  stole  behind  him  with  noiseless 
footsteps,  at  another  crept  a  few  paces  before  him,  and  at  another 
glided  along  by  his  side  ;  at  all  times  regarding  him  with  an  eye 
so  keen,  and  a  look  so  eager  and  attentive,  that  it  was  more 
like  the  expression  of  an  intrusive  face  in  some  powerful  pic¬ 
ture  or  strongly.marked  dream,  than  the  scrutiny  even  of  a  most 
interested  and  anxious  observer. 

The  sky  had  been  lowering  and  dark  for  some  time,  and  the 
commencement  of  a  violent  storm  of  rain  drove  Ralph  for  shel¬ 
ter  to  a  tree.  He  was  leaning  against  it  with  folded  arms,  still 
buried  in  thought,  when  happening  to  raise  his  eyes,  he  sud¬ 
denly  met  those  of  a  man  who,  creeping  round  the  trunk,  peered 
into  his  face  with  a  searching  look.  There  was  something  in 
the  usurer’s  expression  at  the  moment,  which  the  man  appeared 
to  remember  well,  for  it  decided  him ;  and  stepping  close  up  to 
Raljih,  he  pronounced  his  name. 

Astonished  for  the  moment,  Ralph  fell  back  a  couple  of 
paces,  and  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot.  A  spare,  dark, 
withered  man,  of  about  his  own  age,  with  a  stooping  body,  and 
a  very  sinister  face  rendered  more  ill-favored  by  hollow  and 
hungry  cheeks,  deeply  sun-burnt,  and  thick,  black  eyebrows, 
blacker  in  contrast  with  the  i)erfect  whiteness  of  his  hair ; 
roughly  clothed  in  shabby  garments,  of  a  strange  and  uncouth 
make  ;  and  having  about  him  an  indefinable  manner  of  depres- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


HR  4 

Sion  and  degradation ; — this,  for  a  moment,  was  ail  he  saw. 
Bat  lie  looked  again,  and  the  face  and  person  seemed  gradually  to 
grow  less  strange;  to  change  as  he  looked,  to  subside  and  soften 
into  lineaments  that  were  familiar,  until  at  last  they  resolved 
themselves,  as  if  by  some  strange  optical  illusion,  into  those  of 
one  whom  he  had  known  for  many  years,  and  forgotten  and  lost 
sight  of  for  nearly  as  many  more. 

The  man  saw  that  the  recognition  "was  mutual,  and  beckoning 
to  Ralph  to  take  his  former  place  under  the  tree,  and  not  to 
stand  in  the  falling  rain,  of  which,  in  his  first  surprise,  he  had 
been  quite  regardless,  addressed  him  in  a  hoarse,  faint  tone. 

“You  would  hardly  have  known  me  from  my  voice,  I  sup¬ 
pose,  Mr.  Nickleby  he  said. 

“  No,”  returned  Ralph,  bending  a  severe  look  upon  him. 
“  Though  there  is  something  in  that,  that  I  remember  now.” 

“There  is  little  in  me  that  you  can  call  to  mind  as  having 
been  there  eight  years  ago,  I  dare  say  ?”  observed  the  other. 

“Quite  enough,”  said  Ralph,  carelessly,  and  averting  his  face. 
“  More  than  enough.” 

“If  I  had  remained  in  doubt  about  you,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said 
the  other,  “this  reception,  and  ?/owr  manner,  would  have  de¬ 
cided  me  very  soon.” 

“  Bid  you  expect  any  other  ?”  asked  Ralph,  sharply. 

“No  I”  said  the  man. 

“You  were  right,”  retorted  Ralph  ;  “and  as  you  feel  no  sur¬ 
prise — need  express  none.” 

“  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  the  man,  bluntly,  after  a  brief  pause, 
during  which  he  had  seemed  to  struggle  with  an  inclination  to 
answer  him  by  some  reproach,  “will  you  hear  a  few  words  that 
1  have  to  say  ?” 

“I  am  obliged  to  wait  here  till  the  rain  holds  a  little,”  said 
Ralph,  looking  abroad.  “If  you  talk.  Sir,  I  shall  not  put  my 
fingers  in  my  ears,  though  your  talking  may  have  as  much  effect 
as  if  I  did.” 

“I  was  once  in  your  confidence — ,”  thus  his  companion  be¬ 
gan.  Ralph  looked  round,  and  smiled  involuntarily. 

“  Well,”  said  the  other,  “as  much  in  your  confidence  as  you 
ever  chose  to  let  any  body  be.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


635 


"Ah!”  rejoined  Ralph,  folding  his  arms;  “that’s  another 
thing — quite  another  thing.” 

“  Don’t  let  us  play  upon  words,  Mr.  Nickleby,  in  the  name 
of  humanity.” 

“  Of  what?”  said  Ralph. 

“  Of  humanity,”  replied  the  other,  sternly.  “  I  am  hungry 
and  in  want.  If  the  change  that  you  must  see  in  me  after  so 
long  an  absence — must  see,  for  I,  upon  whom  it  has  come  by 
glow  and  hard  degrees,  see  it  and  know  it  well — will  not  move 
you  to  pity,  let  the  knowledge  that  bread ;  not  the  daily  bread 
of  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  which,  as  it  is  offered  up  in  cities  like  this, 
is  understood  to  include  half  the  luxuries  of  the  world  for  the 
rich,  and  just  as  much  coarse  food  as  will  support  life  for  the 
poor — not  that,  but  bread,  a  crust  of  dry,  hard  bread,  is  beyond 
ray  reach  to-day — let  that  have  some  weight  with  you,  if  no¬ 
thing  else  has.” 

“  If  this  is  the  usual  form  in  which  you  beg.  Sir,  said 
Ralph,  “you  have  studied  your  part  well;  but  if  you  will 
take  advice  fi’ora  one  who  knows  something  of  the  world 
and  its  ways,  I  should  recommend  a  lower  tone — a  little  lower 
tone,  or  you  stand  a  fair  chance  of  being  starved  in  good 
earnest.” 

As  he  said  this,  Ralph  clenched  his  left  wrist  tightly  with  his 
right  hand,  and  inclining  his  head  a  little  on  one  side  and  drop¬ 
ping  his  chin  upon  his  breast,  looked  at  him  whom  he  addressed 
with  a  frowning,  sullen  face  :  the  very  picture  of  a  man  whom 
nothing  could  move  or  soften. 

“Yesterday  was  my  first  day  in  London,”  said  the  old  man, 
glancing  at  his  travel-stained  dress  and  worn  shoes. 

“  It  would  have  been  better  for  you,  I  think,  if  it  had  been 
your  last  also,”  replied  Ralph. 

“  I  have  been  seeking  you  these  two  days,  where  I  thought 
you  were  most  likely  to  be  found,”  resumed  the  other  more 
humbly,  “and  I  met  you  here  at  last,  when  I  had  almost  given 
up  the  hope  of  encountering  you,  Mr.  Nickleby.” 

He  seemed  to  wait  for  some  reply,  but  Ralph  giving  him 
none,  he  continued — 

“  I  am  a  most  miserable  and  wretched  outcast,  nearly  sixty 
years  old,  and  as  destitute  and  helples.s  as  a  child  of  six  ” 


G86 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  I  am  sisty  years  old  too,”  replied  Ralph,  “  and  am  neither 
destitute  nor  helpless.  Work.  Don’t  make  fine  play-acting 
speeches  about  bread,  but  earn  it.” 

“  How  ?”  cried  the  other.  “  Where  ?  Show  me  the  means. 
Will  you  give  them  to  me — will  you  ?” 

“  I  did  once,”  replied  Ralph,  composedly,  “you  scarcely  need 
ask  me  whether  I  will  again,” 

“It  is  twenty  years  ago,  or  more,”  said  the  man,  in  a  sup¬ 
pressed  voice,  “since  you  and  I  fell  out.  You  remember 
that  ?  I  claimed  a  share  in  the  profits  of  some  business  I 
brought  to  you,  and,  as  I  persisted,  you  arrested  me  for  an  old 
advance  of  ten  pounds,  odd  shillings — including  interest  at  fifty 
per  cent.,  or  so.” 

“  I  remember  something  of  it,”  replied  Ralph,  carelessly. 
“  What  thei  ?” 

“That  didn’t  part  us,”  said  the  man.  “I  made  submission, 
being  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  bolts  and  bars  ;  and  as  you  were 
not  the  made  man  then  that  you  are  now,  you  were  glad  enough 
to  take  back  a  clerk  who  wasn’t  over  nice,  and  who  knew  some¬ 
thing  of  the  trade  you  drove.” 

“You  begged  and  prayed,  and  I  consented,”  returned  Ralph. 
“That  was  kind  of  me.  Perhaps  I  did  want  you — I  forget.  I 
should  think  I  did  or  you  would  have  begged  in  vain.  You 
were  useful — not  too  honest,  not  too  delicate,  not  too  nice  of 
hand  or  heart — but  useful.” 

“  Useful,  indeed  I”  said  the  man.  “  Come.  You  had  pinched 
and  ground  me  down  for  some  years  before  that,  but  I  had  served 
you  faithfully  up  to  that  time,  in  spite  of  all  your  dog’s  usage 
—had  I  ?” 

Ralph  made  no  reply. 

“  Had  I  ?”  said  the  man  again. 

“You  had  had  your  wages,”  rejoined  Ralph,  “and  had  done 
your  work.  We  stood  on  equal  ground  so  far,  and  could  both 
cry  quits.” 

“  Then,  but  not  afterwards,”  said  the  other. 

“  Not  afterwards,  certainly,  nor  even  then,  for  (as  you  have 
just  said)  you  owed  me  money,  and  do  still,”  replied  Ralph. 

“  That’s  not  all,”  said  the  man,  eagerly.  “  That’s  not  all 
Mark  that.  I  didn’t  forget  that  old  sore,  trust  ma  Partly  in 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


681 


remembrance  of  that,  and  partly'in  the  hope  of  making  money 
Bome  day  by  the  scheme,  I  took  advantage  of  my  position 
about  you,  and  possessed  myself  of  a  hold  upon  you,  which 
you  would  give  half  of  all  you  have  to  know,  and  never  can 
know  but  through  me.  I  left  you — long  after  that  time, 
remember — and,  for  some  poor  trickery  that  came  within  the 
law,  but  was  nothing  to  what  you  money-makers  daily  practise 
just  outside  its  bounds,  was  sent  away  a  convict  for  seven 
years.  I  have  returned  what  you  see  me.  Now,  Mr.  Nick- 
leby,”  said  the  man,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  humility  and 
sense  of  power,  “  what  help  and  assistance  will  you  give  me — 
what  bribe,  to  speak  out  plainly  ?  My  expectations  are  not 
monstrous,  but  I  must  live,  and  to  live  I  must  eat  and  drink. 
Money  is  on  your  side,  and  hunger  and  thirst  on  mine.  You 
may  drive  an  easy  bargain.” 

“  Is  that  all  ?”  said  Ralph,  still  ej'eing  his  companion  with  the 
same  steady  look,  and  moving  nothing  but  his  lips. 

“  It  depends  on  you,  Mr.  Nickleby,  whether  that’s  all  or  not,” 
was  the  rejoinder. 

“Why  then,  harkye,  Mr.  - ,  I  don’t  know  by  what  name 

I  am  to  call  you,”  said  Ralph. 

“  By  my  old  one,  if  you  like.” 

“  Why,  then,  harkye,  Mr.  Brooker,”  said  Ralph  in  his  harshest 
accents,  “  and  don’t  expect  to  draw  another  speech  from  me — 
harkye.  Sir.  I  know  you  of  old  for  a  ready  scoundrel,  but  you 
never  had  a  stout  heart ;  and  hard  work  with  (maybe)  chains 
upon  those  legs  of  yours,  and  shorter  food  than  when  i 
‘  pinched’  and  ‘  ground’  you,  has  blunted  your  wits,  or  you 
would  not  come  with  such  a  tale  as  this  to  me.  You  a  hold 
upon  me!  Keep  it,  or  publish  it  to  the  world  if  you  like.” 

“I  can’t  do  that,”  interposed  Brooker.  “That  wouldn’t 
serve  me.” 

“  Wouldn’t  it  ?”  said  Ralph.  “  It  will  serve  you  as  much  as 
bringing  it  to  me,  I  promise  you.  To  be  plain  with  you,  I  am 
a  careful  man,  and  know  my  affairs  thoroughly.  I  know  the 
world,  and  the  world  knows  me.  Whatever  you  gleaned,  or 
heard,  or  saw,  when  you  served  me,  the  world  knows  and  raag- 
iiilies  already.  You  could  tell  it  nothing  that  would  surprise  it 
i — unless,  indeed,  it  redounded  to  my  credit  or  honor,  and  then 


638 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


it  would  scout  you  for  a  liar.  And  yet  I  don’t  find  business 
slack,  or  clients  scrupulous.  Quite  the  contrary.  I  am  reviled 
or  threatened  every  day  by  one  man  or  another,”  said  Italph; 
“  but  things  roll  on  just  the  same,  and  I  don’t  grow  poorer  either.” 

“I  neither  revile  nor  threaten,”  rejoined  the  man.  “lean 
tell  you  of  what  you  have  lost  by  ray  act,  what  I  only  can  restore, 
and  what,  if  I  die  without  restoring,  dies  with  me,  and  never 
can  be  regained.” 

“  I  tell  my  money  pretty  accurately,  and  generally  keep  it  in 
my  own  custody,”  said  Ralph.  “  I  look  sharply  after  most  men 
that  I  deal  with,  and  most  of  all  I  looked  sharply  after  you. 
You  are  welcome  to  all  that  you  have  kept  from  me.” 

“Are  those  of  your  own  name  dear  to  you  ?”  said  the  man 
emphatically.  “  If  they  are - ” 

“  They  are  not,”  returned  Ralph,  exasperated  at  this  perse- 
veranee,  and  the  thought  of  Nicholas,  which  the  last  question 
awakened.  “  They  are  not.  If  you  had  come  as  a  common 
beggar,  I  might  have  throvvn  a  sixpence  to  you  in  remerabranco 
of  the  clever  knave  you  used  to  be  ;  but  since  you  try  to  palm 
these  stale  tricks  upon  one  you  might  have  known  better.  I’ll 
not  part  with  a  half-penny — nor  would  I  to  save  you  from  rot¬ 
ting.  And  remember  this,  ’scape-gallows,”  said  Ralph,  me¬ 
nacing  him  with  his  hand,  “that  if  we  meet  again,  and  you  so 
much  as  notice  me  by  one  begging  gesture,  you  shall  see  the 
inside  of  a  jail  once  more,  and  tighten  this  hold  upon  me  in 
intervals  of  the  hard  labor  that  vagabonds  are  put  to.  There’s 
my  answer  to  your  trash.  Take  it.” 

With  a  disdainful  scowl  at  the  object  of  his  anger,  Avho  met 
Lis  eye  but  uttered  not  a  word,  Ral])h  walked  away  at  his  usual 
pace,  without  manifesting  the  slightest  curiosity  to  see  what 
became  of  his  late  comi)aidon,  or  indeed  once  looking  behind 
him.  The  man  remained  on  the  same  spot  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  his  retreating  figure  uiuil  it  was  lost  to  view,  and  then 
drawing  his  arms  al)ont  his  chest,  as  if  the  damp  and  lack  of  food 
struck  coldly  to  him,  lingered  with  slouching  steps  by  the  way¬ 
side,  and  begged  of  those  who  passed  along. 

Ralph,  in  no-wise  moved  by  what  had  lately  passed,  further 
than  as  he  had  already  expressed  himself,  walked  deliberately  on, 
and  turning  out  of  the  Turk  and  leaving  Golden  Square  on  his 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


6;  <9 

ri^ht,  took  liis  way  through  some  streets  at  the  west  end  of  the 
town  until  he  arrived  in  that  particular  one  in  wliieh  stood  the 
residence  of  Madame  Mantaliui.  The  name  of  that  lady  no 
longer  appeared  on  the  flaming  door-plate,  that  of  Miss  Knag 
being  substituted  in  its  stead  ;  but  the  bonnets  and  dresses  were 
still  dimly  visible  in  the  first-floor  windows  by  the  decaying 
light  of  a  summer’s  evening,  and,  excepting  this  ostensible  alter¬ 
ation  in  the  proprietorship,  the  establishment  wore  its  old  ap¬ 
pearance. 

“  Humph  !”  muttered  Ralph,  drawing  his  hand  across  his 
mouth  with  a  connoisseur-like  air,  and  surveying  tlie  house  from 
top  to  bottom  ;  “  these  people  look  pretty  well.  They  can’t  last 
long ;  but  if  I  know  of  their  going,  in  good  time,  I  am  safe,  and 
a  fair  profit  too.  I  must  keep  them  closely  in  view — that’s  all.” 

So  nodding  his  head  very  complacently,  Ralph  was  leaving 
the  spot,  when  his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  confused 
noise  and  hubbub  of  voices,  mingled  with  a  great  running  up 
and  down  stairs,  in  the  very  house  which  had  been  the  subject 
of  his  scrutiny ;  and  while  he  was  hesitating  whether  to  knock 
at  the  door  or  listen  at  the  keyhole  a  little  longer,  a  female 
servant  of  jMadame  Mantalini’s  (whom  he  had  often  seen) 
opened  it  abruptly  and  bounced  out,  with  her  blue  cap-ribbons 
streaming  in  the  air. 

“  Hollo,  here.  Stop  !”  said  Ralph.  “  What’s  the  matter  ? 
Here  am  I.  Didn’t  you  hear  me  knock  ?” 

“Oh!  Mr.  Nickleby,  Sir,”  said  the  girl.  “Go  up,  for  the 
love  of  Gracious.  Master’s  been  and  done  it  again.” 

“  Done  what  ?”  said  Ralph,  tartly.  “What  d’ye  mean  ?” 

“  I  knew  he  would  if  he  was  drove  to  it,”  cried  the  girl.  “I 
said  so  all  along.” 

“  Come  here,  you  silly  wench,”  said  Ralph,  catching  her  by 
lie  wrist;  “and  don’t  carry  family  matters  to  the  neighbors, 
destroying  the  credit  of  the  establishment.  Come  here  ;  do  you 
hear  me,  girl  f” 

“AVithout  any  further  expostulation,  he  led  or  rather  pulled 
the  frightened  handmaid  into  the  house,  and  shut  the  door ; 
then  bidding  her  walk  up  stairs  before  him,  followed  without 
more  ceremony. 

Guided  bj  the  noise  of  a  great  many  voices,  all  talking 
41 


640 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


together,  and  passing  the  girl  in  his  impatience,  before  they 
had  ascended  many  steps,  Ralph  quickly  reached  the  private 
sitting-room,  when  he  was  rather  amazed  by  the  confused  and 
inexplicable  scene  in  which  he  suddenly  found  himself. 

There  were  all  the  young-lady  workers,  some  with  bonnets 
and  some  without,  in  various  attitudes  expressive  of  alarm  and 
consternation;  some  gathered  round  Madame  Mantilini,  who 
was  in  tears  upon  one  chair;  and  others  round  Miss  Knag,  who 
was  in  opposition  tears  upon  another;  and  others  round  Mr. 
Mantalini,  who  was  perhaps  the  most  striking  figure  in  the 
whole  group,  for  Mr.  Mantiliui’s  legs  were  extended  at  full 
length  upon  the  floor,  and  his  head  and  shoulders  were  sup¬ 
ported  by  a  very  tall  footman,  who  didn’t  seem  to  know  what 
to  do  with  them,  and  Mr.  Mantalini’s  eyes  were  closed,  and  his 
face  was  pale,  and  his  hair  was  comparatively  straight,  and  his 
whiskers  and  mustache  were  limp,  and  his  teeth  were  clenched, 
and  he  had  a  little  bottle  in  his  right  hand,  and  a  little  tea¬ 
spoon  in  his  left;  and  his  hands,  arms,  legs,  and  shoulders, 
were  all  stiff  and  powerless.  And  yet  Madame  Mantilini  was 
not  weeping  upon  the  body,  but  was  scolding  violently  upon 
her  chair;  and  all  this  amidst  a  clamor  of  tongues,  perfectly 
deafening,  and  which  really  appeared  to  have  driven  the  unfor¬ 
tunate  footman  to  the  uttermost  verge  of  distraction. 

“  What  is  the  matter  here  ?”  said  Ralph,  pressing  forward. 

At  this  inquiry,  the  clamor  was  increased  twenty-fold,  and  an 
astounding  string  of  such  shrill  contradictions,  as  “He’s  poisoned 
himself,” — “He  hasn’t,” — “Send  for  a  doctor,” — “Don’t,” — 
■ — “  He’s  dying,” — “  He  isn’t,  he’s  only  pretending,” — with  va¬ 
rious  other  cries,  poured  forth  with  bewildering  volubility,  until 
Madame  Mantalini  was  seen  to  address  herself  to  Ralph,  when 
female  curiosity  to  know  what  she  would  say,  prevailed,  and,  as 
if  by  general  consent,  a  dead  silence,  unbroken  by  a  single  whis¬ 
per,  instantaneously  succeeded. 

“Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  Madame  Mantalini;  “by  what  .  hance 
you  came  here,  I  don’t  know.” 

Here  a  gurgling  voice  was  heard  to  ejaculate — as  part  of  the 
wanderings  of  a  sick  man — the  words  “  Demnition  sweetness  !” 
but  nobody  heeded  them  except  the  footman,  who,  being  startled 
to  hear  such  awful  tones  proceeding,  as  it  were,  from  between 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


611 


his  very  fingers,  dropped  his  master’s  head  upon  the  floor  with 
a  pretty  loud  crash,  and  then,  without  an  effort  to  lift  It  up, 
gazed  upon  the  bystanders,  as  if  he  had  done  something  rather 
clever  than  otherwise. 

“  T  will,  however,”  continued  Madame  Mantalini,  drying  her 
eyes,  and  speaking  with  great  indignation,  “say  before  you,  and 
before  every  body  here,  for  the  first  time,  and  once  for  all,  that 
I  never  will  supply  that  man’s  extravagances  and  viciousness 
again.  I  have  been  a  dupe  and  a  fool  to  him  long  enough. 
In  future,  he  shall  support  himself  if  he  can,  and  then  he  may 
spend  what  money  he  pleases,  upon  whom  and  how  he  pleases  ; 
but  it  shall  not  be  mine,  and  therefore  you  had  better  pause  be¬ 
fore  you  trust  him  further.” 

Thereupon  Madame  Mantalini,  quite  unmoved  by  some  most 
pathetic  lamentations  on  the  part  of  her  husband,  that  the  apo¬ 
thecary  had  not  mixed  the  prussic  acid  strong  enough,  and  that 
he  must  take  another  bottle  or  two  to  finish  the  work  he  had  in 
hand,  entered  into  a  catalogue  of  that  amiable  gentleman’s  gal¬ 
lantries,  deceptions,  extravagances,  and  infidelities  (especially 
the  last),  winding  up  with  a  protest  against  being  supposed  to 
entertain  the  smallest  remnant  of  regard  for  him  ;  and  adducing, 
in  proof  of  the  altered  state  of  her  affections,  the  circumstance 
of  his  having  poisoned  himself  in  private  no  less  than  six  times 
within  the  last  fortnight,  and  her  not  having  once  interfered  by 
word  or  deed  to  save  his  life. 

“And  I  insist  on  being  separated  and  left  to  myself,”  said 
Madame  Mantalini,  sobbing.  “  If  he  dares  to  refuse  me  a  sepa¬ 
ration,  I’ll  have  one  in  law — I  can — and  I  hope  this  will  be  a 
warning  to  all  girls  who  have  seen  this  disgraceful  exhibition.” 

Miss  Knag,  who  was  unquestionably  the  oldest  girl  in  com¬ 
pany,  said  with  great  solemnity,  that  it  would  be  a  warning  to 
her,  and  so  did  the  young  ladies  generally,  with  the  exception 
oi  one  or  two  who  appeared  to  entertain  some  doubts  whether 
such  whiskers  could  do  wrong. 

“  Why  do  yon  say  all  this  before  so  many  listeners  ?”  said 
Kalph,  in  a  low  voice.  “You  know  you  are  not  earnest.” 

“I  am  in  earnest,”  replied  Madame  Mantalini,  aloud,  and 
retreating  towards  Miss  Knag. 

“  Well,  but  consider,”  reasoned  Ralph,  who  had  a  great  in- 


642 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


terest  in  the  matter.  “  It  would  be  well  to  reflect.  A  mamed 
woman  has  no  property.” 

“Not  a  solitary  single  individual  dem,  my  soul,”  said  Mr. 
Mantalini,  raising  himself  upon  his  elbow. 

“  I  am  quite  aware  of  that,”  retorted  Madame  Mantalini,  toss¬ 
ing  her  head  ;  “  and  /have  none.  The  business,  the  stock,  this 
house,  and  every  thing  in  it,  all  belong  to  Miss  Knag.” 

“  That’s  quite  true,  Madame  Mantalini,”  said  Miss  Knag, 
with  whom  her  late  employer  had  secretly  come  to  an  amicable 
understanding  on  this  point.  “Very  true,  indeed,  Madame  Man¬ 
talini — hem — very  true.  And  I  never  was  more  glad  in  all  my 
life,  that  I  had  strength  of  mind  to  resist  matrimonial  offers,  no 
matter  how  advantageous,  than  I  am  when  I  think  of  my  present 
position  as  compared  with  your  most  unfortunate  and  most  un¬ 
deserved  one,  Madame  Mantalini.” 

“  Demmit !”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  turning  his  head  towards 
his  wife.  “Will  it  not  slap  and  pinch  the  envious  dowager, 
that  dares  to  reflect  upon  its  own  delicious  ?” 

But  the  day  of  Mr.  Mantalini’s  blandishments  had  departed. 

“  Miss  Knag,  Sir,”  said  “  his  wife,  “is  my  particular  friend  ;” 
and  although  Mr.  Mantalini,  leered  till  his  eyes  seemed  in  dan¬ 
ger  of  never  coming  back  to  their  right  places  again,  Madame 
Mantalini  showed  no  signs  of  softening. 

To  do  the  excellent  Miss  Knag  justice,  she  had  been  mainly  in¬ 
strumental  in  bringing  about  this  altered  state  of  things,  for 
finding,  by  daily  experience,  that  there  was  no  chance  of  the  busi¬ 
ness  thriving,  or  even  continuing  to  exist,  while  Mr.  Mantalini 
had  any  hand  in  the  expenditure,  and  having  now  a  consider¬ 
able  interest  in  its  well-doing,  she  had  sedulously  applied  her¬ 
self  to  the  investigation  of  some  little  matters  connected  with 
that  gentleman’s  private  character,  which  she  had  so  well  eluci¬ 
dated,  and  artfully  imparted  to  Madame  Mantalini,  as  to  open 
her  eyes  more  effectually  than  the  closest  and  most  philosophi¬ 
cal  reasoning  could  have  done  in  a  series  of  years.  To  which 
and,  the  accidental  discovery  by  Miss  Knag  of  some  tender  cor¬ 
respondence,  in  which  Madame  Mantalini  was  described  as  “old” 
and  “  ordinary,”  had  most  providentially  contributed. 

However,  notwithstanding  her  firmness,  Madame  Mantalini 
wept  very  piteously ;  and  as  she  leant  upon  Miss  Knag,  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


643 


signed  towards  the  door,  that  young  lady  and  all  the  other  young 
ladies,  with  sympathizing  faces,  proceeded  to  bear  her  out. 

“Nickleby,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  in  tears,  “you  have  been 
made  a  witness  to  this  demnition  cruelty,  on  the  part  of  the  deiii- 
dest  enslaver  and  captivator  that  never  was,  oh  dem  1  I  foi’give 
that  woman.” 

“  Forgive  1”  repeated  Madame  Mantalini,  angrily. 

“  I  do  forgive  her,  Nickleby,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini.  “  You 
will  blame  me,  the  world  will  blame  me,  the  women  will  blame 
me  ;  everybody  will  laugh,  and  scoff,  and  smile,  and  grin  most 
deinnebly.  They  will  say,  ‘  She  had  a  blessing.  She  did  not 
know  it.  He  was  too  weak  ;  he  was  too  good  ;  he  was  a  dera’d 
line  fellow,  but  he  loved  too  strong  ;  he  could  not  bear  her  to  be 
cross,  and  call  him  wicked  names.  It  was  a  dem’d  case,  there 
never  was  a  demder.  But  I  forgive  her.” 

With  tills  affecting  speech  Mr.  Mantalini  fell  down  again 
very  flat,  and  lay  to  all  appearance  without  sense  or  motion, 
until  all  the  females  had  left  the  room,  when  he  came  cautiously 
into  a  sitting  posture,  and  confronted  Kalph  with  a  very  blank 
face,  and  the  little  bottle  still  in  one  hand  and  the  tea-spoon  in 
the  other. 

“You  may  put  away  those  fooleries  now,  and  live  by  your 
wits  again,”  said  Halph,  coolly  putting  on  his  hat. 

“  Demmit,  Nickleby,  you’re  not  serious?” 

“  I  seldom  joke,”  said  Halph.  “  Good-night.” 

“  No,  but  Nickleby — ”  said  Mantalini. 

“  I  am  wrong,  perhaps,”  rejoined  Ralph.  “I  hope  so  You 
should  know  best.  Good-night.” 

Affecting  not  to  hear  his  entreaties  that  he  would  stay  and. 
advise  with  him,  Kalph  left  the  crest-fallen  Mr.  Mantalini  to 
his  meditations,  and  left  the  house  quietly. 

“Oho!”  he  said,  “sets  the  wind  that  way  so  soon  ?  Half 
knave  and  half  fool,  and  detected  in  both  characters — hum — I 
think  your  day  is  over,  sir.” 

As  he  said  this,  he  made  some  memorandum  in  his  pocket- 
book  in  which  Mr.  IMantalini’s  name  flgured  conspicuously,  and 
lindiiig  by  his  watch  that  it  was  between  nine  and  ten  o’clock, 
made  all  speed  home. 

“  Are  they  here  ?”  was  the  first  question  he  asked  of  Newman, 

Newman  nodded.  “Been  here  ha'i-an-hour.” 


G44 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Two  of  them  ?  one  a  fat  sleek  man 

“  Ay,”  said  Newman.  “In  your  room  now.” 

“  Good,”  rejoined  Ralph.  “  Get  me  a  coach.” 

“A  coach  I  What  you — going  to — eh  ?”  stammered  Newman. 

Ralph  angrily  repeated  his  orders,  and  Noggs,  who  might 
well  have  been  excused  for  wondering  at  such  an  unusual  and 
extraordinary  circumstance — for  he  had  never  seen  Ral))h  in  a 
coach  in  his  life — departed  on  his  errand,  and  presently  returned 
with  the  conveyance. 

Into  it  went  Mr.  Squeers,  and  Ralph,  and  the  third  man, 
whom  Newman  Noggs  had  never  seen.  Newman  stood  upon 
the  door  step  to  see  them  off,  not  troubling  himself  to  wonder 
where  or  upon  what  business  they  were  going,  until  he  chanced 
by  mere  accident  to  hear  Ralph  name  the  address  whither  the 
coachman  was  to  drive. 

Quick  as  lightning  and  in  a  state  of  the  most  extreme  wonder, 
Newman  darted  into  his  little  office  for  his  hat,  and  limped  after 
the  coach  as  if  with  the  intention  of  getting  up  behind  ;  but  in 
this  design  he  was  balked,  for  it  had  too  much  the  start  of  him 
and  was  soon  hopelessly  ahead,  leaving  him  gaping  in  the  empty 
street. 

“  I  don’t  know  though,”  said  Noggs,  stopping  for  breath,  “  any 
good  that  I  could  have  done  by  going  too.  He  would  have 
seen  me  if  I  had.  Drive  there  I  What  can  come  of  this  !  If 
I  had  only  known  it  yesterday  I  could  have  told — drive  there  1 
There’s  mischief  in  it.  There  must  be. 

Ilis  reflections  were  interrupted  by  a  grey-haired  man  of  a 
very  remarlcable,  though  far  from  prepossessing  appearance,  who, 
coming  stealthily  towards  him,  solicited  relief. 

Newman,  still  cogitating  deeply,  turned  away;  but  the  man 
followed  him,  and  pressed  him  with  such  a  tale  of  misery  that 
Newman  (who  might  have  been  considered  a  hopeless  person 
to  beg  from,  and  who  had  little  enough  to  give)  looked  into  his 
hat  for  some  halfpence  which  he  usually  kept  screwed  up,  when 
he  had  any,  in  a  corner  of  his  pocket  handkerchief. 

While  he  was  busily  untwisting  the  knot  with  his  teeth,  the 
man  said  something  which  attracted  his  attention;  whatever 
that  something  was,  it  led  to  something  else,  and  in  the  end 
he  and  Newman  walked  away  side  by  side — the  strange  man 
talking  earnestly,  and  Newman  listening. 


CHAPTEE  XliV. 


CONTAINING  MATTER  OE  A  SURPRISING  KIND. 

“  As  we  gang  awa’  fra’  Lunniin  to-morrow  neeglit,  and  as  I 
diniiot  know  that  I  was  e’er  so  happy  in  a’  my  days,  Misther 
Nickleby,  Omg  I  but  I  will  tak’  anoother  glass  to  our  next  merry 
meeting  k’ 

So  said  John  Browdie,  rubbing  his  hands  with  great  joyous¬ 
ness,  and  looking  round  him  with  a  ruddy,  shining  face,  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  declaration. 

The  time  at  which  John  found  himself  in  this  enviable  con¬ 
dition,  was  the  same  evening  to  which  the  last  chapter  bore  re¬ 
ference;  the  place  was  the  cottage;  and  the  assembled  company 
were  Nicholas,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  Mrs.  Browdie,  Kate  Nickleby, 
and  Smike. 

A  very  merry  party  they  had  been.  Mrs.  Nickleby,  knowing 
of  her  son’s  obligations  to  the  honest  Yorkshireman,  had,  after 
some  demur,  yielded  her  consent  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie  be¬ 
ing  invited  out  to  tea;  in  the  way  of  which  arrangement,  there 
were  at  first  sundry  dilGculties  and  obstacles,  arising  out  of  her 
not  having  had  an  opportunity  of  “  calling”  upon  Mrs.  Brow¬ 
die  first;  for  although  Mrs.  Nickleby  very  often  observed  with 
much  complacency  (as  most  punctilious  peojile  do),  that  she  had 
not  an  atom  of  pride  or  formality  about  her,  still  she  was  a 
great  stickler  for  dignity  and  ceremonies  ;  and  as  it  was  mani¬ 
fest  that,  until  a  call  had  been  made,  she  could  not  be  (politely 
speaking,  and  according  to  the  laws  of  society)  even  cognizant 
of  the  fact  of  Mrs.  Browdie’s  existence,  she  felt  her  situation 
10  be  one  of  peculiar  delicacy  and  difficulty. 

“  The  call  munt  originate  with  me,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleliy,  “that’s  indispensable.  The  fact  is,  my  dear,  that  it’s 
necessary  there  should  be  a  sort  of  condescension  on  my  part, 
and  that  I  should  show  this  young  person  that  I  am  willing  to 
take  notice  of  her.  There’s  a  very  respectable  looking  young 

fG45) 


646 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


man,”  added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  after  a  short  consideration,  “  who 
is  conductor  to  one  of  the  omnibuses  that  go  by  here,  and  who 
wears  a  glazed  hat — your  sister  and  I  have  noticed  him  very 
often — he  has  a  wart  upon  his  nose,  Kate,  you  know,  exactly 
like  a  gentleman’s  servant.” 

“  Have  all  gentlemen’s  servants  warts  upon  their  noses,  mo¬ 
ther  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  Nicholas,  my  dear,  how  very  absurd  you  are,”  returned  his 
mother ;  “  of  course  I  mean  that  his  glazed  hat  looks  like  a  gen¬ 
tleman’s  servant,  and  not  the  wart  upon  his  nose — though  even 
that  is  not  so  ridiculous  as  it  may  seern  to  you,  for  we  had  a 
footboy  once,  who  had  not  only  a  wart,  but  a  wen  also,  and  a 
very  large  wen  too,  and  he  demanded  to  have  his  wages  raised  in 
consequence,  because  he  found  it  became  very  expensive.  Let  me 
see,  what  was  I — oh  yes,  I  know.  The  best  way  that  I  can 
think  of,  would  be  to  send  a  card,  and  my  compliments,  (I’ve 
no  doubt  he’d  take  ’em  for  a  pot  of  porter,)  by  this  young  man, 
to  the  Saracen  with  Two  Necks — if  the  waiter  took  him  for  a 
gentleman’s  servant,  so  much  the  better.  Then  all  Mrs.  Brow- 
die  would  have  to  do,  would  be  to  send  her  card  back  by  the 
carrier  (he  could  easily  come  with  a  double  knock),  and  there’s 
an  end  of  it.” 

“My  dear  mother,”  said  Nicholas,  “I  don’t  suppose  such  un¬ 
sophisticated  people  as  these  ever  had  a  card  of  their  own,  or 
ever  will  have.” 

“  Oh  that,  indeed,  Nicholas,  my  dear,”  returned  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  “that’s  another  thing.  If  you  put  it  upon  that 
ground,  why,  of  course,  I  have  no  more  to  say,  than  that  I 
have  no  doubt  they  are  very  good  sort  of  persons,  and  that  1 
have  no  kind  of  objection  to  their  coming  here  to  tea  if 
they  like,  and  shall  make  a  point  of  being  very  civil  to  them  if 
they  do.” 

The  point  being  thus  effectually  set  at  rest,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby 
duly  placed  in  the  patronizing  and  mildly-condescending  posi¬ 
tion  which  became  her  rank  and  matrimonial  years,  Mr.  and 
]\lrs.  Browdie  were  invited  and  came;  and  as  they  were  very 
deferential  to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  seemed  to  have  a  becoming 
appreciation  of  her  greatness,  and  were  very  much  pleased  vdib 
erery  thing,  the  good  lady  had  more  than  once  given  Kate  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


647 


understand,  in  a  whisper,  that  she  thought  they  were  the  very 
best  meaning  people  she  had  ever  seen,  and  perfectly  well  be¬ 
haved. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass,  that  John  Browdie  declared,  in 
the  parlor  after  supper,  to  wit,  at  twenty  minutes  before  eleven 
o’clock,  p.  M.,  that  he  had  never  been  so  happy  in  all  his  davs. 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Browdie  much  behind  her  husband  in  this 
respect,  for  that  young  matron — whose  rustic  beauty  contrasted 
very  prettily  with  the  more  delicate  loveliness  of  Kate,  and 
without  suffering  by  the  contrast  either,  for  each  served  as  it 
were  to  set  off  and  decorate  the  other — could  not  sufficiently 
admire  the  gentle  and  winning  manners  of  the  young  lady,  or 
the  engaging  affability  of  the  elder  one.  Then  Kate  had  the 
art  of  turning  the  conversation  to  subjects  upon  which  the 
country  girl,  bashful  at  first  in  strange  company,  could  feel  her¬ 
self  at  home  ;  and  if  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  not  quite  so  felicitous 
at  times  in  the  selection  of  toi)ics  of  discourse,  or  if  she  did 
seem,  as  Mrs.  Browdie  expressed  it,  “rather  high  in  her  no¬ 
tions,”  still  nothing  could  be  kinder,  and  that  she  took  con¬ 
siderable  interest  in  the  young  couple  was  manifest  from  the 
very  long  lectures  on  housewifery  with  which  she  was  so 
obliging  as  to  entertain  Mrs.  Browdie’s  private  ear,  which  were 
illustrated  by  various  references  to  the  domestic  economy  of  the 
cottage,  in  which  (those  duties  falling  exclusively  upon  Kate) 
the  good  lady  had  about  as  much  share,  either  in  theory  or 
])ractice,  as  anyone  of  the  statues  of  the  Twelve  Apostles  which 
embellish  the  exterior  of  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral. 

“  Mr.  B  rowdie,”  said  Kate,  addressing  his  young  wife,  “  is  the 
best  humored,  the  kindest  and  heartiest  creature  I  ever  saw. 
If  I  were  oppressed  with  I  don’t  knowhow  many  cares,  it  would 
make  me  happy  only  to  look  at  him.” 

“  lie  does  seem  indeed,  upon  my  word,  a  most  excellent  crea¬ 
ture,  Kate,”  said  Airs.  Nickleby;  “most  excellent.  And  I  am 
sure  that  at  all  times  it  will  give  me  pleasure — really  pleasure 
now — to  have  you.  Airs.  Browdie,  to  see  me  in  this  ])lain  and 
homely  manner.  We  make  no  display,”  said  Airs.  Nickleby, 
with  an  air  wdiich  seemed  to  insinuate  that  they  could  make  a 
vast  deal  if  they  w'ere  so  disposed — “no  fuss,  no  preparation  ;  I 
wouldn’t  allow  it.  I  said  ‘  Kate,  my  dear,  you  will  only  make 


648 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Mrs.  Browdie  feel  uncomfortable,  and  how  very  foolish  and  in¬ 
considerate  that  would  be  !’” 

“  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure.  Ma’am,”  returned 
Mrs.  Browdie,  gratefully.  “It’s  nearly  eleven  o’clock,  John. 
I  am  afraid  we  are  keeping  you  up  very  late.  Ma’am.” 

“Late  I”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  sharp  thin  laugh,  and 
one  little  cough  at  the  end,  like  a  note  of  admiration  expressed. 
“  This  is  quite  early  for  us.  lYe  used  to  keep  such  hours ! 
Twelve,  one,  two,  three  o’clock  was  nothing  to  us.  Balls,  din¬ 
ners,  card-partie.s — never  were  such  rakes  as  the  people  about 
where  we  used  to  live.  I  often  think  now,  I  am  sure,  that  how 
we  ever  could  go  through  with  it  is  quite  astonishing — and  that 
it’s  just  the  evil  of  having  a  large  connection  and  being  a  great 
deal  sought  after,  which  I  would  recommend  all  young  married 
people  steadily  to  resist ;  though  of  course,  and  it’s  perfectly 
clear,  and  a  very  happy  thing  too,  I  think,  that  very  few  young 
married  people  can  be  exposed  to  such  temptations.  There 
was  one  family  in  particular,  that  used  to  live  about  a  mile  from 
us — not  straight  down  the  road,  but,  turning  sharp  off  to  the 
left  by  the  turnpike  where  the  Plymouth  mail  ran  over  the  don¬ 
key — that  were  quite  extraordinary  people  for  giving  the  most 
extravagant  parties,  with  artificial  flowers  and  champagne,  and 
variegated  lamps,  and,  in  short,  every  delicacy  of  eating  and 
drinking  that  the  most  singular  epicure  could  possibly  require 
— I  don’t  think  there  ever  were  such  people  as  those  Peltiro- 
guses.  You  remember  the  Peltiroguses,  Kate  ?” 

Kate  saw  that  for  the  ease  and  comfort  of  the  visitors  it  was 
high  time  to  stay  this  flood  of  recollection,  so  answered  that  she 
entertained  of  the  Peltiroguses  a  most  vivid  and  distinct  remem¬ 
brance  ;  and  then  said  that  Mr.  Browdie  had  half  promised, 
early  in  the  evening,  that  he  would  sing  a  Yorkshire  song,  and 
that  she  was  most  impatient  that  he  should  redeem  his  promise, 
because  she  was  sure  it  would  afford  her  mainma  more  amusement 
and  pleasure  than  it  was  possible  to  express. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  confirming  her  daughter  with  the  best  possible 
grace — for  there  was  patronage  in  that  too,  and  a  kind  of  im¬ 
plication  that  she  had  a  discerning  taste  in  such  matters,  and 
was  something  of  a  critic — John  Browdie  proceeded  to  consider 
the  words  of  some  north-country  ditty,  and  to  take  his  wife’s 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


G49 


recollection  respecting  the  same.  This  done,  he  made  divers 
ungainly  movements  in  his  chair,  and  singling  out  one  particular 
tiy  on  the  ceiling  from  the  other  flies  there  asleep,  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  him,  and  began  to  roar  a  meek  sentiment  (supposed  to  be 
uttered  by  a  gentle  swain  fast  pining  away  with  love  and  ies- 
pair)  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  verse,  as  though  some  person  without 
had  waited  until  then  to  make  himself  audible,  was  heard  a  loud 
aud  violent  knocking  at  the  street  door — so  loud  and  so  violent, 
indeed,  that  the  ladies  started  as  by  one  accord,  and  John  Brow- 
die  stopped. 

“It  must  be  some  mistake,”  said  Nicnolas,  carelessly.  “We 
know  nobody  who  would  come  here  at  this  hour.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  surmised,  however,  that  perhaps  the  counting- 
house  was  burnt  down,  or  perhaps  ‘  the  Mr.  Cheerybles  ’  had 
sent  to  take  Nicholas  into  partnership  (which  certainly  appeared 
highly  probable  at  that  time  of  night)  or  perhaps  Mr.  Linkin- 
water  had  run  away  with  the  property,  or  perhaps  Miss  La 
Creevy  was  taken  ill,  or  perhaps - 

But  a  hasty  exclamation  from  Kate  stopped  her  abruptly  in 
her  conjectures,  and  Ralph  Nickleby  walked  into  the  room. 

“  Stay,”  said  Ralph,  as  Nicholas  rose,  and  Kate,  making  her 
way  towards  him,  tlirew  herself  upon  his  arm.  “Before  that 
boy  says  a  word,  hear  me.” 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip  and  shook  his  head  in  a  threatening  man¬ 
ner,  but  appeared  for  the  moment  unable  to  articulate  a  syllable. 
Kate  clung  closer  to  his  arm,  Smike  retreated  behind  them,  and 
John  Browdie,  who  had  heard  of  Ralph,  and  appeared  to  have 
no  great  difficulty  in  recognizing  him,  stepped  between  the  old 
man  and  his  young  friend,  as  if  with  the  intention  of  preventing 
either  of  them  from  advancing  a  step  further. 

“  Hear  me,  I  say,”  said  Ralph,  “  and  not  him.” 

“Say  what  thou’st  gotten  to  say  then,  sir,”  retorted  John; 
“  and  tak’  care  thou  dinnot  put  up  angry  bluid  which  thou’dst 
betthcr  try  to  quiet.” 

“  1  should  know  said  Ralph,  “  by  your  tongue  ;  and 

him''  (pointing  to  Smike)  “by  his  looks.” 

“  Don’t  speak  to  him,”  said  Nicholas,  recovering  his  voice, 
will  not  have  it.  I  will  not  hear  him.  I  do  not  know 


'•660 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


that  man.  1  cannot  breathe  the  air  that  he  corrupts.  His 
presence  is  an  insult  to  my  sister.  It  is  shame  to  see  him.  T 
will  not  bear  it,  by - ” 

“  Stand  !”  cried  John,  laying  his  heavy  hand  upon  his  chest 

“Then  let  him  instantly  retire,”  said  Nicholas,  struggling. 
“  I  am  not  going  to  lay  hands  upon  him,  but  he  shall  withdraw. 
I  will  not  have  him  here.  John — John  Browdie — is  this  my 
house — am  I  a  child  ?  If  he  stands  there,”  cried  Nicholas,  burn¬ 
ing  with  fury,  “looking  so  calmly  upon  those  who  know  his 
black  and  dastardly  heart,  he’ll  drive  me  mad.” 

To  all  these  exclamations  John  Browdie  answered  not  a  word, 
but  he  retained  his  hold  upon  Nicholas ;  and  when  he  was  si¬ 
lent  again,  spoke. 

“There’s  more  to  say  and  hear  than  thou  think’st  for,”  said 
John.  “  I  tell  ’ee  I  ha’  gotten  scent  o’  thot  already.  Wa’at  be 
thot  shadow  ootside  door  there?  Noo  schoolmeasther,  show 
thyself,  mun  ;  dinnot  be  sheame-feaced.  Noo,  auld  geu’lm’n, 
let’s  have  .schoolmeasther  coom.” 

Hearing  this  adjuration,  Mr.  Squeers,  who  had  been  lingering 
in  the  passage  until  such  time  as  it  should  be  expedient  for  him 
to  enter,  and  he  could  appear  with  effect,  was  fain  to  present 
himself  in  a  somewhat  undignified  and  sneaking  way ;  at  which 
John  Browdie  laughed  with  such  keen  and  heartfelt  delight, 
that  even  Kate,  in  all  the  pain,  anxiety,  and  surprise  of  the 
scene,  and  though  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  felt  a  disposition 
to  join  him. 

“  Have  you  done  enjoying  yourself,  Sir  ?”  said  Balph,  at 
length. 

“  Pratty  nigh  for  the  prasant  time.  Sir,”  replied  John. 

“I  can  wait,”  said  Ralph.  “Take  your  own  time,  pray.” 

Ralph  waited  until  there  was  a  perfect  silence,  and  then 
turning  to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  but  directing  an  eager  glance  at  Kate, 
as  if  more  anxious  to  watch  his  effect  upon  her,  said  : — 

“  Now,  Ma’am,  listen  to  me.  I  don’t  imagine  that  you  were 
a  party  to  a  very  fine  tirade  of  words  sent  me  by  that  boy  of 
yours,  because  I  don’t  believe  that,  under  his  control,  you  have 
the  slightest  wdll  of  your  own,  or  that  your  advice,  your  opinion, 
your  wants,  your  wishes — any  thing  which  in  nature  and  reason 
(or  of  what  use  is  your  great  experience  ?)  ought  to  weigh  with 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


651 


him — has  the  slightest  influence  or  weight  whatever,  or  is  taken 
for  a  moment  into  account.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  shook  her  head  and  sighed,  as  if  there  were  a 
good  deal  in  that,  certainly. 

“  For  this  reason,”  resumed  Ralph,  “I  address  myself  to  yon, 
M  a'  am.  For  this  reason,  partly,  and  partly  because  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  disgraced  by  the  acts  of  a  vicious  stripling  whom  I 
was  obliged  to  disown,  and  who,  afterwards,  in  his  boyish 
majesty,  feigns  to — ha  !  ha ! — to  disown  me,  I  present  myself 
here  to-night.  I  have  anothei  motive  in  coming — a  motive  of 
humanity.  I  come  here,”  said  Ralph,  looking  round  with  a 
biting  and  triumphant  smile,  and  gloating  and  dwelling  upon 
the  words  as  if  he  were  loath  to  lose  the  pleasure  of  saying 
them,  “to  restore  a  parent  his  child.  Ay,  Sir,”  he  continued, 
bending  eagerly  forward,  and  addressing  Nicholas,  as  he  marked 
the  change  of  his  countenance,  “  to  restore  a  parent  his  child — 
his  son.  Sir — trepanned,  waylaid,  and  guarded  at  every  turn  by 
you,  with  the  base  design  of  robbing  him  of  any  little  wretched 
pittance  of  which  he  might  become  possessed.” 

“  In  that,  you  know  you  lie,”  said  Nicholas,  proudly. 

.  “In  this,  I  know  I  speak  the  truth — I  have  his  father  here,” 
retorted  Ralph. 

“  Here  !”  sneered  Squeers,  stepping  forward.  “  Do  you  hear 
that  ?  Here  1  Didn’t  I  tell  you  to  be  careful  that  his  father 
didn’t  turn  up,  and  send  him  back  to  me?  Why,  his  father’s 
my  friend ;  he’s  to  come  back  to  me  directly,  he  is.  Now,  what 
do  you  say — eh  ! — now — come — what  do  you  say  to  thaF— ain’t 
you  sorry  you  took  so  much  trouble  for  nothing  ?  ain’t  you  ? 
ain’t  you?” 

“You  bear  upon  your  body  certain  marks  I  gave  you,”  said 
Nicholas,  looking  quietly  away,  “and  may  talk  in  acknowledg¬ 
ment  of  them  as  much  as  you  please.  Y^on’ll  talk  a  long  time 
before  you  rub  them  out,  Mr.  Squeers. 

fl'lie  estimable  gentleman  last  named,  cast  a  hasty  look  at  the 
table,  as  if  he  were  ])rom]ited  by  this  retort  to  throw  a  jug  or 
bottle  at  the  head  of  Nicholas,  but  he  was  interrupted  in  this 
design  (if  such  design  he  had)  by  Ralph,  who,  touching  him  on 
the  elbow,  bade  him  tell  the  father  that  he  might  nov  appear 
and  claim  his  sou. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


V 

662 

This  beino;  purely  a  lab(»r  of  love,  Mr.  Squeers  readily  com¬ 
plied,  and  leaving  the  room  for  the  purpose,  almost  immediately 
returned,  supporting  a  sleek  personage  with  an  oily  face,  who, 
bursting  from  him,  and  giving  to  view  the  form  and  face  of  Mr. 
Snawley,  made  straight  up  to  Smike,  and  tucking  that  poor 
fellow’s  head  under  his  arm  in  a  most  uncouth  and  awkward 
eml)race,  elevated  his  broad-brimmed  hat  at  arm’s  length  in  the 
air  as  a  token  of  devout  thanksgiving,  exclaiming,  meanwhile, 
“  How  little  did  I  think  of  this  here  joyful  meeting,  when  I  saw 
him  last !  Oh,  how  little  did  I  think  it !” 

“lie  composed.  Sir,”  said  Ralph,  with  a  gruff  expression  of 
sympathy,  “you  have  got  him  now.” 

“  Got  him  !  Oh,  haven’t  I  got  him  !  Have  I  got  him,  though?” 
cried  Mr.  Snawley,  scarcely  able  to  believe  it.  “Yes,  here  ho 
is,  flesh  and  blood,  flesh  and  blood.” 

“  Vary  little  flesh,”  said  John  Browdie. 

Mr.  Snawley  was  too  much  occupied  by  his  parental  feelings 
to  notice  this  remark  ;  and  to  assure  himself  more  completely  of 
the  restoration  of  his  child,  tucked  his  head  under  his  arm  again, 
and  kept  it  there. 

“What  was  it,”  said  Snawley,  “that  made  me  take  such  a 
strong  interest  in  him,  when  that  worthy  instructor  of  youth 
brought  him  to  my  house  ?  What  was  it  that  made  me  burn  all 
over  with  a  wish  to  chastise  him  severely  for  cutting  away  from 
bis  best  friends — his  pastors  and  masters  ?” 

“It  was  parental  instinct.  Sir,”  observed  Squeers. 

“That’s  what  it  was.  Sir,”  rejoined  Snawley;  “the  elevated 
feeling — the  feeling  of  the  ancient  Romans  and  Grecians,  and 
of  the  beasts  of  the  field  and  birds  of  the  air,  with  the  exception 
of  rabbits  and  tom-cats,  which  sometimes  devour  their  offspring. 
My  heart  yearned  towards  him.  I  could  have — I  don’t  know 
what  I  couldn’t  have  done  to  him  in  the  anger  of  a  father.” 

“It  only  shows  what  Natur  is.  Sir,”  said  .Mr.  Sqiners 
“  She’s  a  rum  ’un,  is  Natur.” 

“  She’s  a  holy  thing.  Sir,”  remarked  Snawley. 

“  I  believe  you,”  added  Mr.  Squeers,  with  a  moral  sigh.  “  1 
should  like  to  know  how  we  should  ever  get  on  without  her. 
Natur,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  solemnly,  “  is  more  easier  conceived 


■A 


NICHOLAS  N I C  K  L  E  B  Y.  G63 

than  described.  Oh  what  a  blessed  thing,  Sir,  to  be  in  a  state 
of  natur  I” 

Pending  this  philosophical  discourse,  the  bystanders  had 
been  quite  stupified  with  amazement,  while  Nicholas  had  looked 
keenly  from  Snawlcy  to  Squeers,  and  from  Squeers'to  Ralph, 
divided  between  his  feelings  of  disgust,  doubt,  and  surprise, 
At  this  juncture,  Sinike  escaping  from  his  father  fled  to  Nicholas, 
and  implored  him,  in  most  moving  terms,  never  to  give  him 
up,  but  to  let  him  live  and  die  beside  him. 

“If  you  are  this  boy’s  father,”  said  Nicholas,  look  at  the 
wreck  he  is,  and  tell  me  that  you  purpose  to  send  him  back  to 
that  loathsome  den  from  which  I  brought  him.” 

“  Scandal  again !”  cried  Squeers.  “  Recollect,  you  ain’t 
worth  powder  and  shot,  but  I’ll  be  even  with  you  one  way  or 
another,” 

“Stop,”  interposed  Ralph,  as  Snawley  was  about  to  speak. 
“Let  us  cut  this  matter  short,  and  not  bandy  words  here  with 
hare-brained  profligates.  This  is  your  son,  as  you  can  prove — 
and  you,  Mr.  Squeers,  you  know  this  boy  to  be  the  same  that 
was  with  you  for  so  many  years  under  the  name  of  Smike — Do 
you  ?” 

“Do  I!”  returned  Squeers.  “Don’t  I  ?” 

“Good,”  said  Ralph;  “a  very  few  words  will  be  sufficient 
here.  You  had  a  son  by  your  first  wife,  Mr.  Snawley  ?” 

“I  had,”  replied  that  person,  “and  there  he  stands.” 

“We’ll  show  that  presently,”  said  Ral})h.  “You  and  your 
ulfe  were  separated,  and  she  had  the  boy  to  live  with  her,  when 
he  was  a  year  old.  Y^ou  received  a  communication  from  her, 
when  you  had  lived  apart  a  year  or  two,  that  the  boy  was  dead ; 
and  you  believed  it  ?” 

“Of  course  I  did  1”  returned  Snawley.  “  Oh  the  joy  of - ” 

“  Re  rational.  Sir,  pray,”  said  Ralph.  “  This  is  business,  and 
transports  interfere  with  it.  Tliis  wife  died  a  year  and  a  half 
ago,  or  thereabouts — not  more — in  some  obscure  place,  where 
she  was  housekeeper  in  a  family.  Is  that  the  case  ?” 

“That’s  the  case,”  replied  Snawley. 

“  Having  written  on  her  death-bed  a  letter  or  confession  to 
you,  about  this  very  boy,  which,  as  it  was  not  directed  other- 


654 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


wise  tliau  in  your  name,  only  reached  you,  and  that  by  a  cir¬ 
cuitous  course,  a  few  days  since  ?” 

“Just  so,”  said  Snawley.  “Correct  in  every  pailicular,  Sir.” 

“And  this  confession,”  resumed  Ralph,  “is  to  the  effect  that 
his  deatli  was  an  invention  of  hers  to  wound  you — was  a  part 
of  a  system  of  annoyance,  in  short,  which  you  seem  to  have 
adopted  towards  each  other — that  the  boy  lived,  but  was  of 
weak  and  imperfect  intellect — that  she  sent  him  by  a  Ousty 
hand  to  a  cheap  school  in  Yorkshire — that  she  had  paid  for 
his  education  for  some  years,  and  then,  being  poor,  and  going 
a  long  way  off,  gradually  deserted  him,  for  which  she  prayed 
forgiveness  ?” 

Snawley  nodded  his  head,  and  wiped  his  eyes ;  the  first, 
slightly,  the  last  violently. 

“The  school  was  Mr.  Squeers’s,”  continued  Ralph;  “the 
boy  was  left  there  in  the  name  of  Sinike ;  every  description  was 
fully  given,  dates  tally  exactly  with  Mr.  Squeers’s  books,  Mr. 
Squeers  is  lodging  with  you  at  this  time  ;  you  have  two  other 
boys  at  his  school :  you  communicated  the  whole  discovery  to 
him,  he  brought  yon  to  me  as  the  person  who  had  recommended 
to  nini  the  kidnapper  of  his  child ;  and  I  brought  you  here. 
Is  that  so  ?” 

“You  talk  like  a  good  book.  Sir,  that’s  got  nothing  in  its 
inside  but  what’s  the  truth,”  replied  Snawley. 

“This  is  your  pocket-book,”  said  Ralph,  producing  one  from 
his  coat ;  “  the  certificates  of  your  first  marriage  and  of  the 
boy’s  birth,  and  your  wife’s  two  letters,  and  every  other  paper 
that  can  support  these  statements  directly  or  by  implication, 
are  here,  are  they  ?” 

“  Every  one  of  ’em.  Sir.” 

“  And  you  don’t  object  to  their  being  looked  at  here,  so  that 
these  people  may  be  convinced  of  your  power  to  substantiate 
your  claim  at  once  in  law  and  reason,  and  you  may  resume  your 
control  over  your  own  son  without  more  delay.  Do  I  under¬ 
stand  you  ?” 

“I  couldn’t  have  understood  myself  better.  Sir.” 

“There,  then,”  said  Ralph,  tossing  the  pocket-book  upon 
the  table.  “  Let  them  see  them  if  they  like  ;  and  as  those  are  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


(5.35 


original  papers,  I  should  recommend  you  to  stand  near  while 
they  are  being  examined,  or  you  may  chance  to  lose  some.” 

With  these  words  Ralph  sat  dowm  unbidden,  and  compressing 
his  lips,  which  were  for  the  moment  slightly  parted  by  a  smile, 
folded  his  arms,  and  looked  for  the  first  time  at  his  nei)hew. 

Nicholas,  stung  by  the  concluding  taunt,  darted  an  indignant 
glance  at  him  ;  but  commanding  himself  as  well  as  he  could, 
entered  upon  a  close  examination  of  the  documents,  at  which 
John  Brovvdie  assisted.  There  was  nothing  about  them  which 
could  be  called  in  question.  The  certificates  were  regularly 
signed  as  extracts  from  the  parish  books,  the  first  letter  had  a 
genuine  appearance  of  having  been  written  and  preserved  for 
some  years,  the  hand-writing  of  the  second  tallied  with  it  ex¬ 
actly,  (making  proper  allowance  for  its  having  been  written  by 
a  person  in  extremity,)  and  there  were  several  other  corrobora¬ 
tory  scraps  of  entries  and  memoranda  which  it  was  equally 
difficult  to  question. 

“  Dear  Nicholas,”  whispered  Kate,  who  had  been  looking 
anxiously  over  his  shoulder,  “  can  this  be  really  the  case  ?  Is 
this  statement  true  ?” 

“I  fear  it  is,”  answered  Nicholas.  “What  say  you,  John?” 

“John  scratched  his  head  and  shook  it,  but  said  nothing 
at  all. 

“You  will  observe.  Ma’am,”  said  Ralph,  addressing  himself 
to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “that  this  boy  being  a  minor  and  not  of  strong 
mind,  we  might  have  come  here  to-night,  armed  with  the  pow- 
ei’s  of  the  law,  and  backed  by  a  troop  of  its  myrmidons.  I 
should  have  done  so,  Ma’am,  unquestionably,  but  for  my  regard 
for  the  feelings  of  yourself — and  your  daughter.” 

“You  have  shown  your  regard  for  her  feelings  well,”  said 
Nicholas,  drawing  his  sister  towards  him. 

“Thank  you,”  replied  Ralph.  “Your  praise.  Sir,  is  com¬ 
mendation,  indeed. 

“Well,”  said  Squeers,  “what’s  to  be  done?  Them  hackney- 
coach  horses  will  catch  cold  if  we  don’t  think  of  moving;  there’s 
one  of  ’em  a  sneezing  now,  so  that  he  blows  the  street  door 
right  open.  What’s  the  order  of  the  day — eh  ?  Is  Master 
Snawley  to  come  along  with  us  ?” 

“  No,  no,  no,”  replied  Smike,  drawing  back,  and  clinging  to 
42 


650 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV. 


Nicholas.  "No.  Pray,  no.  I  will  not  go  from  you  with  him. 
No,  no.” 

"This  is  a  cruel  thing,”  said  Snawley,  looking  to  his  friends 
for  support.  "Do  parents  bring  children  into  the  world  for 
this  ?” 

"  Do  parents  bring  children  into  the  world  for  thot  ?”  said 
John  Browdie,  bluntly,  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to  Squeers. 

"  Never  you  mind,”  retorted  that  gentleman,  tapping  his  nose, 
derisively. 

“Never  I  mind  1”  said  John,  “no,  nor  never  nobody  mind, 
say’st  thou,  schoolmeasther.  It’s  nobody’s  minding  that  keeps 
silce  men  as  thou  afloat.  Noo  then,  where  be’st  thou  coomin’ 
to  ?  Dang  it,  dinnot  coom  treadin’  ower  me,  mun.” 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  John  Browdie  just  jerked  his 
elbow  into  the  chest  of  Mr.  Squeers,  who  was  advancing  upon 
Smike,  with  so  much  dexterity  that  the  schoolmaster  reeled  and 
staggered  back  upon  Ralph  Nickleby,  and  being  unable  to  re¬ 
cover  his  balance,  knocked  that  gentleman  olf  his  chair,  and 
stumbled  heavily  upon  him. 

This  accidental  circumstance  was  the  signal  for  some  very  de¬ 
cisive  proceedings.  In  the  midst  of  a  great  noise,  occasioned 
by  the  prayers  and  entreaties  of  Smike,  the  cries  and  exclama¬ 
tions  of  the  women,  and  the  vehemence  of  the  men,  demonstra¬ 
tions  were  made  of  carrying  off  the  lost  son  by  violence  :  and 
Squeers  had  actually  begun  to  haul  him  out,  when  Nicholas 
(who,  until  then,  had  been  evidently  undecided  how  to  act)  took 
him  by  the  collar,  and  shaking  him  so  that  such  teeth  as  he  had, 
chattered  in  his  head,  politely  escorted  him  to  the  room  door, 
and  thrusting  him  into  the  passage,  shut  it  upon  him. 

“  Now,”  said  Nicholas,  to  the  other  two,  “have  the  kindness 
to  follow  your  friend.” 

“  I  want  my  son,”  said  Snawley. 

“Your  son,”  replied  Nicholas,  "chooses  for  himself.  lie 
chooses  to  remain  here,  and  he  shall.” 

“  You  won’t  give  him  up  ?”  said  Snawley. 

“  I  would  not  give  him  up  against  his  will,  to  be  the  victim 
of  such  brutality  as  that  to  which  you  would  consign  him,”  re¬ 
plied  Nicholas  “  if  he  were  a  dog  or  a  7 at.” 

“Knock  that  Nickleby  down  with  a  candlestick,”  cried  Mr. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEHY. 


667 


Squeers,  through  the  keyhole,  “and  bring  out  my  hat,  some¬ 
body,  will  you,  unless  he  wants  to  steal  it.” 

“  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  said  Mrs.  jS’ickleby,  who,  with 
Mrs.  Browdie,  had  stood  crying  and  biting  her  fingers  in  a  cor¬ 
ner,  while  Kate — very  pale,  but  perfectly  quiet — had  kept  as 
near  her  brother  as  she  could.  “  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  for 
all  this.  I  really  don’t  know  what  would  be  best  to  do,  and 
that’s  the  truth.  Nicholas  ought  to  be  the  best  judge  and  I 
hope  he  is.  Of  course  it’s  a  hard  thing  to  have  to  keep  other 
people’s  children,  though  young  Mr.  Snawley  is  certainly  as 
useful  and  willing  as  it’s  possible  for  any  body  to  be  ;  but,  if  it 
could  be  settled  in  any  friendly  manner — if  old  Mr.  Snawley, 
for  instance,  would  settle  to  pay  something  certain  for  his  board 
and  lodging,  and  some  fair  arrangement  was  come  to,  so  that 
we  undertook  to  have  fish  twice  a-week,  and  a  pudding  twice,  or 
a  dumpling,  or  something  of  that  sort,  I  do  think  that  it  might 
be  very  satisfactory  and  pleasant  for  all  parties.” 

This  compromise,  which  was  proposed  with  abundance  of 
tears  and  sighs,  not  exactly  meeting  the  point  at  issue,  nobody 
took  any  notice  of  it ;  and  poor  Mrs.  Nickleby  accordingly  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  enlighten  Mrs.  Browdie  upon  the  advantages  of  such 
a  scheme,  and  the  unhappy  results  flowing  on  all  occasions, 
from  her  not  being  attended  to  when  she  proffered  her  advice. 

“You,  Sir,”  said  Snawley,  addressing  the  terrified  Smike, 
“are  an  unnatural,  ungrateful,  unloveable  boy.  You  won’t  let 
me  love  you  when  I  want  to.  Won’t  you  come  home — won’t 
you  ?” 

“  No,  no,  no,”  cried  Smike,  shrinking  back. 

“  He  never  loved  nobody,”  bawled  Squeers,  through  the  key¬ 
hole.  “  He  never  loved  me  ;  he  never  loved  Wackford,  who  ia 
next  door  but  one  to  a  cherubim.  How  can  you  expect  that 
he’ll  love  his  father  ?  He’ll  never  love  his  father,  he  won’t. 
He  don’t  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  father.  He  don’t  under¬ 
stand  it.  Tt  ain’t  in  him.” 

Mr.  Snawley  looked  steadfastly  at  his  son  for  a  full  minute, 
and  then  covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  once  more 
raising  his  hat  in  the  air,  appeared  deeply  occupied  in  deploring 
bis  black  ingratitude.  Then  drawing  his  arm  across  his  eyes, 


658 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


he  picked  up  Mr.  Squeers’s  hat,  and  taking  it  under  one  arm, 
and  his  own  under  the  other,  walked  slowly  and  sadly  out. 

“Your  romance.  Sir,”  said  Ralph,  lingering  for  a  moment, 
“  is  destroyed,  I  take  it.  No  unknown  ;  no  persecuted  descend¬ 
ant  of  a  man  of  high  degree ;  but  the  weak,  imbecile  son  of  a 
poor,  petty  tradesman.  AVe  shall  see  how  your  sympathy  melts 
before  plain  matter  of  fact.  ” 

“You  shall,”  said  Nicholas,  motioning  towards  the  door. 

“And  trust  me.  Sir,”  added  Ralph,  “that  I  never  supposed 
you  would  give  him  up  to-night.  Pride,  obstinacy,  reputation 
for  fine  feeling,  were  all  against  it.  These  must  be  brought  down, 
Sir,  lowered,  crushed,  as  they  shall  be  soon.  The  protracted 
and  wearing  anxiety  and  expense  of  the  law  in  its  most  op¬ 
pressive  form,  its  torture  from  hour  to  hour,  its  weary  days  and 
sleepless  nights — with  these  I’ll  prove  you,  and  break  your 
haughty  spirit,  strong  as  you  deem  it  now.  And  when  you 
make  this  house  a  hell,  and  visit  these  trials  upon  yonder 
wretched  object  (as  you  will  ;  I  know  you),  and  those  who  think 
you  now  a  young-fledged  hero,  we’ll  go  into  old  accounts 
between  us  two,  and  see  who  stands  the  debtor,  and  comes  out 
best  at  last — even  before  the  world.” 

Ralph  Nickleby  withdrew.  But  Mr.  Sqneers,  who  had  heard 
a  portion  of  this  closing  address,  and  was  by  this  time  wound 
up  to  a  pitch  of  impotent  malignity  almost  unprecedented,  could 
not  refrain  from  returning  to  the  parlor-door,  and  actually  cut¬ 
ting  some  dozen  capers  with  various  wry  faces  and  hideous 
grimaces,  expressive  of  his  triumphant  confidence  in  the  down¬ 
fall  and  defeat  of  Nicholas. 

Having  concluded  this  war-dance,  in  which  his  short  trousers 
and  large  boots  had  borne  a  very  conspicuous  figure,  Mr. 
Sqneers  followed  his  friends,  and  the  family  were  left  to  meditate 
open  recent  occurrences. 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 


TmiOWS  SOME  LIGHT  UPON  NICHOLAS’S  LOVE  ;  BUT  WHETHER 
FOR  GOOD  OR  EVIL  THE  READER  MUST  DETERMINE. 

After  an  anxious  consideration  of  the  painful  and  embar¬ 
rassing  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  Nicholas  decided  that 
he  ought  to  lose  no  time  in  frankly  stating  it  to  the  kind 
brothers.  Availing  himself  of  the  first  opportunity  of  being 
alone  with  Mr.  Charles  Cheeryble  at  the  close  of  the  next  day, 
he  accordingly  related  Smike’s  little  history,  and  modestly  but 
firmly  expressed  his  hope  that  the  good  old  gentleman  would, 
under  such  circumstances  as  he  described,  hold  him  justified  in 
adopting  the  extreme  course  of  interfering  between  parent  and 
child,  and  upholding  the  latter  in  his  disobedience ;  even  though 
his  horror  and  dread  of  his  father  might  seem,  and  would  doubt¬ 
less  be  represented  as,  a  thing  so  repulsive  and  unnatural,  as  to 
render  those  who  countenanced  him  in  it,  fit  objects  of  general 
detestation  and  abhorrence. 

“  So  dee]dy-rooted  does  this  horror  of  the  man  appear  to 
be,”  said  Nicholas,  “that  I  can  hardly  believe  he  really  is  his 
son.  Nature  does  not  seem  to  have  implanted  in  his  breast 
one  lingering  feeling  of  affection  for  him,  and  surely  she  can 
never  err.” 

“  My  dear  sir,”  replied  brother  Charles,  “you  fall  into  the 
very  common  mistake  of  charging  upon  Nature,  matters  with 
which  she  has  not  the  smallest  connection,  and  for  which  she  is 
in  no  way  responsible.  Men  talk  of  nature  as  an  abstract  thing, 
and  lose  sight  of  what  is  natural  while  they  do  so.  Here  is  a 
])Oor  lad  who  has  never  felt  a  parent’s  care,  who  has  scarcely 
known  any  thing  all  his  life  but  suffering  and  sorrow,  presented 
to  a  man  who  he  is  told  is  his  father,  and  whose  first  act  is  to 
signify  his  intention  of  putting  an  end  to  his  short  term  of  hap¬ 
piness  :  of  consigning  him  to  his  old  fate,  and  taking  him  from 
the  only  friend  he  has  ever  had — which  is  yourself.  If  Nature, 

C659) 


660 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


in  such  a  case,  put  into  that  lad’s  breast  but  one  secret  prompt, 
ing  which  urged  him  towards  his  father  and  away  from  you,  she 
would  be  a  liar  and  an  idiot.” 

Nicholas  was  delighted  to  find  that  the  old  gentleman  spoke 
so  warmly,  and  in  the  hope  that  he  might  say  something  more  to 
the  same  purpose  made  no  reply. 

“  The  same  mistake  presents  itself  to  me,  in  one  shape  or 
other,  at  every  turn,”  said  brother  Charles.  “Parents  who 
never  showed  their  love,  complain  of  want  of  natural  affection 
in  their  children — children  who  never,showed  their  duty,  com¬ 
plain  of  want  of  natural  feeling  in  their  parents — law-makers 
who  find  both  so  miserable  that  their  affections  have  never  had 
enough  of  life’s  suii  to  develop  them,  are  loud  in  their  moral- 
izings  over  parents  and  children  too,  and  cry  that  the  very  ties 
of  nature  are  disregarded.  Natural  affections  and  instincts,  ray 
dear  sir,  are  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Almighty’s  works,  but 
like  other  beautiful  works  of  his,  they  must  be  reared  and  fos¬ 
tered,  or  it  is  as  natural  that  they  should  be  wholly  obscured, 
and  that  new  feelings  should  usurp  their  place,  as  it  is  that  the 
sweetest  productions  of  the  earth,  left  untended,  should  be 
choked  with  weeds  and  briers.  I  wish  we  could  be  brought 
to  consider  this,  and  remembering  natural  obligations  a  little 
more  at  the  right  time  talk  about  them  a  little  less  at  the  wrong 
one.” 

After  this,  brother  Charles,  who  had  talked  himself  into  a 
great  heat,  stopped  to  cool  a  little,  and  then  continued  : — 

“  I  dare  say  you  are  surprised,  my  dear  Sir,  that  1  have  listened 
to  your  recital  with  so  little  astonishment.  That  is  easily  e.\- 
plained — your  uncle  has  been  here  this  morning.” 

Nicholas  colored,  and  drew  back  a  step  or  two. 

“Yes,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  tapping  his  desk  emphati 
cally,  “here — in  this  room.  lie  would  listen  neither  to  reason, 
feeling,  nor  justice.  But  brother  Ned  was  hard  upon  him — 
brother  Ned,  Sir,  might  have  melted  a  paving-stone.” 

“He  came  to - ”  said  Nicholas. 

“To  complain  of  you,”  returned  brother  Charles,  “to  poison 
our  ears  with  calumnies  and  falsehoods;  but  he  came  on  a  fruit- 
less  errand,  and  went  away  with  some  wholesome  truths  in  his  ear, 
besides.  Brother  Ned,  dear  Mr.  Nickleby — brother  Ned,  Sir, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


6G1 


iis  a  perfect  lion.  So  is  Tim  Linkinwater — Tim  is  quite  a  lion. 
We  had  Tim  in  to  face  him  at  first,  and  Tim  was  at  him,  Sir, 
before  you  could  say  ‘  Jack  Robinson.  ’  ” 

“How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  for  all  the  deep  obligations  you 
impose  upon  me  every  day  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

“By  keeping  silence  upon  the  subject,  my  dear  Sir,”  returned 
brother  Charles.  “You  shall  be  righted.  At  least  you  shall 
not  be  wronged.  Nobody  belonging  to  you  shall  be  wronged. 
They  shall  not  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head,  or  the  boy’s  head,  or 
your  mother’s  head,  or  your  sister’s  head.  I  have  said  it,  bro¬ 
ther  Ned  has  said  it,  Tim  Linkinwater  has  said  it.  We  have 
all  said  it,  and  we’ll  all  do  it.  I  have  seen  the  father — if  he  is 
the  father — and  I  suppose  he  must  be.  He  is  a  barbarian  and 
a  hypocrite,  Mr.  Nickleby.  I  told  him,  ‘You  are  a  barbarian, 
Sir.’  I  did.  I  said,  ‘You’re  a  barbarian.  Sir.’  And  I’m  glad 
of  it — I  am  very  glad  I  told  him  he  was  a  barbarian — very  glad, 
indeed !” 

By  this  time  brother  Charles  was  in  such  a  very  warm  state 
of  indignation,  that  Nicholas  thought  he  might  venture  to  put 
in  a  word,  but  the  moment  he  essayed  to  do  so,  Mr.  Cheeryble 
laid  his  hand  softly  upon  his  arm,  and  pointed  to  a  chair. 

“  The  subject  is  at  an  end  for  the  present,”  said  the  old  gen¬ 
tleman,  wiping  his  face.  “  Don’t  revive  it  by  a  single  word.  I 
am  going  to  speak  upon  another  subject — a  confidential  subject, 
Mr.  Nickleby.  We  must  be  cool  again,  we  must  be  cool.” 

After  two  or  three  turns  across  the  room  he  resumed  his  seat, 
and  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  that  on  which  Nicholas  was 
seated,  said — 

“  I  am  about  to  employ  you,  my  dear  Sir,  on  a  confidential 
and  delicate  mission.” 

“  You  might  employ  many  a  more  able  messenger.  Sir,”  said 
Nicholas,  “but  a  more  trustworthy  or  zealous  one,  I  may  be 
bold  to  say,  you  could  not  find.” 

“  Of  that  I  am  well  assured,”  returned  brother  Charles,  “well 
assui’ed.  You  will  give  me  credit  for  thinking  so,  when  I  tell 
you,  that  the  object  of  this  mission  is  a  young  lady.” 

“A  young  lady.  Sir  !”  cried  Nicholas,  quite  trembling  for  the 
moment  with  his  eagerness  to  hear  more. 

“A  very  beautiful  young  lady,”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  gravely 


6G2 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


"  Pray  go  on,  Sir,”  returned  Nieholas. 

“  I  am  thinking  how  to  do  so,”  said  brother  Charles — sadly, 
as  it  seemed  to  his  young  friend,  and  with  an  expression  allied 
to  pain,  “You  accidentally  saw  a  young  lady  in  this  room  one 
morning,  my  dear  Sir,  in  a  fainting  lit.  Do  you  remember  ? 
Perhaps  you  have  forgotten. - ” 

“Oh  no,”  replied  Nicholas,  hurriedly,  “I — I — remember  it 
very  well  indeed.” 

“  She  is  the  lady  I  speak  of,”  said  brother  Charles.  Like 
the  famous  parrot,  Nicholas  thought  a  great  deal  but  was  unable 
to  utter  a  word. 

“She  is  the  daughter,”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  “of  a  lady  who, 
when  she  was  a  beautiful  girl  herself,  and  I  was  very  many 
years  younger,  I — it  seems  a  strange  word  for  me  to  utter  now 
— I  loved  very  dearly.  You  will  smile,  perhaps,  to  hear  a  grey¬ 
headed  man  talk  about  such  things :  you  will  not  offend  me, 
for  when  I  was  as  young  as  you,  I  dare  say  I  should  have  done 
the  same.” 

“I  have  no  such  inclination,  indeed,”  said  Nicholas. 

“My  dear  brother  Ned,”  continued  Mi\  Cheeryble,  “was  to 
have  married  her  sister,  but  she  died.  She  is  dead  too  now, 
and  has  been  for  many  years.  She  married — her  choice ;  and 
I  wish  I  could  add  that  her  after-life  was  as  happy,  as  God 
knows  I  ever  prayed  it  might  be  !” 

A  short  silence  intervened,  which  Nicholas  made  no  effort  to 
break. 

“If  trial  and  calamity  had  fallen  as  lightly  on  his  head,  as  in 
the  deepest  truth  of  my  own  heart  I  ever  hoped  (for  her  sake) 
it  would,  his  life  would  have  been  one  of  peace  and  happiness,” 
said  the  old  gentleman,  calmly,  “  It  will  be  enough  to  say  that 
this  was  not  the  case — that  she  was  not  happy — that  they  fell  into 
complicated  distresses  and  difficulties — that  she  came,  twelve 
months  before  her  death,  to  appeal  to  my  old  friendship;  sadly 
changed,  sadly  altered,  broken-spirited  from  suffering  and  ill  usage, 
and  almost  broken-hearted.  lie  readily  availed  himself  of  the 
money  which,  to  give  her  but  one  hour’s  peace  of  mind,  I  v/ould 
have  poured  out  as  freely  as  water — nay,  he  often  sent  her  back 
for  more — and  yet  even  while  he  squandered  it,  he  made  the 
very  success  of  these,  her  applications  to  me,  the  groundwork 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


668 


of  cruel  taunts  and  jeers,  protesting  that  he  knew  she  thought 
with  bitter  remorse  of  the  choice  she  had  made,  that  she 
had  married  him  from  motives  of  interest  and  vanity  (he  was 
a  gay  young  man  with  great  friends  about  him  when  she  chose 
him  for  her  husband),  and  venting  in  short  upon  her,  by  every 
unjust  and  unkind  means,  the  bitterness  of  that  ruin  and  dis- 
8.ppointment  which  had  been  brought  about  by  his  profligacy 
alone.  In  those  times  this  young  lady  was  a  mere  child.  I 
never  saw  her  again  until  that  morning  when  you  saw  her  also, 
but  my  nephew,  Frank - ” 

Nicholas  started,  and  indistinctly  apologizing  for  the  inter¬ 
ruption,  begged  his  patron  to  proceed. 

“My  nephew,  Frank,  Isay,”  resumed  Mr.  Cheeryble,  “en¬ 
countered  her  by  accident,  and  lost  sight  of  her  almost  in  a 
minute  afterwards,  within  two  days  after  he  returned  to  England. 
Her  father  lay  in  some  secret  place  to  avoid  his  creditors,  re¬ 
duced,  between  sickness  and  poverty,  to  the  verge  of  death,  and 
she,  a  child, — we  might  almost  think,  if  we  did  not  know  the 
wisdom  of  all  Heaven’s  decrees — who  should  have  blessed  a 
better  man,  was  steadily  braving  privation,  degradation,  and 
every  thing  most  terrible  to  such  a  young  and  delicate  crea¬ 
ture’s  heart,  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  him.  She  was 
attended.  Sir,”  said  brother  Charles,  “in  these  reverses,  by  one 
faithful  creature,  who  had  been,  in  old  times,  a  poor  kitchen 
wench  in  the  family,  who  was  then  their  solitary  servant,  but 
who  might  have  been,  for  the  truth  and  fidelity  of  her  heart — 
who  might  have  been — ah  !  the  wife  of  Tim  Linkinwater  him¬ 
self,  Sir !” 

Pursuing  this  encomium  upon  the  poor  follower  with  such 
energy  and  relish  as  no  words  can  describe,  brother  Charles 
leant  back  in  his  chair,  and  delivered  the  remainder  of  his  re¬ 
lation  with  greater  composure. 

It  was  in  substance  this  : — That  proudly  resisting  all  offers 
of  permanent  aid  and  support  from  her  late  mother’s  friends, 
because  they  were  made  conditional  upon  her  quitting  the 
wretched  man,  her  father,  who  had  no  friends  left,  and  shrinking 
with  instinctive  delicacy  from  appealing  in  their  behalf  to  that 
true  and  noble  heart  which  he  hated,  and  had,  through  its 
greatest  and  purest  goodness,  deeply  wronged  by  misconstruction 


C64 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  ill  report,  this  young  girl  had  struggled  alone  and  unas¬ 
sisted  to  maintain  him  by  the  labor  of  her  hands.  That 
througli  the  utmost  depths  of  poverty  and  affliction  she  had 
toiled,  never  turning  aside  for  an  instant  from  her  task,  never 
wearied  by  the  petulant  gloom  of  a  sick  man,  sustained  by  no 
consoling  recollections  of  the  past  or  hopes  of  the  future;  never 
repining  for  the  comforts  she  had  rejected,  or  bewailing  the  hard 
lot  she  had  voluntarily  incurred.  That  every  little  accomplish¬ 
ment  she  had  acquired  in  happier  days  had  been  put  into 
requisition  for  this  purpose,  and  directed  to  this  one  end.  That 
for  two  long  years,  toiling  by  day  and  often  too  by  night,  work¬ 
ing  at  the  needle,  the  pencil,  and  the  pen,  and  submitting,  as  a 
daily  governess,  to  such  caprices  and  indignities  as  women 
(with  daughters  too)  too  often  love  to  inflict  upon  their  own 
sex  when  they  serve  in  such  capacities,  as  though  in  jealousy  of 
the  superior  intelligence  which  they  are  necessitated  to  employ, 
— indignities,  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  every  hundred,  heaped 
upon  persons  immeasurably  and  incalculably  their  betters,  but 
outweighing  in  comparison  any  that  the  most  heartless  blackleg 
would  put  upon  his  groom — that  for  two  long  years,  by  dint  of 
laboring  in  all  these  capacities  and  wearying  in  none,  she  had  not 
succeeded  in  the  sole  aim  and  object  of  her  life,  but  that,  over¬ 
whelmed  by  accumulated  difficulties  and  disappointments,  she 
had  been  compelled  to  seek  out  her  mother’s  old  friend,  and, 
with  a  bursting  heart,  to  confide  in  him  at  last, 

“  If  I  had  been  poor,”  said  brother  Charles,  with  sparkling 
eyes ;  “If  I  had  been  poor,  Mr.  Nickleby,  my  dear  sir,  which 
thank  God  I  am  not,  I  would  have  denied  myself — of  course 
anybody  would  under  such  circumstances — the  commonest  neces¬ 
saries  of  life,  to  help  her.  As  it  is,  the  task  is  a  difficult  one. 
If  her  father  were  dead,  nothing  could  be  easier,  for  then  she 
should  share  and  cheer  the  happiest  home  that  brother  Ned  and 
I  could  have,  as  if  she  were  our  child  or  sister.  But  he  is  still 
alive.  Nobody  can  help  him — that  has  been  tried  a  thousand 
times  ;  he  was  not  abandoned  by  all  without  good  cause,  I  know.” 

“  Cannot  she  be  persuaded  to - ”  Nicholas  hesitated  when 

he  had  got  thus  far. 

“  To  leave  him  ?”  said  brother  Charles.  Who  could  entreat 
a  child  to  desert  her  parent?  Such  entreaties,  limited  to  her 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


665 


seeing  him  occasionally,  have  been  urged  upon  her — not  by  me 
— but  always  with  the  same  result.” 

“  Is  he  kind  to  her  ?”  said  Nicholas.  “  Does  he  requite  her 
affection  V 

“  True  kindness,  considerate  self-denying  kindness,  is  not  in 
his  nature,”  returned  Mr.  Cheeryble.  “  Such  kindness  as  he 
knows,  he  regards  her  with,  I  believe.  The  motlier  was  a  gentle, 
loving,  confiding  creature,  and  altho-ugh  he  wounded  her  from 
their  marriage  till  her  death  as  cruelly  and  wantonly  as  ever  man 
did,  she  never  ceased  to  love  him.  She  commended  him  on  her 
death-bed  to  her  child’s  care.  Her  child  has  never  forgotten 
it,  and  never  will.” 

“  Have  you  no  influence  over  him  ?”  asked  Nicholas. 

“  I,  my  dear  sir  I  The  last  man  in  the  world.  Such  is  his 
jealousy  and  hatred  of  me,  that  if  he  knew  his  daughter  had 
opened  her  heart  to  me,  he  would  render  her  life  miserable  with 
his  reproaches  ;  although — this  is  the  inconsistency  and  selfish- 
oess  of  his  character — although  if  he  knew  that  every  penny  she 
had  came  from  me,  he  would  not  relinquish  one  personal  desire  that 
the  most  reckless  expenditure  of  her  scanty  stock  could  gratify.” 

“  An  unnatural  scoundrel  !”  said  Nicholas,  indignantly. 

“We  will  use  no  harsh  terms,”  said  brother  Charles,  in  a  gen¬ 
tle  voice  ;  “  but  accommodate  ourselves  to  the  circumstances  in 
which  this  young  lady  is  placed.  Such  assistance  as  I  have 
prevailed  upon  her  to  accept,  I  have  been  obliged,  at  her  earnest 
request,  to  dole  out  in  the  smallest  portions,  lest  he,  finding  how 
easily  money  was  procured,  should  squander  it  even  more  lightly 
than  he  is  accustomed  to  do.  She  has  come  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro, 
secretly  and  by  night,  to  take  even  this ;  and  I  cannot  bear  that 
things  should  go  on  in  this  way,  Mr.  Nickleby — 1  really  cannot 
near  it.” 

Then  it  came  out  by  little  and  little,  how  that  the  twins  had 
f)(;en  revolving  in  their  good  old  heads  manifold  plans  and  schemes 
for  helping  this  young  lady  in  the  most  delicate  and  considerate 
wa}',  and  so  that  her  father  should  not  suspect  the  source  whence 
the  aid  was  derived  ;  and  how  they  had  at  last  come  to  the  con¬ 
clusion,  that  the  best  course  would  be  to  make  a  feint  of  pur¬ 
chasing  her  little  drawings  and  ornamental  work  at  a  high  price, 
and  keoping  up  a  constant  demand  for  the  same.  For  the  fur- 


666 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


therance  of  which  end  and  object  it  was  necessary  that  some¬ 
body  should  represent  the  dealer  in  such  commodities,  and  after 
great  deliberation  they  had  pitched  upon  Nicholas  to  support 
this  character. 

“  He  knows  me,”  said  brother  Charles,  “and  he  knows  my 
brother  Ned.  Neither  of  us  would  do.  Frank  is  a  very  good 
fellow — a  very  fine  fellow — but  we  are  afraid  that  he  might  be 
a  little  flighty  and  thoughtless  in  such  a  delicate  matter,  and 
that  he  might,  perhaps — that  he  might,  in  short,  be  too  suscep¬ 
tible  (for  she  is  a  beautiful  creature.  Sir ;  just  what  her  poor 
mother  was),  and  falling  in  love  with  her  before  he  well  knew  his 
own  mind,  carry  pain  and  sorrow  into  that  innocent  breast,  which 
we  would  be  the  humble  instruments  of  gradually  making  happy. 
He  took  an  extraordinary  interest  in  her  fortunes  when  he  first 
happened  to  encounter  her ;  and  we  gather  from  the  inquiries 
we  have  made  of  him,  that  it  was  she  in  whose  behalf  he  made 
that  turmoil  which  led  to  your  first  acquaintance.” 

Nicholas  stammered  out  that  he  had  before  suspected  the 
possibility  of  such  a  thing ;  and  in  explanation  of  its  having 
occurred  to  him,  described  wdien  and  where  he  had  seen  the 
young  lady  himself. 

“Well  ;  then  you  see,”  continued  brother  Charles,  “that  he 
wouldn’t  do.  Tim  Liukinwater  is  out  of  the  question  ;  for  Tim, 
Sir,  is  such  a  tremendous  fellow,  that  he  could  never  contain 
himself,  but  would  go  to  loggerheads  with  the  father  before  he 
had  been  in  the  place  five  minutes.  You  don’t  know  what  Tim 
is,  Sir,  when  he  is  roused  by  anything  that  appeals  to  his  feel¬ 
ings  very  strongly — then  he  is  terrific.  Sir,  is  Tim  Liukinwater 
• — absolutely  terrific.  Now,  in  you  we  can  repose  the  strictest 
confidence  ;  in  you  we  have  seen — or  at  least  1  have  seen,  and 
that’s  the  same  thing,  for  there’s  no  difference  between  me  and 
my  brother  Ned,  except  that  he  is  the  finest  creature  that  ever 
lived,  and  that  there  is  not,  and  never  will  be,  anybody  like  him 
in  all  the  world — in  you  we  have  seen  domestic  virtues  and  af¬ 
fections,  and  delicacy  of  feeling,  which  exactly  qualify  you  for 
such  an  ofiice.  And  you  are  the  man,  Sir.” 

“The  young  lady.  Sir,”  said  Nicholas,  who  felt  so  embar¬ 
rassed  that  he  had  no  small  difficulty  in  saying  anything  at  all 
• — “  Does — is — is  she  a  party  to  this  innocent  deceit  ?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


C67 


“Yes,  yes,”  returned  Mr.  Cheeryble;  “at  least  she  knows 
you  come  from  us ;  she  does  not  know,  however,  but  that  we 
shall  dispose  of  these  little  productions  that  you’ll  purchase  from 
time  to  time ;  and,  perhaps,  if  you  did  it  very  well  (that  is  ve7'y 
well  indeed),  perhaps  she  might  be  brought  to  believe  that  we 
— that  we  made  a  profit  of  them  Eh  ? — Eh  ?” 

Ill  this  guileless  and  most  kind  simplicity,  brother  Charles 
was  so  happy,  and  in  this  possibility  of  the  young  lady  being 
led  to  think  that  she  was  under  no  obligation  to  him,  he  evi¬ 
dently  felt  so  sanguine  and  had  so  much  delight,  that  Nicholas 
would  not  breathe  a  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

All  this  time,  however,  there  hovered  upon  the  tip  of  his 
tongue  a  confession  that  the  very  same  objections  which  Mr. 
Cheeryble  had  stated  to  the  employment  of  his  nephew  in  this 
commission  applied  with  at  least  equal  force  and  validity  to 
himself,  and  a  hundred  times  had  he  been  upon  the  point  of 
avowing  the  real  state  of  his  feelings,  and  entreating  to  be 
released  from  it.  But  as  often,  treading  upon  the  heels  of  this 
impulse,  came  another,  which  urged  him  to  refrain,  and  to  keep 
his  secret  to  his  own  breast.  “Why  should  I,”  thought  Nicho¬ 
las,  “  why  should  I  throw  difficulties  in  the  way  of  this  benevo¬ 
lent  and  high-minded  design  ?  What  if  I  do  love  and  reverence 
this  good  and  lovedy  creature — should  I  not  appear  a  most  arro¬ 
gant  and  shallow  coxcomb  if  I  gravely  reiiresented  that  there 
was  any  danger  of  her  falling  in  love  with  me  ?  Besides,  have 
I  no  confidence  in  myself?  Am  I  not  bound  in  honor  to  repress 
these  thoughts  ?  Has  not  this  excellent  man  a  right  to  my  best 
and  heartiest  services,  and  should  any  considerations  of  self  deter 
me  from  rendering  them  ?” 

Asking  himself  such  questions  as  these,  Nicholas  mentally 
answered  with  great  emphasis  “No!”  and  persuading  himself 
that  he  was  a  most  conscientious  and  glorious  martyi’,  nobly 
resolved  to  do  what,  if  he  had  examined  his  own  heart  a  little 
more  carefully,  he  would  have  found  he  could  not  resist.  Such 
is  the  sleight  of  hand  by  which  we  juggle  with  ourselves,  and 
change  our  very  weakness  into  stanch  and  most  magnanimous 
virtues ! 

^Ir.  Cheeryble,  being  of  course  wholly  unsuspicious  that  such 
veflectiyns  were  presenting  themselves  to  his  young  friend,  pro- 


668 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


ceeded  to  give  him  the  needful  credentials  and  directions  for 
his  first  visit,  which  was  to  be  made  next  morning ;  and  all  pre¬ 
liminaries  being  arranged,  and  the  strictest  secrecy  enjoined, 
Nicholas  walked  home  for  the  night  very  thoughtfully  indeed. 

The  place  to  which  Mr.  Cheeryble  had  directed  him  was  a 
row  of  mean  and  not  over-cleanly  houses,  situated  within  “  the 
rules”  of  the  King’s  Bench  Prison,  and  not  many  hundred  paces 
distant  from  the  obelisk  in  Saint  George’s  Fields.  The  Rules 
are  a  certain  liberty  adjoining  the  prison,  and  comprising  some 
dozen  streets  in  which  debtors  who  can  raise  money  to  pay 
large  fees,  from  which  their  creditors  do  vot  derive  any  benefit, 
are  permitted  to  reside  by  the  wise  provisions  of  the  same 
enlightened  laws  which  leave  the  debtor  who  can  raise  no 
money  to  starve  in  jail,  without  the  food,  clothing,  lodging,  or 
warmth,  which  are  provided  for  felons  convicted  of  the  most 
atrocious  crimes  that  can  disgrace  humanity.  There  are  many 
pleasant  fictions  of  the  law  in  constant  operation,  but  there  ia 
not  one  so  pleasant  or  practically  humorous  as  that  which  sup¬ 
poses  every  man  to  be  of  equal  value  in  its  impartial  eye,  and 
the  benefits  of  all  laws  to  be  equally  attainable  by  all  men,  with 
out  the  smallest  reference  to  the  furniture  of  their  pockets. 

To  the  row  of  houses  indicated  to  him  by  Mr.  Charles  Cheery¬ 
ble,  Nicholas  directed  his  steps,  without  much  troubling  his  head 
with  such  matters  as  these  ;  and  at  this  row  of  houses — after 
traversing  a  very  dirty  and  dusty  suburb,  of  which  minor  thea¬ 
tricals,  shell-fish,  ginger-beer,  spring  vans,  green-grocery,  and 
brokers’  shops,  appeared  to  compose  the  main  and  most  promi¬ 
nent  features — he  at  length  arrived  with  a  palpitating  heart. 
There  were  small  gardens  in  front,  which,  being  wholly  neglected 
in  all  other  respects,  served  as  little  pens  for  the  dust  to  collect 
in,  until  the  wind  came  round  the  corner  and  blew  it  down  the 
road.  Opening  the  rickety  gate  which,  dangling  on  its  broken 
hinges  before  one  of  these,  half  admitted  aiid  half  repulsed  the 
visitor,  Nicholas  knocked  at  the  street  door  with  a  faltering 
hand. 

It  was  in  truth  a  shabby  house  outside,  with  very  dim  parlor 
windows  and  very  small  show  of  blinds,  and  very  dirty  muslin 
curtains  dangling  across  the  lower  panes  on  very  loose  and  limp 
strings  Neither,  when  the  door  was  opened  did  the  inside 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


669 


appear  to  belie  the  outward  promise,  as  there  was  faded  car¬ 
peting  on  the  stairs  and  faded  oil-cloth  in  the  passage  ;  in  ad¬ 
dition  to  which  discomforts  a  gentleman  Ruler  was  smoking 
hard  in  the  front  parlor  (though  it  was  not  yet  noon),  while  the 
lady  of  the  house  was  busily  engaged  in  turpentining  the  dis¬ 
jointed  fragments  of  a  tent-bedstead  at  the  door  of  a  back  par¬ 
lor,  as  if  in  preparation  for  the  reception  of  some  new  lodger 
who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  engage  it. 

Nicholas  had  ample  time  to  make  these  observations  while 
the  little  boy,  who  went  on  errands  for  the  lodgers,  clattered 
down  the  kitchen  stairs  and  was  heard  to  scream,  as  in  some 
remote  cellar,  for  Miss  Bray’s  servant,  who,  presently  appearing 
and  requesting  him  to  follow  her,  caused  him  to  evince  greater 
symptoms  of  nervousness  and  disorder  than  so  natural  a  conse¬ 
quence  of  his  having  inquired  for  that  young  lady  would  seem 
calculated  to  occasion. 

Up  stairs  he  went,  however,  and  into  a  front  room  he  was 
shown,  and  there,  seated  at  a  little  table  by  the  window,  on 
which  were  drawing  materials  with  which  she  was  occupied,  sat 
the  beautiful  girl  who  had  so  engrossed  his  thoughts,  and  who, 
surrounded  by  all  the  new  and  strong  interests  which  Nicholas 
attached  to  her  story,  seemed  now,  in  his  eyes,  a  thousand  times 
more  beautiful  than  he  had  ever  yet  supposed  her. 

But  how  the  graces  and  elegancies  which  she  had  dispersed 
about  the  poorly-furnished  room,  went  to  the  heart  of  Nicholas  1 
Flowers,  plants,  birds,  the  harp,  the  old  piano  whose  notes  had 
sounded  so  much  sweeter  in  bygone  times — how  many  struggles 
had  it  cost  her  to  keep  these  two  last  links  of  that  broken  chain 
which  bound  her  yet  to  home  1  With  every  slender  ornament, 
the  occupation  of  her  leisure  hours,  replete  with  that  graceful 
charm  which  lingers  in  every  little  tasteful  work  of  woman’s 
hands,  how  much  patient  endurance  and  how  many  gentle  affec¬ 
tions  were  entwined  I  He  felt  as  though  the  smile  of  Heaven 
were  on  the  little  chamber;  as  though  the  beautiful  devotiun  of 
so  young  and  weak  a  creature  had  slied  a  ray  of  its  own  on  llio 
inanimate  things  around  and  made  them  beautiful  as  itself;  as 
though  the  halo  with  which  old  painters  surround  the  bright 
angels  of  a  sinless  world  played  about  a  being  akin  in  S})irit  to 
them  and  its  light  were  visibly  before  him. 


670 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


And  yet  Nicholas  was  in  the  rules  of  the  King’s  Bench  Prison ! 
If  he  had  been  in  Italy  indeed,  and  the  time  had  been  sunset, 
and  the  scene  a  stately  terrace ; — but,  there  is  one  broad  sky 
over  all  the  world,  and  whether  it  be  blue  or  cloudy,  the  same 
heaven  beyond  it,  so,  perhaps,  he  had  no  need  of  compunction 
for  thinking  as  he  did. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  took  in  every  thing  ac  one 
glance,  for  he  had  as  yet  been  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  a 
sick  man  propped  up  with  pillows  in  an  easy-chair,  who  moving 
restlessly  and  impatiently  in  his  seat,  attracted  his  attention. 

lie  was  scarce  fifty,  perhaps,  but  so  emaciated  as  to  appear 
much  older.  His  features  presented  the  remains  of  a  handsome 
countenance,  but  one  in  which  the  embers  of  strong  and  impetu¬ 
ous  passions  were  easier  to  be  traced  than  any  expression  which 
would  have  rendered  a  far  plainer  face  much  more  prepossess¬ 
ing.  His  looks  were  very  haggard,  and  his  limbs  and  body 
literally  worn  to  the  bone,  but  there  was  something  of  the  old 
fire  in  the  large  sunken  eye  notwithstanding,  and  it  seemed  to 
kindle  afresh  as  he  struck  a  thick  stick,  with  which  he  seemed 
to  have  supported  himself  in  his  seat,  impatiently  on  the  floor 
twice  or  thrice,  and  called  his  daughter  by  her  name. 

“  Madeline,  who  is  this — what  does  any  body  want  here — who 
told  a  stranger  we  could  be  seen  ?  What  is  it  ?” 

'  “I  believe - ”  the  young  lady  began,  as  she  inclined  her 

head  with  an  air  of  some  confusion,  in  reply  to  the  salutation 
of  Nicholas. 

“You  always  believe,”  re  turned  her  father,  petulantly.  “What 
is  it  ?” 

By  this  time  Nicholas  had  recovered  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  speak  for  himself,  so  he  said  (as  it  had  been  agreed  he  should 
say)  that  he  had  called  about  a  pair  of  hand-screens,  and  some 
painted  velvet  for  an  ottoman,  both  of  which  were  required  to 
be  of  the  most  elegant  design  possible,  neither  time  nor  expense 
being  of  the  smallest  consideration.  He  had  also  to  pay  for 
the  two  drawings,  with  many  thanks,  and  advancing  to  the 
little  table,  he  laid  upon  it  a  bank  note  folded  in  an  envelope 
and  sealed. 

“  See  that  the  money  is  right,  Madeline,”  said  the  father, 
“open  the  paper,  my  dear.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


671 


“It’s  quite  right,  papa,  I  am  sure.” 

“  Here  I”  said  Mr.  Bray,  putting  out  his  hand,  and  opening 
and  shutting  his  bony  fingers  with  irritable  impatience.  “  Let 
me  see.  What  are  you  talking  about,  Madeline- — you’re  sure — 
hi)W  can  you  be  sure  of  any  such  thing — live  pounds — well,  is 
that  right  ?” 

“  Quite,”  said  Madeline,  bending  over  him.  She  was  so 
busily  employed  in  arranging  the  pillows  that  Nicholas  could 
not  see  her  face,  but  as  she  stooped  he  thought  he  saw  a  tear 
fall. 

“Ring  the  bell,  ring  the  bell,”  said  the  sick  man,  with  the 
same  nervous  eagerness,  and  motioning  towards  it  with  such  a 
quivering  hand  that  the  bank  note  rustled  in  the  air.  “Tell 
her  to  get  it  changed — to  get  me  a  newspaper — to  buy  me  some 
grapes — another  bottle  of  the  wine  that  I  had  last  week — and 
■ — and — I  forget  half  I  want  just  now,  but  she  can  go  out  again. 
Let  her  get  those  first — those  first.  Now,  Madeline,  my  love, 
quick,  quick  I  Good  God,  how  slow  you  are  !” 

“  He  remembers  nothing  that  she  wants  I”  thought  Nicholas.  * 
Perhaps  something  of  what  he  thought  was  expressed  in  his 
countenance,  for  the  sick  man,  turning  towards  him  with  great 
asperity,  demanded  to  know  if  he  waited  for  a  receipt. 

“It  is  no  matter  at  all,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  No  matter  I  what  do  you  mean,  Sir  ?”  was  the  tart  rejoinder. 
“No  matter  I  Do  you  think  you  bring  your  paltry  money  hero 
as  a  favor  or  a  gift;  or  as  a  matter  of  business,  and  in  return 
for  value  received?  D — n  you,  sir,  because  you  can’t  appre¬ 
ciate  the  time  and  taste  which  are  bestowed  upon  the  goods  you 
deal  in,  do  you  think  you  give  your  money  away  ?  Do  you 
know  that  you  are  talking  to  a  gentleman,  sir,  who  at  one  time 
could  have  bought  up  fifty  such  men  as  you  and  all  you  have  ? 
Udiat  do  you  mean  ?” 

“  I  merely  mean  that  as  I  shall  have  many  dealings  with  this 
lady,  if  she  will  kindly  allow  me,  I  will  not  trouble  her  with 
bucIi  forms,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  Then  I  mean,  if  you  please,  that  we’ll  have  as  many  forms 
as  we  can,”  returned  the  father.  “  My  daughter,  Sir,  requires 
uo  kindness  from  you 'or  any  body  else.  Have  the  goodness  to 
confine  your  dealings  strictly  to  trade  and  business,  aud  not  to 
43 


672 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBy. 


travel  beyond  it.  Every  petty  tradesman  is  to  begin  to  pity 
her  now,  is  he?  Upon  my  soul!  Yery  pretty.  Madeline, 
my  dear,  give  him  a  receipt;  and  mind  you  always  do  so.” 

"Wliile  she  was  feigning  to  write  it,  and  Nicliolas  was  rumi¬ 
nating  upon  the  extraordinary,  but  by  no  means  uncommon 
character  thus  presented  to  his  observation,  the  invalid,  who 
ai)peared  at  times  to  suffer  great  bodily  pain,  sank  back  in  his 
chair  and  moaned  out  a  feeble  complaint  that  the  girl  had  been 
gone  an  hour,  and  that  every  body  conspired  to  goad  him. 

“When,”  said  Nicholas,  as  he  took  the  piece  of  paper,  “when 
shall  I — call  again  ?” 

This  was  addressed  to  the  daughtei*,  but  the  father  answered 
immediately — 

“  When  you’re  requested  to  call.  Sir,  and  not  before.  Don’t 
worry  and  persecute.  “  Madeline,  my  dear,  when  is  this  person 
to  call  again  ?” 

“  Oh,  not  for  a  long  time' — not  for  three  or  four  weeks — it  is 
not  necessary,  indeed — I  can  do  without,”  said  the  young  lady, 
,  with  great  eagerness. 

“Why,  how  are  we  to  do  without,”  urged  her  father,  not 
speaking  above  his  breath.  “  Three  or  four  weeks,  Madeline  ! 
Three  or  four  weeks  1” 

“  Then  sooner — sooner,  if  you  please,”  said  the  young  lady, 
turning  to  Nicholas. 

“Three  or  four  weeks  1”  muttered  the  father.  “Madeline, 
what  on  earth — do  nothing  for  three  or  four  weeks !” 

“  It  is  a  long  time,  Ma’am,”  said  Nicholas. 

“  You  think  so,  do  you  ?”  retorted  the  father,  angrily.  “  If 
I  chose  to  beg.  Sir,  and  stoop  to  ask  assistance  from  people  I 
despise,  three  or  four  months  would  not  be  a  long  time — three 
or  four  years  would  not  be  a  long  time.  Understand,  Sir,  that 
is  if  I  chose  to  be  dependent ;  but  as  I  don’t,  you  may  call  in  a 
week.” 

Nicholas  bowed  low  to  the  young  lady  and  retired,  pondering 
npon  Mr.  Bray’s  ideas  of  independence,  and  devoutly  hoping 
that  there  might  be  few  such  independent  spirits  as  he  mingling 
with  the  baser  clay  of  humanity. 

He  heard  a  light  footstep  above  him  as  he  descended  the 
Btairs,  and  looking  round  saw  that  the  young  lady  was  standing 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


673 


there,  and  glanein^  timidly  towards  him,  seemed  to  hesitate 
whether  she  should  call  him  back  or  no.  The  best  way  of  set¬ 
tling  the  question  was  to  turn  back  at  once,  w^hich  Nicholas 
did. 

“I  don’t  know  whether  I  do  right  in  asking  you,  Sir,”  said 
Madeline,  hurriedly,  “  but  pray — pray — do  not  mention  to  my 
poor  mother’s  dear  friends  what  has  passed  here  to-day.  lie 
has  suffered  much,  and  is  worse  this  morning.  I  beg  you.  Sir. 
as  a  boon,  a  favor  to  myself.” 

“You  have  but  to  hint  a  wish,”  returned  Nicholas  fervently, 
“and  I  would  hazard  my  life  to  gratify  it.” 

“  You  speak  hastily.  Sir.” 

“  Truly  and  sincerely,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  his  lips  trembling 
as  he  formed  the  words,  “  if  ever  man  spoke  truly  yet.  I  am 
not  skilled  in  disguising  my  feelings,  and  if  I  were,  I  could  not 
hide  my  heart  from  you.  Dear  Madam,  as  I  know  your  history, 
and  feel  as  men  and  angels  must  who  hear  and  see  such  things, 
I  do  entreat  you  to  believe  that  I  would  die  to  serve  you.” 

The  young  lady  turned  away  her  head,  and  was  plainly 
weeping. 

“Forgive  me,”  said  Nicholas,  with  respectful  earnestness, 
“  if  I  seem  to  say  too  much,  or  to  presume  upon  the  confidence 
which  has  been  intrusted  to  me.  But  I  could  not  leave  you  as 
if  my  interest  and  sympathy  expired  with  the  commission  of  the 
day.  I  am  your  faithful  servant,  humbly  devoted  to  you  from 
this  hour — devoted  in  strict  truth  and  honor  to  him  who  sent 
me  here,  and  in  pure  integrity  of  heart,  and  distant  respect  for 
you.  If  1  meant  more  or  less  than  this,  I  should  be  unworthy 
his  regard,  and  false  to  the  very  nature  that  prompts  the  honest 
words  I  utter.” 

She  waved  her  hand,  entreating  him  to  be  gone,  but  answered 
not  a  word.  Nicholas  could  say  no  more,  and  silently  with¬ 
drew.  And  thus  ended  his  first  interview  with  Madeline  Bray. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


MR  RALPH  NICKLEBY  HAS  SOME  CONFIDENTIAL  INTERCOURSE 
WITH  ANOTHER  OLD  FRIEND.  THEY  CONCERT  BETWEEN  THEM 
A  PROJECT,  WHICH  PROMISES  WELL  FOR  BOTH. 

“There  go  the  three  quarters  past!”  muttered  Newman 
Noggs,  listening  to  the  chimes  of  some  neighboring  church, 
“  and  my  dinner  time’s  two.  He  does  it  on  purpose.  He 
makes  a  point  of  it.  It’s  just  like  him.” 

It  was  in  his  own  little  den  of  an  office  and  on  the  top  of  his 
official  stool  that  Newman  thus  soliloquized;  and  the  soliloquy 
referred,  as  Newman’s  grumbling  soliloquies  usually  did,  to 
Ralph  Nickleby. 

“I  don’t  believe  he  ever  had  an  appetite,”  said  Newman, 
“  except  for  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  and  with  them  he’s  as 
greedy  as  a  wolf.  I  should  like  to  have  him  compelled  to 
swallow  one  of  every  English  coin.  The  penny  would  be  an 
awkward  morsel — but  the  crown — ha  !  ha  1” 

His  good  humor  being  in  some  degree  restored  by  the  vision 
of  Ralph  Nickleby  swallowing,  perforce,  a  five-shilling-piece, 
Newman  slowly  brought  forth  from  his  desk  one  of  those 
portable  bottles,  currently  known  as  pocket-pistols,  and  shaking 
the  same  close  to  his  ear  so  as  to  produce  a  rippling  sound 
very  cool  and  pleasant  to  listen  to,  suffered  his  features  to  relax, 
and  took  a  gurgling  drink,  which  relaxed  them  still  more. 
Replacing  the  cork  he  smacked  his  lips  twice  or  thrice  with  an 
air  of  great  relish,  and,  the  taste  of  the  liquor  having  by  this 
time  evaporated,  recurred  to  his  grievances  again. 

“Five  minutes  to  three,”  growled  Newman,  “it  can’t  want 
more  by  this  time  ;  and  I  had  my  breakfast  at  eight  o’clock, 
and  mch  a  breakfast  I  and  my  right  dinner  time  two  I  And  I 
might  have  a  nice  little  bit  of  hot  roast  meat  spoiling  at  home 
all  this  time — how  does  he  know  I  haven’t!  ‘Don’t  go  till  I 
come  back,’  ‘Don’t  go  till  I  come  back,’  day  after  day.  What 
(674) 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


676 


do  you  always  go  out  at  my  dinner  time  for  then — eh  ?  Don’t 
you  know  know  it’s  nothing  but  aggravation — eh  ?” 

These  words,  though  uttered  in  a  very  loud  key,  were  a<l- 
dressed  to  nothing  but  enipty  air.  The  recital  of  his  wrongs, 
however,  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  making  Newman  Noggs 
desperate;  for  he  flattened  his  old  hat  upon  his  head,  and 
drawing  on  the  everlasting  gloves,  declared  with  great  vehe¬ 
mence,  that  come  what  might,  he  would  go  to  dinner  that  very 
minute. 

Carrying  this  resolution  into  instant  effect,  he  had  advanced 
as  far  as  the  passage,  when  the  sound  of  the  latch-key  in  the 
street  door  caused  him  to  make  a  precipitate  retreat  into  his 
own  oflice  again. 

“Here  he  is,”  growled  Newman,  “and  somebody  with  him. 
Now  it’ll  be  ‘Stop  till  this  gentleman’s  gone.’  But  I  won’t — 
that’s  flat.” 

So  saying,  Newman  slipped  into  a  tall  empty  closet  which 
opened  with  two  half  doors,  and  shut  himself  up  ;  intending  to 
slip  out  directly  Ralph  was  safe  inside  his  own  room. 

“Noggs,”  cried  Ralph,  “where  is  that  fellow- — Noggs.” 

But  not  a  word  said  Newman. 

“  The  dog  has  gone  to  his  dinner,  though  I  told  him  not,’’ 
muttered  Ralj)!),  looking  into  the  office  and  pulling  out  his 
watch.  “Humph!  You  had  better  come  in  here,  Gride.  My 
man’s  out,  and  the  sun  is  hot  upon  my  room.  This  is  cool  and 
in  the  shade,  if  you  don’t  mind  roughing  it.” 

“  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Nickleby,  oh  not  at  all.  All  places  are 
alike  to  me,  Sir.  Ah  !  very  nice  indeed.  Oh  !  very  nice  !” 

The  person  who  made  this  reply  was  a  little  old  man,  of  about 
seventy  or  seventy-five  years  of  age,  of  a  very  lean  figure,  much 
bent,  and  slightly  twisted.  He  wore  a  grey  coat  with  a  very 
narrow  collar,  an  old-fashioned  waistcoat  of  ribbed  black  silk, 
and  such  scanty  trowsers  as  displayed  his  shrunken  spindle-shanks 
in  their  full  ugliness.  The  only  articles  of  disjilay  or  ornament 
in  his  dress,  were  a  steel  watch-chain,  to  which  were  attached 
some  large  gold  seals  ;  and  a  black  ribbon  into  which,  in  com¬ 
pliance  with  an  old  fashion  scarcely  ever  observed  in  these  days, 
bis  grey  hair  was  gathered  behind.  His  nose  and  chin  were 
shaqj  aud  prominent,  his  jaws  had  fallen  inwards  from  loss  of 


670 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


teeth,  his  face  was  shriveled  and  yellow,  save  where  the  cheeks 
were  streaked  with  the  color  of  a  dry  winter  apple ;  and  where 
his  beard  had  been,  there  lingered  yet  a  few  grey  tnfts  which 
seemed,  like  the  ragged  eyebrows,  to  denote  the  badness  of  the 
soil  from  which  they  sprung.  The  whole  air  and  attitude  of 
the  form,  was  one  of  stealthy  cat-like  obsequiousness ;  the  whole 
expression  of  the  face  wms  concentrated  in  a  wrinkled  leer,  com- 
pounded  of  cunning,  lecherousness,  slyness,  and  avarice. 

Such  was  old  Arthur  Gride,  in  whose  face  there  was  not  a 
wrinkle,  in  whose  dress  there  was  not  one  spare  fold  or  plait, 
but  expressed  the  most  covetous  and  griping  penury,  and  suffi¬ 
ciently  indicated  his  belonging  to  that  class  of  which  Ralph 
Nickleby  was  a  member.  Such  was  old  Arthur  Gride,  as  he  sat 
in  a  low  chair  looking  up  into  the  face  of  Ralph  Nickleby,  who, 
lounging  upon  the  tall  office  stool,  with  his  arms  upon  his  knees, 
looked  down  into  his, — a  match  for  him  on  whatever  errand  he 
had  come. 

“  And  how  have  you  been  ?”  said  Gride,  feigning  great  in¬ 
terest  in  Ralph’s  state  of  health.  “  I  haven’t  seen  you  for — oh  1 
not  for — ” 

“Not  for  a  long  time,”  said  Ralph,  with  a  peculiar  smile, 
importing  that  he  very  well  knew  that  it  was  not  on  a  mere  visit 
of  compliment  that  his  friend  had  come.  “  It  was  a  narrow 
chance  that  you  saw  me  now,  for  I  had  only  just  come  up  to  the 
door  as  you  turned  the  corner.” 

“  I  am  very  lucky,”  observed  Gride. 

“  So  men  say,”  replied  Ralph,  drily. 

The  older  money-lender  wagged  his  chin  and  smiled,  but  he 
originated  no  new  remark,  and  they  sat  for  some  little  time  with¬ 
out  speaking.  Each  was  looking  out  to  take  the  other  at  a 
disadvantage. 

“  Come,  Gride,”  said  Ralph,  at  length  ;  “  what’s  in  the  wind 
to-day  ?” 

“  Aha  !  you’re  a  bold  man,  Mr.  N ickleby,”  cried  the  other, 
apparently  very  much  relieved  by  Ralph’s  leading  the  way  to 
business.  “  Oh  dear,  dear,  what  a  bold  man  you  are  !” 

“  Why,  you  have  a  sleek  and  slinking  way  with  yon  that  makes 
me  seem  so  by  contrast,”  returned  Ralph.  “  I  don’t  know  but 
that  yours  may  answer  better,  but  I  want  the  patience  for  it. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


677 


‘‘ You  were  born  a  genius,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  old  Arthur. 
“  Deep,  deep,  deep.  Ah  !” 

“Deep  enough,”  retorted  Ralph,  “to  know  that  I  shall  need 
all  the  depth  I  have,  when  men  like  you  begin  to  compliment, 
Yi)U.  know  I  have  stood  by  when  you  fawned  and  flattered  other 
people,  and  I  remember  pretty  well  what  that  always  led  to.” 

“  Ha,  ha,  ha,”  rejoined  Arthur,  rubbing  his  hands.  “  So  you 
do,  so  you  do,  no  doubt.  Not  a  man  knows  it  better.  Well 
it’s  a  pleasant  thing  now  to  think  that  you  remember  old  times. 
Oh  dear  I” 

“  Now  then,”  said  Ralph,  composedly  ;  “what’s  in  the  wind, 
1  ask  again — what  is  it  ?” 

“  See  that  now  !”  cried  the  other.  “  He  can’t  even  keep  from 
business  while  we’re  chatting  over  bygones  1  Oh  dear,  dear, 
what  a  man  it  is.” 

“  Which  of  the  bygones  do  you  want  to  revive  ?”  said  Ralph. 
“One  of  them,  I  know,  or  you  wouldn’t  talk  about  them.” 

“He  suspects  even  me!”  cried  old  Arthur,  holding  up  his 
hands.  “  Even  me- — oh  dear,  even  me.  What  a  man  it  is  ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha  I  What  a  man  it  is  1  Mr.  Nickleby  against  all  the 
world — there’s  nobody  like  him.  A  giant  among  pigmies — a 
giant — a  giant  I” 

Ralph  looked  at  the  old  dog  with  a  quiet  smile  as  he 
chuckled  on  in  this  strain,  and  Newman  Noggs  in  the  closet  felt 
his  heart  sink  within  him  as  the  prospect  of  dinner  grew  fainter 
and  fainter. 

“I  must  humor  him  though,”  cried  old  Arthur;  “he  must 
have  his  way — a  willful  man.  as  the  Scotch  say. — well,  well,  they’re 
a  wise  people,  the  Scotch — he  will  talk  about  business,  and 
won’t  give  away  his  time  for  nothing.  He’s  very  right.  Time 
is  money — time  is  money.” 

“  He  was  one  of  us  who  made  that  saying,  I  should  think,” 
said  Ralph.  “  Time  is  money,  and  very  good  money  too,  to 
those  who  reckon  interest  by  it.  Time  is  money  I  A^es,  and 
time  costs  money — it’s  rather  an  e.xpensive  article  to  some  peo¬ 
ple  we  could  uame,  or  I  forget  my  trade.” 

Tn  rejoinder  to  this  sally,  old  Arthur  again  raised  his  hands, 
again  chuckled,  and  again  ejaculated  “  What  a  man  it  is  1”  which 


678 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


done,  lie  clrtigged  the  low  chair  a  little  nearer  to  Ralph’s  high 
stool,  and  looking  upwards  into  his  immovable  face,  said, 

“  What  would  you  say  to  me,  if  I  was  to  tell  you  that  I  was 
— that  I  was — going  to  be  married  ?” 

“  I  should  tell  you,”  replied  Ralph,  looking  coldly  down  upon 
liim,  “that  for  some  purpose  of  your  own  you  told  a  lie,  and 
that  it  wasn’t  the  first  time  and  wouldn’t  be  the  last ;  that  1 
wasn’t  surprised  and  wasn’t  to  be  taken  in.” 

“  Then  I  tell  you  seriously  that  I  am,”  said  old  Arthur. 

“And  7 tell  you  seriously,”  rejoined  Ralph,  “what  I  told 
you  this  minute.  Stay.  Let  me  look  at  you.  There’s  a  liquor¬ 
ish  deviltry  in  your  face — what  is  this  ?” 

“  I  wouldn’t  deceive  you,  you  know,”  whined  Arthur  Gride  ; 
“I  couldn’t  do  it,  I  should  be  mad  to  try.  I — I — to  deceive 
Mr.  Nickleby  !  The  pigmy  to  impose  upon  the  giant.  I  ask 
again — he,  he,  he  !■ — what  should  you  say  to  me  if  I  was  to  tell 
you  that  I  was  going  to  be  married  ?” 

“To  some  old  hag?”  said  Ralph. 

“No,  no,”  cried  Arthur,  interrupting  him,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  in  an  ecstacy.  “  Wrong,  wrong  again.  Mr.  Nickleby  for 
once  at  fault — out,  quite  out  I  To  a  young  and  beautiful  girl ; 
fresh,  lovely,  bewitching,  and  not  nineteen.  Dark  eyes — long 
eyelashes — ripe  and  ruddy  lips  that  to  look  at  is  to  long  to  kiss 
• — beautiful  clustering  hair  that  one’s  fingers  itch  to  play  with — • 
such  a  waist  as  might  make  a  man  clasp  the  air  iuvolutarily, 
thinking  of  twining  his  arm  about  it — little  feet  that  tread  so 
lightly  they  hardly  seem  to  walk  upon  the  ground — to  marry  all 
this.  Sir, — this — hey,  hey  !” 

“This  is  something  more  than  common  driveling,”  said 
Ralph,  after  listening  with  a  curled  lip  to  the  old  sinner’s  rap¬ 
tures.  “  The  girl’s  name  ?” 

“  Oh  deep,  deep  1  See  now  how  deep  that  is !”  exclaimed 
old  Arthur.  “He  knows  I  want  his  help,  he  knows  he  can 
give  it  me,  he  knows  it  must  all  turn  to  his  advantage,  he  sees 
the  thing  already.  Her  name — is  there  nobody  within  hearing  ?” 

“Why,  who  the  devil  should  there  be?”  retorted  Ralph, 
testily. 

“  I  didn’t  know  but  that  perhaps  somebody  might  be  passing 
up  or  down  the  stairs,”  said  Arthur  Gride,  after  looking  out  at 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


679 


the  door  and  carefully  reclosing  it ;  “  or  but  that  your  man 
might  have  come  back  and  might  have  been  listening  outside — 
clerks  and  servants  have  a  trick  of  listening,  and  I  should  have 
been  very  uncomfortable  if  Mr.  Noggs — 

“  Curse  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  Ralph,  sharply,  “and  go  on  with 
what  you  have  to  say.” 

“Curse  Mr.  Noggs,  by  all  means,”  rejoined  old  Arthur;  “  1 
am  sure  I  have  not  the  least  objection  to  that.  Her  name  is — ” 

“Well,”  said  Ralph,  rendered  very  irritable  by  old  Arthur’s 
pausing  again,  “  what  is  it  ?” 

“  Madeline  Bray.” 

Whatever  reasons  there  might  have  been — and  Arthur  Gride 
appeared  to  have  anticipated  some — for  the  mention  of  this 
name  producing  an  effect  upon  Ralph,  or  whatever  effect  it 
really  did  produce  upon  him,  he  permitted  none  to  manifest 
itself,  but  calmly  repeated  the  name  several  times,  as  if  reflecting 
when  and  where  he  had  heard  it  before. 

“Bray,”  said  Ralph.  “Bray — there  was  young  Bray  of - - 

no,  he  never  had  a  daughter.” 

“You  remember  Bray?”  rejoined  Arthur  Gride. 

“No,”  said  Ralph,  looking  vacantly  at  him. 

“  Not  Walter  Bray  I  The  dashing  man,  who  used  his  hand¬ 
some  wife  so  ill  ?” 

“  If  you  seek  to  recal  any  particular  dashing  man  to  my 
recollection  by  such  a  trait  as  that,”  said  Ralph,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  “  I  shall  confound  him  with  nine-tenths  of  the  dashing 
men  I  have  ever  known.” 

“  Tut,  tut.  That  Bray  who  is  now  in  the  rules  of  the  Bench,” 
said  old  Arthur.  “You  can’t  have  forgotten  Bray.  Both  of 
us  did  business  with  him.  Why,  he  owes  you  money — ” 

“Oh  him!”  rejoined  Ralph.  “Ay,  ay.  Now  you  speak. 
Oh  I  It’s  his  daughter,  is  it  ?” 

Naturally  as  this  was  said,  it  was  not  said  so  naturally  but 
that  a  kindred  spirit  like  old  Arthur  Gride  might  have  discerned 
a  design  upon  the  part  of  Ralph  to  lead  him  on  to  much  more 
explicit  statements  and  explanations  than  he  would  have  volun¬ 
teered,  or  than  Ralph  could  in  all  likelihood  have  obtained  by 
any  other  means.  Old  Arthur,  however,*  was  so  intent  upon  his 


680 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


omi  designs,  that  he  suffered  himself  to  be  overreached,  and 
had  no  suspicion  but  that  his  good  friend  was  in  earnest. 

“  I  knew  you  couldn’t  forget  him,  when  you  came  to  think  for 
a  moment,”  he  said. 

“  You  were  right,”  answered  Ralph.  “  But  old  Arthur  Gride 
and  matrimony  is  a  most  anomalous  conjunction  of  words;  old 
Arthur  Gride  and  dark  eyes  and  eyelashes,  and  lips  that  to  look 
at  is  to  long  to  kiss,  and  clustering  hair  that  he  wants  to  play 
with,  and  waists  that  he  wants  to  span,  and  little  feet  that  don’t 
tread  upon  any  thing — old  Arthur  Gride  and  such  things  as 
these  is  more  monstrous  still ;  but  old  Arthur  Gride  marrying 
the  daughter  of  a  ruined  ‘  dashing  man’  in  the  rules  of  the  Bench, 
is  the  most  monstrous  and  incredible  of  all.  Plainly,  friend 
Arthur  Gride,  if  you  want  any  help  from  me  in  this  business 
(which  of  course  you  do,  or  you  would  not  be  here),  speak  out, 
and  to  the  purpose.  And,  above  all,  don’t  talk  to  me  of  its 
turning  to  my  advantage,  for  I  know  it  must  turn  to  yours  also, 
and  to  a  good  round  tune  too,  or  you  would  have  no  finger  in 
such  a  pie  as  this.” 

There  was  enough  acerbity  and  sarcasm  not  only  in  the  matter 
of  Ralph’s  speech,  but  in  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  he  uttered 
it,  and  the  looks  with  which  he  eked  it  out  to  have  fired  even 
the  ancient  usurer’s  cold  blood  and  flushed  even  his  withered 
cheek.  But  he  gave  vent  to  no  demonstration  of  anger,  con¬ 
tenting  himself  with  exclaiming  as  before,  “  What  a  man  it  is  1” 
and  rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side,  as  if  in  unrestrained  en¬ 
joyment  of  his  freedom  and  drollery.  Clearly  observing,  how¬ 
ever,  from  the  expression  ’.n  Ralph’s  features,  that  he  had  best 
come  to  the  point  as  speedily  as  might  be,  he  composed  him¬ 
self  for  more  serious  business,  and  entered  upon  the  pith  and 
n  arrow  of  his  negotiation. 

First,  he  dwelt  upon  the  fact  that  Madeline  Bray  was  devoted 
to  the  support  and  maintenance,  and  was  a  slave  to  every  wish, 
of  her  only  parent,  who  had  no  other  friend  on  earth  ;  to  which 
Ralph  rejoined  that  he  had  heard  something  of  the  kind  before, 
and  that  if  she  had  known  a  little  more  of  the  world,  she 
wouldn’t  have  been  such  a  fool. 

Secondly,  he  enlargod  upon  the  character  of  her  father,  argu¬ 
ing,  that  even  taking  it  for  granted  that  he  loved  her  in  return 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


681 


with  the  utmost  affection  of  which  he  was  capable,  yet  he  loved 
himself  a  great  deal  better ;  which  Ralph  said  it  was  quite  un¬ 
necessary  to  say  any  thing  more  about,  as  that  was  very  natural, 
and  probable  enough. 

And,  thirdly,  old  Arthur  premised  that  the  girl  was  a  deli¬ 
cate  and  beautiful  creature,  and  that  he  had  really  a  hankering 
to  have  her  for  his  wife.  To  this  Ralph  deigned  no  other 
rejoinder  than  a  harsh  smile,  and  a  glance  at  the  shriveled  old 
creature  before  him,  which  were,  however,  sufficiently  expressive. 

“Now,”  said  Gride,  “for  the  little  plan  I  have  in  my  mind 
to  bring  this  about ;  because,  I  haven’t  offered  myself  even  to 
the  father  yet,  I  should  have  told  you.  But  that  you  have 
gathered  already  ?  Ah  I  oh  dear,  oh  dear,  what  an  edged-tool 
you  are  I” 

“Don’t  play  with  me  then,”  said  Ralph,  impatiently.  “You 
know  the  proverb.” 

“A  reply  always  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue!”  cried  old 
Arthur,  raising  his  hands  and  eyes  in  admiration.  “  lie  is 
always  prepared  !  Oh  dear,  wdiat  a  blessing  to  have  such  a 
ready  wit,  and  so  much  ready  money  to  back  it!”  Then,  sud¬ 
denly  changing  his  tone,  he  went  on  : — “  I  have  been  backwards 
and  forwards  to  Bray’s  lodgings  several  times  within  the  last 
six  months.  It  is  just  half  a  year  since  I  first  saw  this  delicate 
morsel,  and,  oh  dear,  what  a  delicate  morsel  it  is !  But  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there.  I  am  his  detaining  creditor  for  seven¬ 
teen  hundred  pounds.” 

“You  talk  as  if  you  were  the  only  detaining  creditor,”  said 
Ralph,  pulling  out  his  pocket-book.  I  am  another  for  nine 
hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds,  four  and  threepence.” 

“The  only  other,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  old  Arthur,  eagerly. 
‘  The  only  other.  Nobody  else  went  to  the  expense  of  lodging 
a  detainer,  trusting  to  our  holding  him  fast  enough,  I  warrant 
you.  We  both  fell  into  the  same  snare — oh,  dear,  what  a  pit- 
fall  it  was ;  it  almost  ruined  me  !  And  lent  him  our  money 
upon  bills,  with  only  one  name  besides  his  own,  which  to  be 
sure  everybody  supposed  to  be  a  good  one,  and  was  as  negotia¬ 
ble  as  money,  but  which  turned  out — you  know  how.  Just  as 
we  should  have  come  upon  him,  he  died  insolvent.  Ah !  it 
went  very  nigh  to  ruin  me,  that  loss  did  1” 


682 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“Go  on  with  your  scheme,”  said  Ralph.  “It’s  of  no  use 
raising  the  cry  of  our  trade  just  now;  there’s  nobody  to 
hear  us.” 

“It’s  alA’ays  as  well  to  talk  that  way,”  returned  old  Arthur, 
wilh  a  chuckle,  “whether  there’s  any  body  to  hear  us  or  not. 
Practice  makes  perfect,  you  know.  Now,  if  I  offer  myself  to 
Bray  as  his  son-in-law,  upon  one  simple  condition  that  the 
moment  I  am  fast  married  he  shall  be  quietly  released,  and 
have  an  allowance  to  live  just  t’other  side  the  water  like  a 
gentleman  (he  can’t  live  long,  for  I  have  asked  his  doctor,  and 
he  declares  that  his  complaint  is  one  of  the  heart  and  it  is 
impossible),  and  if  all  the  advantages  of  this  condition  are 
properly  stated  and  dwelt  upon  to  him,  do  you  think  he  could 
resist  me  ?  And  if  he  could  not  resist  me,  do  you  think  his 
daughter  could  resist  Shouldn’t  I  have  her  Mrs.  Arthur 

Gride — jwetty  Mrs.  Arthur  Gride — a  tit-bit — a  dainty  chick — 
shouldn’t  I  have  her  Mrs.  Arthur  Gride  in  a  week,  a  month,  a 
day — any  time  I  chose  to  name?” 

“  Go  on,”  said  Ralph,  nodding  his  head  deliberately,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  whose  studied  coldness  presented  a  strange 
contrast  to  the  rapturous  squeak  to  which  his  friend  had  gradu¬ 
ally  mounted.  “Go  on.  You  didn’t  come  here  to  ask  me 
that.” 

“  Oh  dear,  how  you  talk  !”  cried  old  Arthuur,  edging  himself 
closer  still  to  Ralph.  “  Of  course,  I  didn’t — I  don’t  pretend  I 
did!  I  came  to  ask  what  you  would  take  from  me,  if  I  pros¬ 
pered  with  the  father,  for  this  debt  of  yours — five  shillings  in 
the  pound — six  and  eight  pence — ten  shillings  ?  I  would  go  as 
far  as  ten  for  such  a  friend  as  you,  we  have  always  been  on  such 
good  terms,  but  you  won’t  be  so  hard  upon  me  as  that,  I  know. 
Now,  will  you  ?” 

“There’s  something  more  to  be  told,”  said  Ralph,  as  stony 
and  immovable  as  ever. 

“  Yes,  yes,  there  is,  but  you  won’t  give  me  time,”  returned 
Arthur  Gride.  “I  want  a  backer  in  this  matter — one  who  can 
talk,  and  urge,  and  press  a  point,  which  you  can  do  as  no  man 
can.  I  can’t  do  that,  for  I  am  a  poor,  timid,  nervous  creature. 
Now,  if  you  get  a  good  composition  for  this  debt,  which  you 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


683 


long  ago  give  up  for  lost,  you’ll  stand  my  friend,  and  help  me. 
Won’t  you  ?” 

“  There’s  something  more,”  said  Ralph. 

“iSo,  no,  indeed,”  cried  Arthur  Gride. 

“  Y'es,  yes,  indeed.  I  tell  you  yes,”  said  Ralph. 

“  Oh  1”  returned  old  Arthur,  feigning  to  be  suddenly  en 
lightened.  “You  mean  something  more,  as  concerns  myself 
and  my  intention.  Ay,  surely,  surely.  Shall  I  mention  that?” 

“  I  think  you  had  better,”  rejoined  Ralph,  drily. 

“I  didn’t  like  to  trouble  you  with  that,  because  I  supposed 
your  interest  woukl  cease  with  your  own  concern  in  the  atfair,” 
said  Arthur  Gride.  “That’s  kind  of  you  to  ask.  Oh  dear, 
how  very  kind  of  you  1  Why,  supposing  I  had  a  knowledge  of 
some  property — some  little  property — very  little — to  which  this 
pretty  chick  was  entitled  ;  which  nobody  knows  or  can  know  of 
at  this  time,  but  which  her  husband  could  sweep  into  his  pouch, 
if  he  knew  as  much  as  I  do,  would  that  account  for — ” 

“For  the  whole  proceeding,”  rejoined  Ralph,  abruptly. 
“  Yow,  let  me  turn  this  matter  over,  and  consider  what  I  ought 
to  have  if  I  should  help  you  to  success.” 

“But  don’t  be  hard,”  cried  old  Arthur,  raising  his  hands 
with  an  imploring  gesture,  and  speaking  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

“Don’t  be  too  hard  upon  me.  It’s  a  very  small  property,  it 
is  indeed.  Say  the  ten  shillings,  and  w'e’ll  close  the  bargain. 
It’s  more  than  I  ought  to  give,  but  you’re  so  kind — shall  we 
say  the  ten  ?  Do  now,  do.” 

Ral[ih  took  no  notice  of  these  supplications,  but  sat  for  three 
or  four  minutes  in  a  brown  study,  looking  thoughtfully  at  the 
l)erson  from  whom  they  proceeded.  After  sutficient  cogitation 
he  broke  silence,  and  it  certainly  could  not  be  objected  that  ho 
used  any  needless  cir<*umlocution,  or  failed  tc  speak  directly  to 
the  purpose. 

“Jf  you  married  this  girl  without  me,”  said  Ralph,  “you 
must  pay  my  debt  in  full,  because  you  couldn’t  set  her  father 
free  otherwise.  It’s  plain,  then,  that  I  must  have  the  whole 
amount,  clear  of  all  deduction  or  incumbrance,  or  I  should  lose 
from  being  honored  with  your  confidence,  instead  of  gaining  by 
it.  ’I’haL’s  the  first  article  of  the  treaty.  For  the  second,  I 
shall  stipulate  that  for  my  trouble  in  negotiation  and  persuasion, 


684 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  helping  to  this  fortune,  I  have  live  hundred  pounds — 
that’s  very  little,  because  you  have  the  ripe  lips,  and  the  cluster¬ 
ing  hair,  and  what  not,  all  to  yourself.  For  the  third  and  last 
article,  I  require  that  you  execute  a  bond  to  me,  this  day,  bind¬ 
ing  yourrelf  in  the  payment  of  these  two  sums,  before  noon  of 
the  day  of  your  marriage  with  Madeline  Bray.  You  have  told 
me  1  can  urge  and  press  a  point;  I  press  this  one,  and  will  take 
nothi/ig  less  than  these  terms.  Accept  them  if  you  like.  If 
not,  marry  her  without  me  if  you  can.  I  shall  still  get  my 
debt.” 

To  all  entreaties,  protestations,  and  offers  of  compromise  be¬ 
tween  his  own  proposals  and  those  which  Arthur  Gride  had  first 
suggested,  Ralph  was  deaf  as  an  adder.  He  would  enter  into 
no  further  discussion  of  the  subject,  and  while  old  Arthur  dilated 
upon  the  enormity  af  his  demands  and  proposed  modifications 
of  them,  approaching  by  degrees  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  terms 
he  resisted,  sat  perfectly  mute,  looking  with  an  air  of  quiet  ab¬ 
straction  over  the  entries  and  papers  in  his  pocket-book.  Find¬ 
ing  that  it  was  impossible  to  make  any  impression  upon  his 
stanch  friend,  Arthur  Gride,  who  had  prepared  himself  for  some 
such  result  before  he  came,  consented  with  a  heavy  heart  to  the 
proposed  treaty,  and  upon  the  spot  filled  the  bond  required 
(Ralph  kept  such  instruments  handy),  after  exacting  the  con¬ 
dition  that  Mr.  JNickleby  should  accompany  him  to  Bray’s 
lodgings  that  very  hour,  and  open  the  negotiation  at  once, 
should  circumstances  appear  auspicious  and  favorable  to  their 
designs. 

In  pursuance  of  this  last  understanding  the  worthy  gentle¬ 
men  went  out  together  shortly  afterwards,  and  Newman  Noggs 
emerged,  bottle  in  hand,  from  the  cupboard,  out  of  the  upper 
door  of  which,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  detection,  he  had  more 
than  once  thrust  his  red  nose  when  such  parts  of  the  subject 
were  under  discussion  as  interested  him  most. 

“I  have  no  appetite  now,”  said  Newman,  putting  the  flask  in 
his  ])Ocket.  “  I’ve  had  my  dinner.” 

Having  delivered  this  observation  in  a  very  grievous  and 
doleful  tone,  Newman  reached  the  door  in  one  long  limp,  and 
came  back  in  another. 

"I  don't  know  who  she  may  be,  or  what  she  may  be,”  he 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


G85 


said :  “  but  I  pity  her  with  all  my  heart  and  soul ;  and  I  can’t 
lielp  her,  nor  can  I  any  of  the  people  against  whom  a  hundred 
tricks — but  none  so  vile  as  this — are  plotted  every  day  !  "W'ell, 
that  adds  to  my  pain,  but  not  to  theirs.  The  thing  is  no  worse 
because  I  know  it,  and  it  tortures  me  as  well  as  them.  Gride 
andNickleby!  Good  [)air  for  a  curricle — oh  roguery  I  roguery! 
roguery !” 

With  these  reflections,  and  a  very  hard  knock  on  the  crown 
o(  his  unfortunate  hat  at  each  repetition  of  the  last  word,  New¬ 
man  Noggs,  whose  brain  was  a  little  muddled  by  so  much  of 
the  contents  of  the  pocket-pistol  as  had  found  their  way  there 
during  his  recent  concealment,  went  forth  to  seek  such  consola¬ 
tion  as  might  be  derivable  from  the  beef  and  greens  of  some 
cheap  eating-house. 

Meanwhile  the  two  plotters  had  betaken  themselves  to  the 
same  house  whither  Nicholas  had  repaired  for  the  first  time  but 
a  few  mornings  before,  and  having  obtained  access  to  Mr.  Bray, 
and  found  his  daughter  from  home,  had,  by  a  train  of  the  most 
masterly  approaches  that  Ralph’s  utmost  skill  could  frame,  at 
length  laid  open  the  real  object  of  their  visit. 

“  There  he  sits,  Mr.  Bray,”  said  Ralph,  as  the  invalid,  not 
yet  recovered  from  his  surprise,  reclined  in  his  chair,  looking 
alternately  at  him  and  Arthur  Gride.  “What  if  he  has  had  the 
ill  fortune  to  be  one  cause  of  your  detention  in  this  place — I 
have  been  another ;  men  must  live ;  you  are  too  much  a  man 
of  the  world  not  to  see  that  in  its  true  light.  We  offer  the  best 
reparation  in  our  power.  Reparation  !  Here  is  an  olfer  of 
marriage,  that  many  a  titled  father  would  leap  at,  for  his  child. 
Mr.  Arthur  Gride,  with  the  fortune  of  a  i)rince.  Think  what  a 
haul  it  is  !” 

“My  daughter.  Sir,”  returned  Bray,  haughtily,  “  as  I  have 
bi  ought  her  up,  would  be  a  rich  recompense  for  the  largest  for¬ 
tune  that  a  man  could  bestow  in  exchange  for  her  hand.” 

“  Precisely  what  1  told  you,”  said  the  artful  Ralph,  turning 
to  his  friend,  old  Arthur.  “  Precisely  what  made  me  consider 
the  thing  so  fair  and  easy.  Tliere  is  no  obligation  on  either 
side.  You  have  money,  and  Miss  Madeline  has  beauty  and 
worth.  She  has  youth,  you  have  money.  She  has  not  money 


686 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LED  Y. 


you  have  not  youth.  Tit  for  tat — quits — a  uiatcli  of  Ileavcn’s 
own  making  !” 

'•  Matches  are  made  in  Heaven,  they  say,”  added  Arthur 
dride,  leering  hideously  at  the  father-in-law  he  wanted.  “  If  we 
are  married,  it  will  be  destiny,  according  to  that.” 

“  Then  think,  Mr.  Bray,”  said  Ralph,  hastily  substituting  for 
this  argument  considerations  more  nearly  allied  to  eartin 
“  Think  what  a  stake  is  involved  in  the  acceptance  or  rejection 
of  these  proposals  of  my  friend — ” 

"  How  can  I  accept  or  reject,”  interrupted  Mr.  Bray,  with  an 
irritable  consciousness  that  it  really  rested  with  him  to  (|^ide. 
“It  is  for  my  daughter  to  accept  or  reject;  it  is  for  my  daugh¬ 
ter.  You  know  that.” 

“True,”  said  Ralph,  emphatically;  “but  you  have  still  the 
power  to  advise;  to  state  the  reasons  for  and  against;  to  hint 
a  wish.” 

“  To  hint  a  wish.  Sir  !”  returned  the  debtor,  proud  and  mean 
by  turns,  and  selfish  at  all  times.  “  I  am  her  father,  am  I  not? 
Why  should  I  hint,  and  beat  about  the  bush  ?  Do  you  suppose, 
like  her  mother’s  friends  and  my  enemies — a  curse  upon  them 
all— that  there  is  any  thing  in  what  she  has  done  for  me  but 
duty,  Sir,  but  duty?  Or  do  you  think  that  my  having  been 
unfortunate  is  a  sufficient  reason  why  our  relative  positions 
should  be  changed,  and  that  she  should  command  and  I  should 
obey?  Hint  a  wish,  too  !  Perhaps  you  think  because  you  see 
me  in  this  place  and  scarcely  able  to  leave  this  chair  without 
assistance,  that  I  am  some  broken-spirited  dependent  creature, 
without  the  courage  or  power  to  do  what  I  may  think  best  for 
my  own  child.  Still  the  power  to  hint  a  wish  1  I  hope  so.” 

“  Pardon  me,”  returned  Ralph,  who  thoroughly  knew  his 
man,  and  had  taken  his  ground  accordingly  ;  “  you  do  not  hear 
rne  out.  I  was  about  to  say,  that  your  hinting  a  wish — even 
hinting  a  wish — would  surely  be  equivalent  to  commanding.” 

“  Why,  of  course  it  would,”  retorted  Mr.  Bray,  in  an  e.vas- 
peratod  tone.  “  If  you  don’t  happen  to  have  heard  of  the  time, 
Sir,  I  tell  you  that  there  was  a  time,  when  I  carried  every  point 
in  triumph  against  her  mother’s  whole  family,  although  they 
had  power  and  wealth  on  their  side — by  my  will  alone.” 

“Still,”  rejoined  Ralph,  as  mildly  as  his  uature  would  allow 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


687 


him,  “you  have  not  heard  me  out.  You  are  a  man  yet  qualified 
to  shine  in  society,  with  many  years  before  you — that  is,  if  you 
lived  ill  freer  air,  and  under  brighter  skies,  and  chose  your  own 
companions.  Gaiety  is  your  element,  you  have  shone  in  it 
before.  Fashion  and  freedom  for  you.  France,  and  an  annuity’’ 
that  would  support  you  there  in  luxury’,  would  give  you  a  new 
lease  of  life — transfer  you  to  a  new  existence.  The  town  rang 
with  your  expensive  pleasures  once,  and  you  could  blaze  upon  a 
new  scene  again,  profiting  by  experience,  and  living  a  little  at 
others’  cost,  instead  of  letting  others  live  at  yours.  What  is 
there  on  the  reverse  side  of  the  picture  ?  What  is  there  ?  I 
don’t  know  which  is  the  nearest  church-yard,  but  a  gravestone 
there,  wherever  ft  is,  and  a  date — perhaps  tivo  years  hence,  per¬ 
haps  twenty.  Teat’s  all. 

Mr.  Bray  rested  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  shaded 
his  face  with  his  hand. 

“I  speak  plainly,”  said  Ralph,  sitting  clown  beside  him,  “be¬ 
cause  I  feel  strongly.  It’s  my  interest  that  you  should  marry 
your  daughter  to  my  friend  Gride,  because  then  he  sees  me 
paid — in  part,  that  is.  I  don’t  disguise  it.  I  acknowledge  it 
openly.  But  what  interest  have  you  in  recommending  her  to 
such  a  step  ?  Keep  that  in  view..  She  might  object,  remon¬ 
strate,  shed  tears,  talk  of  his  being  too  old,  and  plead  that  her 
life  would  be  rendered  miserable.  But  what  is  it  now  ?” 

Several  slight  gestures  on  the  part  of  the  invalid,  showmd  that 
these  arguments  were  no  more  lost  upon  him,  than  the  smallest 
iota  of  his  demeanor  was  upon  Ralph, 

“What  is  it  now,  I  sayq”  pursued  the  wily  usurer,  “or  what 
has  it  a  chance  of  being  ?  If  you  died,  indeed,  the  people  you 
hate  would  make  her  happy.  But  can  you  bear  the  thought 
of  that  ?” 

“  No  !”  returned  Bray,  urged  by  a  vindictive  impulse  he  could 
not  repress. 

“  I  should  imagine  not,  indeed  I”  said  Ralph,  quietly.  “  If 
she  profits  by  any  body’s  death,”  this  was  said  in  a  lower  tone, 
“  let  it  be  by  her  husband’s — don’t  let  her  have  to  look  back  to 
yours,  as  the  event  from  which  to  date  a  happier  life.  Where 
is  the  objection  ?  Let  me  hear  it  stated.  What  is  it  ?  That 
her  suitor  is  an  old  man.  Why,  how  often  do  men  of  family 
41 


688 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  fortune,  who  haven’t  your  excuse,  but  have  all  the  means 
and  superfluities  of  life  within  their  reach — how  often  do  they 
marry  their  daughters  to  old  men,  or  (worse  still)  to  young  men 
without  heads  or  hearts,  to  tickle  some  idle  vanity,  strengthen 
some  family  interest,  or  secure  some  seat  in  Parliament !  Judge 
for  her.  Sir,  judge  for  her.  You  must  know  best,  and  she  will 
live  to  thaidv  you.” 

“Hush  !  hush  !”  cried  Mr.  Bray,  suddenly  starting  up,  and 
covering  Balph’s  mouth  with  his  trembling  hand.  “  I  hear  her 
at  the  door !” 

There  was  a  gleam  of  conscience  in  the  shame  and  terror  of 
this  hasty  action,  which,  in  one  short  moment,  tore  the  thin 
covering  of  sophistry  from  the  cruel  design,  and  laid  it  bare  in 
all  its  meanness  and  heartless  deformity.  The  father  fell  into 
his  chair  pale  and  trembling ;  Arthur  Gride  plucked  and  fum¬ 
bled  at  his  hat,  and  durst  not  raise  his  eyes  from  the  floor  ;  even 
Ralph  crouched  for  the  moment  like  a  beaten  hound,  cowed  by 
the  presence  of  one  young  innocent  girl. 

The  effect  was  almost  as  brief  as  sudden.  Ralph  was  the 
first  to  recover  himself,  and  observing  Madeline’s  looks  of  alarm, 
entreated  the  poor  girl  to  be  composed,  assuring  her  that  there 
wms  no  cause  for  fear. 

“  A  sudden  spasm,”  said  Ralph,  glancing  at  Mr.  Bray,  “  He 
is  quite  well  now.” 

It  might  have  moved  a  very  hard  and  worldly  heart  to  see 
the  young  and  beautiful  creature,  whose  certain  misery  they  had 
been  contriving  but  a  minute  before,  throw  her  arms  about  her 
father’s  neck,  and  pour  forth  words  of  tender  sympathy  and 
love,  the  sweetest  a  father’s  ear  can  know,  or  child’s  lips  form. 
But  Ralph  looked  coldly  on  ;  and  Arthur  Gride,  whose  bleared 
eyes  gloated  only  over  the  outward  beauties,  and  were  blind  to 
the  spirit  which  reigned  within,  evinced — a  fantastic  kind  of 
warmth  certainly,  but  not  exactly  that  kind  of  warmth  of  feeling 
which  the  contemplation  of  virtue  usually  inspires. 

“Madeline,”  sa'i  her  father,  gently  disengaging  himself,  “it 
was  nothing.” 

“  But  you  had  tl  at  spasm  yesterday,  and  it  is  terrible  to  see 
xou  in  such  pain.  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ?” 

“  Nothing  just  now.  Here  are  two  gentlemen,  Madeline,  one 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


689 


of  whom  you  have  seen  before.  She  used  to  say,”  added  ]Mr 
Bray,  addressing  Arthur  Gride,  “  that  the  sight  of  you  always 
made  me  worse.  That  was  natural,  knowing  what  she  did,  and 
only  what  she  did,  of  our  connection  and  its  results.  Well, 
well.  Perhaps  she  may  change  her  mind  on  that  point ;  girls 
have  leave  to  change  their  minds,  you  know.  You  are  very 
tired,  my  dear.” 

“  I  am  not,  indeed,” 

“Indeed  you  are.  You  do  too  much.” 

“  I  wish  I  could  do  more.” 

“  I  know  you  do,  but  you  overtask  your  strength.  This 
wretched  life,  my  love,  of  daily  labor  and  fatigue,  is  more  than 
you  can  bear,  I  am  sure  it  is.  Poor  Madeline  I” 

With  these  and  many  more  kind  words,  Mr.  Bray  drew  his 
daughter  to  him  and  kissed  her  cheek  affectionately.  Ralph, 
watching  him  sharply  and  closely  in  the  mean  time,  made  his 
way  towards  the  door,  and  signed  to  Gride  to  follow  him. 

“You  will  communicate  with  us  again?”  said  Ralph. 

“Yes,  yes,”  returned  Mr.  Bray,  hastily  thrusting  his  daugh¬ 
ter  aside.  “  In  a  week.  Give  me  a  week. 

“One  week,”  said  Ralph,  turning  to  his  companion,  “from 
to-day.  Good  morning.  Miss  Madeline,  I  kiss  your  hand.” 

“We  will  shake  hands,  Gride,”  said  Mr.  Bray,  extending  his, 
as  old  Arthur  bowed  “  You  mean  well,  no  doubt.  I  am 
bound  to  say  so  now.  If  I  owed  you  money,  that  was  not 
your  fault.  Madeline,  my  love — your  hand  here.” 

“Oh  dearl  If  the  young  lady  would  condescend — only  the 
tips  of  her  fingers” — said  Arthur,  hesitating  and  half  retreating. 

Madeline  shrunk  involuntarily  from  the  goblin  figure,  but  she 
placed  the  tips  of  her  fingers  in  his  hand  and  instantly  with¬ 
drew  them.  After  an  ineffectual  clutch,  intended  to  detain 
and  carry  them  to  his  lips,  old  Arthur  gave  his  own  fingers  a 
mumbling  kiss,  and  with  many  amorous  distortions  of  visage 
went  ill  pursuit  of  his  friend,  who  was  by  this  time  in  the  street. 

“  What  does  he  say,  what  does  he  say — what  does  the  giant 
say  to  tlie  pigmy  ?”  inquired  Arthur  Gride,  hobbling  up  to 
Ralph. 

“  What  does  the  pigmy  say  to  the  giant  ?”  rejoined  Ralph 
elevating  his  eyebows  and  looking  down  upon  his  questioner. 


“  lie  doesn’t  know  what  to  say,”  replied  Arthur  Gride.  "  ffe 
ho])es  and  fears.  But  is  slie  not  a  dainty  morsel  ?” 

“  I  have  no  great  taste  for  beauty,”  growled  Ralph. 

“  But  I  have,”  rejoined  Arthur,  rubbing  his  hands.  “  Oh 
dear  I  How  handsome  her  eyes  looked  when  she  was  stooping^ 
OA  er  him — such  long  lashes — such  delicate  fringe  !  She — she 
— looked  at  me  so  soft.” 

“  Not  over-lovingly,  I  think  ?”  said  Ralph.  “Did  she  ?” 

“Do  you  think  not?”  replied  old  Arthur.  “But  don’t  you 
think  it  can  be  brought  about — don’t  you  think  it  can  ?” 

Ralph  looked  at  him  with  a  contemptuous  frown,  and  re¬ 
plied  with  a  sneer,  and  between  his  teeth — 

“  Did  you  mark  his  telling  her  she  was  tired  and  did  too 
much,  and  overtasked  her  strength  ?” 

“  Ay,  ay.  What  of  it  ?” 

“  When  do  you  think  he  ever  told  her  that  before  ?  The  life 
is  more  than  she  can  bear.  Yes,  yes.  He’ll  change  it  for  her.” 

“D’ye  think  it’s  done  ?”  inquired  old  Arthur,  peering  into  his 
companion’s  faee  with  half-closed  eyes. 

“  I  am  sure  it’s  done,”  said  Ralph.  “  He  is  trying  to  de¬ 
ceive  himself,  even  before  our  eyes,  already. — making  believe 
that  he  thinks  of  her  good  and  not  his  own — acting  a  virtuous 
part,  and  so  considerate  and  affectionate.  Sir,  that  the  daughter 
scarcely  knew  him.  I  saw  a  tear  of  surprise  in  her  eye. 
There’ll  be  a  few  more  tears  of  surprise  there  before  long,  though 
of  a  different  kind.  Oh  !  we  may  wait  with  confidence  for  this 
day  week.” 


CHAPTER  XL VII I. 


BEING  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  MR,  VINCENT  CRUMMLES,  AND 
rOSITIVELY  HIS  LAST  APPEARANCE  ON  THIS  STAGE. 

It  was  with  a  very  sad  and  heavy  heart,  oppressed  by  many 
painful  ideas,  that  Xicholas  retraced  his  steps  eastward  and 
betook  himself  to  the  counting-house  of  Cheeryble  Brothers. 
Whatever  the  idle  hopes  he  had  suffered  himself  to  entertain, 
whatever  the  pleasant  visions  which  had  sprung  up  in  his  mind 
and  grouped  themselves  round  the  fair  image  of  Madeline  Bray, 
they  were  now  dispelled,  and  not  a  vestige  of  their  gaiety  and 
brightness  remained. 

It  would  be  a  poor  compliment  to  Xicholas’s  better  nature, 
and  one  which  he  was  very  far  from  deserving,  to  insinuate  that 
the  solution,  and  such  a  solution,  of  the  mystery  which  had 
seemed  to  surround  Madeline  Bray,  when  he  was  ignorant  even 
of  her  name,  had  damped  his  ardor  or  cooled  the  fervor  of  his 
admiration.  If  he  had  regarded  her  before,  with  such  a  passion 
as  young  men  attracted  by  mere  beauty  and  elegance  may  en¬ 
tertain,  he  was  now  conscious  of  much  deeper  and  stronger 
feelings.  But  reverence  for  the  truth  and  purity  of  her  heart, 
respect  for  the  helplessness  and  loneliness  of  her  situation, 
sympathy  with  the  trials  of  one  so  young  and  fair,  and  ad¬ 
miration  of  her  great  and  noble  spirit,  all  seemed  to  raise  her 
far  above  his  reacli,  and,  while  they  imparted  new  depth  and 
dignity  to  his  love,  to  whisper  that  it  was  hopeless. 

“  I  will  keep  my  word,  as  I  have  pledged  it  to  her,”  said 
Nicholas,  manfully.  “  This  is  no  common  trust  that  I  have  to 
discharge,  and  I  will  perform  the  double  duty  that  is  imposed 
upon  me  most  scrupulously  and  strictly.  My  secret  feelings  de¬ 
serve  no  consideration  in  such  a  case  as  this,  and  they  shall 
have  none.” 

Still,  there  were  the  secret  feelings  in  existence  just  the  same, 
and  ill  secret  Xicholas  rather  encouraged  them  than  other- 

691) 


C92 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


wise ;  reasoning  (if  he  reasoned  at  all)  that  there  they  could 
do  no  harm  to  any  body  but  himself,  and  that  if  he  kept  them 
to  himself  from  a  sense  of  duty,  he  had  an  additional  right  to 
entertain  himself  with  them  as  a  reward  for  Ids  heroism. 

All  these  thoughts,  coupled  with  what  he  had  seen  that  morn¬ 
ing  and  the  anticipation  of  his  next  visit,  rendered  him  a  very 
dull  and  abstracted  companion;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  Tim 
Linkinwater  suspected  he  must  have  made  the  mistake  of  a 
figure  somewhere,  which  was  preying  upon  his  mind,  and  seri¬ 
ously  conjured  him,  if  such  were  the  case,  to  make  a  clean 
breast  and  scratch  it  out,  rather  than  have  his  whole  life  em¬ 
bittered  by  the  tortures  of  remorse. 

But  in  reply  to  these  considerate  representations,  and  many 
others  both  from  Tim  and  Mr.  Frank,  Nicholas  could  only  be 
brought  to  state  that  he  was  never  merrier  in  his  life;  and  so 
went  on  all  day,  and  so  went  towards  home  at  night,  still  turn¬ 
ing  over  and  over  again  the  same  subjects,  thinking  over  and 
over  again  the  same  things,  and  arriving  over  and  over  again 
at  the  same  conclusions. 

In  this  pensive,  wayward,  and  uncertain  state,  people  are  apt 
to  lounge  and  loiter  without  knowing  why,  to  read  placards  on 
the  walls  with  great  attention  and  without  the  smallest  idea  of 
one  word  of  their  contents,  and  to  stare  most  earnestly  through 
shop- windows  at  things  which  they  don’t  see.  It  was  thus  that 
Nicholas  found  himself  poring  with  the  utmost  interest  over  a 
large  play-bill  hanging  outside  a  minor  theatre  which  he  had 
to  pass  on  his  way  home,  and  reading  a  list  of  actors  and 
actresses  who  had  promised  to  do  honor  to  some  approaching 
benefit,  with  as  much  gravity  as  if  it  had  been  a  catalogue  of  the 
names  of  those  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  stood  highest  upon 
the  Book  of  Fate,  and  he  had  been  looking  anxiously  for  his 
own.  He  glanced  at  the  top  of  the  bill,  with  a  smile  at  his 
own  dullness,  as  he  prepared  to  resume  his  walk,  and  there  sii  w 
announced  in  large  letters,  with  a  large  space  between  each  of 
them,  “  Positively  the  last  appearance  of  Mr.  Yincent  Crummies 
of  Provincial  Celebrity  ! !  I” 

"Nonsense  !”  said  Nicholas,  turning  back  again.  "  It  can’t 
be.” 

But  there  it  was  In  one  line  by  itself  was  an  annomicercent 


NICHOLAS  NICKLECr. 


698 


of  the  first  night  of  a  new  inelo-drama  ;  in  another  line  by  itself 
was  an  announcement  of  the  last  six  nights  of  an  old  one  ;  a 
third  line  was  devoted  to  the  re-engagement  of  the  nnrivaled 
African  Knife-swallower,  who  had  kindly  suffered  himself  to  be 
prevailed  upon  to  forego  his  country  engagements  for  one  week 
longer  ;  a  fourth  line  announced  that  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry, 
having  recovered  from  his  late  severe  indisposition,  would  have 
the  honor  of  appearing  that  evening  ;  a  fifth  line  said  that  there 
were  “  Cheers,  Tears,  and  Laughter  !”  every  night ;  a  sixth  that 
that  was  positively  the  last  appearance  of  Mr,  Vincent  Crum¬ 
mies  &f  Provincial  Celebrity. 

“Surely  it  must  be  the  same  man,”  thought  Nicholas. 
“There  can’t  be  two  Vincent  Crummleses.” 

The  better  to  settle  this  question  he  referred  to  the  bill  again, 
and  finding  that  there  was  a  Baron  in  the  first  piece,  and  that 
Koberto  (his  son)  was  enacted  by  one  Master  Crummies,  and 
Spaletro  (his  nephew)  by  one  Master  Percy  Crummies — their 
last  appearances — and  that,  incidental  to  the  piece,  was  a  cha¬ 
racteristic  dance  by  the  characters,  and  a  castanet  pas  seul  by 
the  infant  Phenomenon — her  last  appeai’ance — he  no  longer 
entertained  any  doubt ;  and  presenting  himself  at  the  stage  door, 
and  sending  in  a  scrap  of  paper  with  “Mr.  Johnson”  written 
thereon  in  pencil,  was  presently  conducted  by  a  Robber,  with  a 
very  large  belt  and  buckle  round  his  waist,  and  very  large  leather 
gauntlets  on  his  hands,  into  the  presence  of  his  former  manager. 

Mr.  Crummies  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him,  and  starting 
U])  from  before  a  small  dressing-glass,  with  one  very  bushy  eye¬ 
brow  stuck  on  crooked  over  his  left  eye,  and  the  fellow  eyebrow 
and  the  calf  of  one  of  his  legs  in  his  hand,  embraced  him  cor¬ 
dially  ;  at  the  same  time  observing,  that  it  would  do  Mrs. 
Crummies’s  heart  good  to  bid  him  good-bye  before  they  went. 

“You  were  always  a  favorite  of  hers,  Johnson,”  said  Crum¬ 
mies,  “always  were  from  the  first.  I  was  quite  easy  in  my  mind 
about  you  from  that  first  day  you  dined  with  us.  One  that 
Mrs.  Crummies  took  a  fancy  to  was  sure  to  turn  out  right. 
Ah  !  Johnson,  what  a  woman  that  is  ! 

T  am  sincerely  obliged  to  her  for  her  kindness  in  this  and 
all  other  respects,”  said  Nicholas.  “But  where  are  you  going, 
that  you  talk  about  bidding  good-bye  ?” 


694 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Haven’t  you  seen  it  in  the  papers  ?”  said  Crummies,  with 
Borne  dignity, 

“Ts’o,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“I  wonder  at  that,”  said  the  manager.  “It  was  among  the 
varieties.  I  had  the  paragraph  here  somewhere — but  I  don't 
know — oh,  yes,  here  it  is. 

So  saying,  Mr.  Crummies,  after  pretending  that  he  thought 
he  must  have  lost  it,  produced  a  square  inch  of  newspaper  from 
the  pocket  of  the  pantaloons  he  wore  in  private  life  (which, 
together  with  the  plain  clothes  of  several  other  gentleman,  lay 
scattered  about  on  a  kind  of  dresser  in  the  room),  and  gave  it 
to  Nicholas  to  read: — 

“  The  talented  Vincent  Crummies,,  long  favorably  known  to 
fame  as  a  country  manager  and  actor  of  no  ordinary  pretensions, 
is  about  to  cross  the  Atlantic  on  a  histrionic  expedition. 
Crummies  is  to  be  accompanied,  we  hear,  by  his  lady  and  gifted 
family.  We  know  no  man  superior  to  Crummies  in  his  par¬ 
ticular  line  of  character,  or  one  who,  whether  as  a  public  or  a 
private  individual,  could  carry  with  him  the  best  wishes  of  a 
larger  circle  of  friends.  Crummies  is  certain  to  succeed.” 

“Here’s  another  bit,”  said  Mr.  Crummies,  handing  over  a 
still  smaller  scrap.  “  This  is  from  the  notices  to  correspondents, 
this  one.” 

Nicholas  read  it  aloud.  “  ‘  Philo  Dramaticus. — Crummies, 
the  country  manager  and  actor,  cannot  be  more  than  forty-three, 
or  forty-four  years  of  age.  Crummies  is  not  a  Prussian,  having 
been  born  at  Chelsea.’  Humph  1”  said  Nicholas,  “  that’s  an 
odd  paragraph.” 

“Very,”  returned  Crummies,  scratching  the  side  of  his  nose, 
and  looking  at  Nicholas  with  an  assumption  of  great  unconcern. 
“I  can’t  think  who  puts  these  things  in.  I  didn’t.” 

Still  keeping  his  eye  on  Nicholas,  Mr.  Crummies  shook  his 
head  twice  or  thrice  with  profound  gravity,  and  remarking,  that 
he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  imagine  how  the  newspapers 
found  out  the  things  they  did,  folded  up  the  extracts  and  put 
them  in  his  pocket  again. 

“  I  am  astonished  to  hear  this  news,”  said  Nicholas.  “  Going 
to  America  I  You  had  no  such  thing  in  contemplation  when  I 
'vas  with  you.” 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


696 


“!No,”  replied  Crummies,  “I  hadn’t  then.  The  fact  is,  that 
Mrs.  Crummies — most  extraordinary  woman,  Johnson” — here 
he  broke  oif  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

“Ohl”  said  Nicholas,  smiling.  “The  prospect  of  an  addi¬ 
tion  to  your  family  ?” 

“The  seventh  addition,  Johnson,”  returned  Mr.  Crummies, 
solemnly.  “  I  thought  such  a  child  as  the  Phenomenon  must 
have  been  a  closer ;  but  it  seems  we  are  to  have  another.  She 
is  a  very  remarkable  woman.” 

“I  congratulate  you,”  said  Nicholas,  “and  I  hope  this  may 
prove  a  phenomenon,  too. 

“Why,  it’s  pretty  sure  to  be  something  uncommon,  T  sup- 
])ose,”  rejoined  Mr.  Crummies.  “The  talent  of  the  other  three 
is  principally  in  combat  and  serious  pantomime.  I  should  like 
this  one  to  have  a  turn  for  juvenile  tragedy  ;  I  understand  they 
want  something  of  that  sort  in  America  very  much.  However, 
we  must  take  it  as  it  comes.  Perhaps  it  may  have  a  genius  for 
the  tight-rope.  It  may  have  any  sort  of  genius,  in  short,  if  it 
takes  after  its  mother,  Johnson,  for  she  is  an  universal  genius ; 
but,  whatever  its  genius  is,  that  genius  shall  be  developed.” 

Expressing  himself  after  these  terms,  Mr.  Crummies  put  on 
his  other  eyebrow,  and  the  calves  of  his  legs,  and  then  put  on 
his  legs,  which  were  of  a  yellowish  flesh-color,  and  rather  soiled 
about  the  knees,  from  frequent  going  down  upon  those  joints,  in 
curses,  prayers,  last  struggles,  and  other  strong  passages. 

While  the  ex-manager  completed  his  toilet,  he  informed 
Nicholas  that  as  he  should  have  a  foir  start  in  America,  from 
the  proceeds  of  a  tolerably  good  engagement  which  he  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  obtain,  and  as.  he  and  Mrs.  Crummies  could 
scarcely  hope  to  act  forever — not  being  immortal,  except  in  the 
bi’ealh  of  Fame  and  in  a  figurative  sense — he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  settle  there  permanently,  in  the  hope  of  acquiring  some 
land  of  his  own  which  would  support  them  in  their  old  age,  and 
which  they  could  afterwards  bequeath  to  their  cliildren.  Nicho¬ 
las,  having  highly  commended  this  resolution,  Mr.  Crummies 
went  on  to  impart  such  further  intelligence  relative  to  their 
mutual  friends  as  he  thought  might  prove  interesting  ;  inform¬ 
ing  Nicholas,  among  other  things,  that  Miss  Snevellici  was  hap¬ 
pily  married  to  an  affluent  young  wax-chandler  who  had  supplied 


696 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


the  theatre  with  candles,  and  that  Mr.  Lillyvick  didn’t  dare  to 
say  his  soul  was  his  own,  such  was  the  tyrannical  sway  of  Mrs 
Lillyvick,  who  reigned  paramount  and  supreme. 

Nicholas  responded  to  this  confidence  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Crummies,  by  confiding  to  him  his  own  name,  situation,  and 
]irospects,  and  informing  him  in  as  few  general  words  as  he 
could,  of  the  circumstances  which  had  led  to  their  first  acquaint¬ 
ance.  After  congratulating  him  with  great  heartiness  on  the 
improved  state  of  his  fortunes,  Mr.  Crummies  gave  him  to  un¬ 
derstand  that  next  morning  he  and  his  were  to  start  for  Liver¬ 
pool,  where  the  vessel  lay  which  was  to  carry  them  from  the 
shores  of  England,  and  that  if  Nicholas  wished  to  take  a  last 
adieu  of  Mrs.  Crummies,  he  must  repair  with  him  that  night  to 
a  farewell-supper,  given  in  honor  of  the  family  at  a  neighboring 
tavern  ;  at  which  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry  would  preside,  while 
the  honors  of  the  vice-chair  would  be  sustained  by  the  African 
•Swallower. 

The  room  being  by  this  time  very  warm  and  somewhat 
crowded,  in  consequence  of  the  influx  of  four  gentlemen,  who 
had  just  killed  each  other  in  the  piece  under  representation, 
Nicholas  accepted  the  invitation,  and  promised  to  return  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  performances  ;  preferring  the  cool  air  and 
twilight  out  of  doors  to  the  mingled  perfume  of  gas,  orange-peel, 
and  gunpowder,  which  pervaded  the  hot  and  glaring  theatre. 

He  availed  himself  of  this  interval  to  buy  a  silver  snuff-box — 
the  best  his  funds  would  afford — as  a  token  of  remembrance  for 
Mr.  Crummies,  and  having  purchased  besides  a  pair  of  ear¬ 
rings  for  Mrs.  Crummies,  a  necklace  for  the  Phenomenon,  and 
a  flaming  shirt-pin  for  each  of  the  young  gentlemen,  he  refreshed 
himself  with  a  walk,  and  I’eturning  a  little  after  the  appointed 
time,  found  the  lights  out,  the  theatre  empty,  the  curtain  raised 
for  the  night,  and  Mr.  Crummies  walking  up  and  down  the 
stage  expecting  his  arrival. 

'‘Timberry  won’t  be  long,”  said  Mr.  Crummies.  “He 
played  the  audience  out  to-night.  He  does  a  faithful  black  in 
the  last  piece,  and  it  takes  him  a  little  longer  to  wash  himself.” 

“  A  very  unpleasant  line  of  character,  I  should  think  ?”  said 
Nicholas 

“No,  I  don’t  know,”  replied  Mr.  Crummies;  it  comes  off  easily 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


697 


enough,  and  there’s  only  the  face  and  neck.  We  had  a  first- 
tragedy  man  in  our  company  once,  wlio,  when  he  played  Othello, 
used  to  black  himself  all  over.  But  that’s  feeling  a  part  and 
going  into  it  as  if  you  meant  it ;  it  isn’t  usual — more’s  the  pity.” 

Mr.  Snittle  Timberry  now  appeared,  arm-in-arm  with  the 
African  Swallower,  and  being  introduced  to  Nicholas,  raised 
his  hat  half-a-foot,  and  said  he  was  proud  to  know  him.  The 
Swallower  said  the  same,  and  looked  and  spoke  remarkably  like 
an  Irishman. 

“  I  see  by  the  bills  that  you  have  been  ill,  sir,”  said  Nicholas 
to  Mr.  Timberry.  “I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse  for  your 
exertions  to-night  ?” 

Mr.  Timberry,  in  reply,  shook  his  head  with  a  gloomy  air, 
tapped  his  chest  several  times  with  great  significancy,  and  draw¬ 
ing  his  cloak  more  closely  about  him  said,  “  But  no  matter — no 
matter.  Come !” 

It  is  observable  that  when  people  upon  the  stage  are  in 
any  strait  involving  the  very  last  extremity  of  weakness  and 
exhaustion,  they  invariably  perform  feats  of  strength  requiring 
great  ingenuity  and  muscular  power.  Thus,  a  wounded  prince 
or  bandit-chief,  who  is  bleeding  to  death  and  too  faint  to  move, 
except  to  the  softest  music  (and  then  only  upon  his  hands  and 
knees),  shall  be  seen  to  approach  a  cottage  door  for  aid,  in  such 
a  series  of  writhings  and  twistings,  and  with  such  curlings  up 
of  the  legs,  and  such  rollings  over  and  over,  and  such  gettings 
up  and  tumblings  down  again,  as  could  never  be  achieved  save  - 
by  a  very  strong  man  skilled  in  posture-making.  And  so  natural 
did  this  sort  of  performance  come  to  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry,  that 
on  their  way  out  of  the  theatre  and  towards  the  tavern  where 
the  supper  was  to  be  holden,  he  testified  the  severity  of  his 
recent  indisposition  and  its  wasting  effects  upon  the  nervous 
system,  by  a  series  of  gymnastic  performances,  which  were  the 
admiration  of  all  witnesses. 

"  AVhy  this  is  indeed  a  joy  I  had  not  looked  for  !”  said  Mrs, 
Crummies,  when  Nicholas  was  presented. 

“Nor  I,”  replied  Nicholas.  “It  is  by  a  mere  chance  that  T 
have  this  opportunity  of  seeing  you,  although  I  would  have 
made  a  great  exertion  to  have  availed  myself  of  it.” 

'  Here  is  one  whom  you  know,”  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  thrust- 


698 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ing  forward  the  Phenomenon  in  a  blue  gauze  frock,  extensively 
flounced,  and  trovvsers  of  the  same  ;  “  and  here  another — and 
another,”  presenting  the  Masters  Cruinraleses.  “  And  how  is 
your  friend,  the  faithful  Digby  ?” 

“Digby  !”  said  Nicholas,  forgetting  at  the  instant  that  this 
had  been  S mike’s  theatrical  name.  “  Oh  yes.  Tie’s  quite — 
what  am  I  saying  ? — he  is  very  far  from  well.” 

“  How  !”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Crummies,  with  a  tragic  recoil. 

“I  fear,”  said  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head,  and  making  an 
attempt  to  smile,  “that  your  better  half  would  be  more  struck 
with  him  now,  than  ever.” 

“What  mean  you ?”  rejoined  Mrs.  Crummies,  in  her  most 
popular  manner.  “  Whence  comes  this  altered  tone  ?” 

“  I  mean  that  a  dastardly  enemy  of  mine  has  struck  at  me 
through  him,  and  that  while  he  thinks  to  torture  me,  he  inflicts 
on  him  such  agonies  of  terror  and  suspense  as - You  will  ex¬ 

cuse  me,  I  am  sure,”  said  Nicholas,  checking  himself.  “I  should 
never  speak  of  this,  and  never  do,  except  to  those  who  know 
the  facts,  but  for  a  moment  I  forgot  myself.,” 

With  this  hasty  apology,  Nicholas  stooped  down  to  salute 
the  Phenomenon,  and  changed  the  subject;  inwardly  cursing 
his  precipitation,  and  very  much  wondering  what  Mrs.  Crum¬ 
mies  must  think  of  so  sudden  an  explosion. 

That  lady  seemed  to  think  very  little  about  it,  for  the  supper 
being  by  this  time  on  table,  she  gave  her  hand  to  Nicholas,  and 
repaired  with  a  stately  step  to  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Snittle  Tim- 
berry.  Nicholas  had  the  honor  to  support  her,  and  Mr.  Crum¬ 
mies  was  placed  upon  the  chairman’s  right;  the  Phenomenon 
and  the  Masters  Crumnileses  sustained  the  vice. 

The  company  amounted  in  number  to  some  twenty-five  or 
thirty,  being  composed  of  such  members  of  the  theatrical  pro- 
'fession,  then  engaged  or  disengaged  in  London,  as  were  num- 
1  tered  among  the  most  intimate  friends  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crummies. 
The  ladies  and  gentleman  were  pretty  equally  balanced  ;  the  ex¬ 
penses  of  the  entertainment  being  defrayed  by  the  latter,  each  of 
whom  had  the  privilege  of  inviting  one  of  the  former  as  his  guest 

It  was  upon  the  whole  a  very  distinguished  party,  for  inde¬ 
pendently  of  the  lesser  theatrical  lights  who  clustered  on  this 
occasion  round  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry,  there  was  a  literary  gen 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


G99 


tleman  present  who  had  dramatized  in  his  time  two  hundred 
and  forty-seven  novels  as  fast  as  they  had  come  out — some  of 
them  faster  than  they  had  come  out — and  was  a  literary  gentle¬ 
man  in  consequence. 

This  gentleman  sat  on  the  left  hand  of  Nicholas,  to  whom  he 
was  introduced  by  his  friend  the  African  Swallower,  from  the 
bottom  of  the  table,^  with  a  high  eulogium  upon  his  fame  and 
reputation. 

“I  am  happy  to  know  a  gentleman  of  such  great  distinction,” 
said  Nicholas,  politely. 

“Sir,”  replied  the  wit,  “you’re  very  welcome,  I’m  sure.  The 
honor  is  reciprocal.  Sir,  as  I  usually  say  when  I  dramatize  a 
book.  Did  you  ever  hear  a  definition  of  fame.  Sir  ?” 

“I  have  heard  several,”  replied  Nicholas,  with  a  smile. 
“  What  is  yours  ?” 

“  When  I  dramatize  a  book.  Sir,”  said  the  literary  gentleman, 
that's  fame — for  its  author.” 

“  Oh,  indeed  !”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“  That’s  fame.  Sir,”  said  the  literary  gentleman. 

“  So  Richard  Turpin,  Tom  King,  and  Jerry  Abershaw,  have 
handed  down  to  fame  the  names  of  those  on  whom  they  com¬ 
mitted  their  most  impudent  robberies  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

“I  don’t  know  any  thing  about  that.  Sir,”  answered  the  lite¬ 
rary  gentleman. 

“  Shakspeare  dramatized  stories  which  had  previously  ap¬ 
peared  in  print,  it  is  true,”  observed  Nicholas. 

“  Meaning  Bill,  Sir  ?”  said  the  literary  gentleman.  “  So  he 
did.  Bill  was  an  adapter,  certainly,  so  he  was — and  very  well 
he  adapted  too — considering.” 

“1  was  about  to  say,”  rejoined  Nicholas,  “that  Shakspeare 
derived  scum  of  his  plots  from  old  tales  and  legends  in  general 
circulation  ;  but  it  seems  to  me,  that  some  of  the  gentleman  of 
your  craft  at  the  present  day,  have  shot  very  far  beyond 
him — ” 

"You’re  quite  right.  Sir,  interrupted  the  litei’ary  gentleman, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  exercising  his  toothpick.  “  Human 
intellect.  Sir,  has  progressed  since  his  time — is  progressing — 
will  progress — ” 

“Shot  beyond  him,  I  mean,”  resumed  Nicholas,  “in  quite 


700 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


another  respect,  for,  whereas  he  brought  within  the  magic  circle 
of  his  genius,  traditions  peculiarly  adapted  for  his  purpose,  and 
turned  familiar  things  into  constellations  which  should  enlighten 
the  world  for  ages,  you  drag  within  the  magic  circle  of  your 
dullness,  subjects  not  at  all  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  the  stage^ 
and  debase  as  he  exalted.  For  instance,  you  take  the  uncom¬ 
pleted  books  of  living  authors,  fresh  from  their  hands,  wet  from 
(he  press,  cut,  hack,  and  carve  them  to  the  powers  and  capaci¬ 
ties  of  your  actors,  and  the  capability  of  your  theatres,  fi  lish 
unfinished  works,  hastily  and  crudely  vamp  up  ideas  not  yet 
worked  out  by  their  original  projector,  but  which  have  doubtless 
cost  him  many  thoughtful  days  and  sleepless  nights ;  by  a  com¬ 
parison  of  incidents  and  dialogue,  down  to  the  very  last  word 
he  may  have  written  a  fortnight  before,  do  your  utmost  to  anti¬ 
cipate  his  plot — all  this  without  his  permission,  and  against  his 
will ;  and  then,  to  crown  the  whole  proceeding,  publish  in  some 
mean  pamphlet,  an  unmeaning  farrago  of  garbled  extracts  from 
his  work,  to  which  you  put  your  name  as  author,  with  the  hon¬ 
orable  distinction  annexed,  of  having  perpetrated  a  hundred 
other  outrages  of  the  same  description.  Now,  show  me  the 
distinction  between  such  pilfering  as  this,  and  picking  a  man’s 
pocket  in  the  street:  unless,  indeed,  it  be,  that  the  legislature 
has  a  regard  for  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  leaves  men’s  brains, 
except  when  they  are  knocked  out  by  violence,  to  take  care  of 
themselves.” 

“  Men  must  live,  Sir,”  said  the  literary  gentleman,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

“  That  would  be  an  equally  fair  plea  in  both  cases,”  replied 
Nicholas ;  “but  if  you  put  it  upon  that  ground,  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say,  than,  that  if  I  were  a  writer  of  books,  and  you  a 
thirsty  dramatist,  I  would  rather  pay  your  tavern  score  for  six 
months — large  as  it  might  be — than  have  a  niche  in  the  Temple 
of  Fame  with  you  for  the  humblest  corner  of  my  pedestal, 
through  six  hundred  generations.” 

The  conversation  threatened  to  take  a  somewhat  angry  tone 
when  it  had  arrived  thus  far,  but  Mrs.  Crummies  opportunely 
interposed  to  prevent  its  leading  to  any  violent  outbreak,  by 
making  some  inquiries  of  the  literary  gentleman  relative  to  the 
olots  of  the  six  new  pieces  which  he  had  written  by  contract  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


701 


introduce  the  African  Knife-swallower  in  his  various  unrivaled 
performances.  This  speedily  engaged  him  in  an  animated  con¬ 
versation  with  that  lady,  in  the  interest  of  which  all  recollection 
of  his  recent  discussion  with  Nicholas  very  quickly  evaporated. 

The  board  being  now  clear  of  the  more  substantial  articles 
of  food,  and  punch,  wine,  and  spirits  being  placed  upon  it  and 
handed  about,  the  guests,  who  had  been  previously  conversing 
in  little  groups  of  three  or  four,  gradually  fell  off  into  a  dea'd 
silence,  while  the  majority  of  those  present  glanced  from  time 
to  time  at  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry,  and  the  bolder  spirits  did  not 
even  hesitate  to  strike  the  tables  with  their  knuckles,  and  plainly 
intimate  their  e.xpectations,  by  uttering  such  encouragements  as 
“Now,  Tim,”  “Wake  up,  Mr.  Chairman,”  “All  charged.  Sir, 
and  waiting  for  a  toast,”  and  so  forth. 

To  these  remonstrances,  Mr.  Timberry  deigned  no  other 
rejoinder  than  striking  his  chest  and  gasping  for  breath,  and 
giving  many  other  indications  of  being  still  the  victim  of  indis¬ 
position — for  a  man  must  not  make  himself  too  cheap  either  on 
the  stage  or  off — while  Mr.  Crummies,  who  knew  full  well  that  he 
would  be  the  subject  of  the  forthcoming  toast,  sat  gracefully  in 
his  chair  with  his  arm  thrown  carelessly  over  the  back,  and  now 
and  then  lifted  his  glass  to  his  mouth  and  drank  a  little  punch, 
with  the  same  air  with  whicli  he  was  accustomed  to  take  long 
draughts  of  nothing,  out  of  the  pasteboard  goblets  in  banquet 
scenes. 

At  length  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry  rose  in  the  most  approved 
attitude,  with  one  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  waistcoat  and  the 
other  on  the  nearest  snuff-box,  and  having  been  received  with 
great  enthusiasm,  proposed,  with  abundance  of  quotations,  his 
friend  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies ;  ending  a  pretty  l-ong  speech  by 
extending  his  right  hand  on  one  side  and  his  left  on  the  other, 
and  severally  calling  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crummies  to  grasp 
the  same.  This  done,  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  returned  thanks, 
and  that  done,  the  African  Swallower  proposed  Mrs.  Vincent 
Crummies,  in  affecting  terms.  Then  were  heard  loud  moans 
and  sobs  from  Mrs.  Crummies  and  the  ladies,  desi)ite  of  which 
that  heroic  woman  insisted  upon  returning  thanks  herself,  which 
she  did,  in  a  manner  and  in  a  speech  which  has  never  been  sur¬ 
passed  and  seldom  equaled.  It  then  became  the  duty  of  Mr. 


702 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV. 


SniUle  Timberry  to  give  the  young  Crumraleses,  which  he  did  ; 
after  which  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  as  their  father,  addressed 
the  company  in  a  supplementary  speech,  enlarging  on  their 
virtues,  amiabilities,  and  excellences,  and  wishing  that  they  were 
the  sons  and  daughter  of  every  lady  and  gentleman  present. 
These  solemnities  having  been  succeeded  by  a  decent  interval, 
enlivened  by  musical  and  other  entertainments,  Mr.  Crum 
mles  proposed  that  ornament  of  the  profession,  Mr.  Snittlo 
Timberry  ;  and  at  a  little  later  period  of  the  evening,  the  health 
of  that  other  ornament  of  the  profession,  the  African  Swallower 
— his  very  dear  friend,  if  he  would  allow  him  to  call  him  so  ; 
which  liberty  (there  being  no  particular  reason  why  he  should 
not  allow  it)  the  African  Svvallower  graciously  permitted.  The 
literary  gentleman  was  then  about  to  be  drunk,  but  it  being 
discovered  that  he  had  been  drunk  for  some  time  in  another 
acceptation  of  the  term,  and  was  then  asleep  on  the  stairs,  the 
intention  was  abandoned,  and  the  honor  transferred  to  the 
ladies.  Finally,  after  a  very  long  sitting,  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry 
vacated  the  chair,  and  the  company  with  many  adieus  and 
embraces  dispersed. 

Nicholas  waited  to  the  last  to  give  his  little  presents.  When 
he  had  said  good-by  all  round  and  came  to  Mr.  Crummies,  he 
could  not  but  mark  the  difference  between  their  present  sepa¬ 
ration  and  their  parting  at  Portsmouth.  Not  a  jot  of  his 
theatrical  manner  remained ;  he  put  out  his  hand  with  an  air 
which,  if  he  could  have  summoned  it  at  will,  would  have  made 
him  the  best  actor  of  his  day  in  homely  parts,  and  when 
Nicholas  shook  it  with  the  warmth  he  honestly  felt,  appeared 
thoroughly  melted. 

“We  were  a  very  happy  little  company,  Johnson,”  said  poor 
Crummies.  “You  and  I  never  had  a  word.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to-morrow  morning  to  think  that  1  saw  you  again,  but  now 
I  almost  wish  you  hadn’t  come.” 

Nicholas  was  about  to  return  a  cheerful  reply,  when  he  was 
greatly  disconcerted  by  tlie  sudden  apparition  of  Mrs.  Grudden, 
who  it  seemed  had  declined  to  attend  the  supper  in  order  that 
she  might  rise  earlier  in  the  morning,  and  who  now  burst  out 
of  an  adjoining  bedroom,  habited  in  very  extraordinary  white 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


703 


robes ;  and  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck,  hugged  him  with 
great  affection. 

“  What  I  Are  you  going  too  said  Nicholas,  submitting 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  if  she  had  been  the  finest  young  crea¬ 
ture  in  the  world. 

“  Going  ?”  returned  Mrs.  Grudden.  “  Lord  ha’  mercy,  what 
do  you  think  they’d  do  without  me  ?” 

Nicholas  submitted  to  another  hug  with  even  a  better  grace 
than  before,  if  that  were  possible,  and  waving  his  hat  as  cheer¬ 
fully  as  he  could,  took  farewell  of  the  Yincent  Ci’ummleses. 

45 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


CUEONICLES  THE  FURTHER  PROCEEDINGS  OF  THE  NICKLEBY 
FAMILY,  AND  THE  SEQUEL  OF  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  GEN¬ 
TLEMAN  IN  THE  SMALL-CLOTHES. 

While  Nicholas,  absorbed  in  the  one  engrossing  subject  of 
interest  which  had  recently  opened  upon  him,  occupied  his  lei¬ 
sure  hours  with  thoughts  of  Madeline  Bray,  and,  in  execution 
of  the  commissions  which  the  anxiety  of  brother  Charles  in  her 
behalf  imposed  upon  him,  saw  her  again  and  again,  and  each 
time  with  greater  danger  to  his  peace  of  mind  and  a  more  weak¬ 
ening  effect  upon  the  lofty  resolutions  he  had  formed,  Mrs. 
Nickleby  and  Kate  continued  to  live  in  peace  and  quiet,  agi¬ 
tated  by  no  other  cares  than  those  which  were  connected  with 
certain  harassing  proceedings  taken  by  Mr.  Snawley  for  the  re¬ 
covery  of  his  son,  and  their  anexiety  for  Smike  himself,  whose 
health,  long  upon  the  wane,  began  to  be  so  much  affected  by 
apprehension  and  uncertainty  as  sometimes  to  occasion  both  them 
and  Nicholas  considerable  uneasiness,  and  even  alarm. 

It  was  no  complaint  or  murmur  on  the  part  of  the  poor 
fellow  himself  that  thus  disturbed  them.  Ever  eager  to  be  em¬ 
ployed  in  such  slight  services  as  he  could  render,  and  always 
anxious  to  repay  his  benefactors  with  cheerful  and  happy  looks, 
less  friendly  eyes  might  have  seen  in  him  no  cause  for  any  mis¬ 
giving.  But  there  were  times — and  often  too — when  the  sunken 
eye  was  too  bright,  the  hollow  cheek  too  flushed,  the  breath 
too  thick  and  heavy  in  its  course,  the  frame  too  feeble  and  ex- 
liausted,  to  escape  their  regard  and  notiee. 

There  is  a  dread  disease  which  so  prepares  its  victim,  as  it 
were,  for  death  ;  which  so  refines  it  of  its  grosser  aspect,  and 
throws  around  familiar  looks  unearthly  indications  of  the  coming 
change — a  dread  disease,  in  which  the  struggle  between  soul 
and  body  is  so  gradual,  quiet,  and  solemn,  and  the  result  so  sure, 
that  day  by  dav,  and  grain  by  grain,  the  mortal  part  wastes  and 
(704) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


706 


withers  away,  so  that  the  spirit  grows  light  and  sanguine  with 
its  liglitening  load,  and  feeling  immortality  at  hand,  deems  it 
but  a  new  term  of  mortal  life — a  disease  in  which  death  and  life 
are  so  strangely  blended,  that  death  takes  the  glow  and  hue  of 
life,  and  life  the  gaunt  and  grisly  form  of  death — a  disease  which 
medicine  never  cured,  wealth  warded  off,  or  poverty  could  boast 
exemption  from — which  sometimes  moves  in  giant  strides,  and 
sometimes  at  a  tardy  sluggish  pace,  but,  slow  or  quick,  is  ever 
sure  and  certain. 

It  was  with  some  faint  reference  in  his  own  mind  to  this  dis¬ 
order,  though  he  would  by  no  means  admit  it,  even  to  himself, 
that  Nicholas  had  already  carried  his  faithful  companion  to  a 
physician  of  great  repute.  There  was  no  cause  for  immediate 
alarm,  he  said.  There  were  no  present  symptoms  which  could 
be  deemed  conclusive.  The  constitution  had  been  greatly  tried 
and  injured  in  childhood,  but  still  it  micjlit  not  be — and  that 
Was  all. 

But  he  seemed  to  grow  no  worse,  and  as  it  was  not  difficult 
to  find  a  reason  for  these  symptoms  of  illness  in  the  shock  and 
agitation  he  had  recently  undergone,  Nicholas  comforted  him¬ 
self  with  the  hope  that  his  poor  friend  would  soon  recover. 
This  hope  his  mother  and  sister  shared  with  him  ;  and  as  the 
object  of  their  joint  solicitude  seemed  to  have  no  uneasiness  or 
despondency  for  himself,  but  each  day  answered  with  a  quiet 
smile  that  he  felt  better  than  he  had  upon  the  day  before,  their 
fears  abated,  and  the  general  happiness  was  by  degrees  restored. 

Many  and  many  a  time  in  after  years  did  Nicholas  look  back  to 
this  period  of  his  life,  and  tread  again  the  humble,  quiet,  homely 
scenes  that  rose  up  as  of  old  before  him.  Many  and  many  a 
time,  in  the  twilight  of  a  summer  evening,  or  beside  the  flicker¬ 
ing  winter’s  fire — but  not  so  often  or  so  sadly  then — would  his 
thoughts  wander  back  to  these  old  days,  and  dwell  with  a  pleas¬ 
ant  sorrow  upon  every  slight  remembrance  which  they  brought 
crowding  home.  The  little  room  in  which  they  had  so  often 
sat  long  after  it  was  dark,  figuring  such  happy  futures — Kate’s 
cheerful  voice  and  merry  laugh  ;  and  how,  if  she  were  from  home, 
they  used  to  sit  and  watch  for  her  return,  scarcely  breaking  si¬ 
lence  but  to  say  how  dull  it  seemed  without  her — the  glee  with 
which  poor  S,ni!a>  would  start  from  the  darkened  corner  where 


m 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


he  used  to  sit,  and  hurry  to  admit  her,  and  the  tears  they  often 
saw  upon  his  face,  half  wondering  to  see  them  too,  and  he  so 
pleased  and  happy — every  little  incident,  and  even  slight  words 
and  looks  of  those  old  days,  little  heeded  then,  but  well  remem¬ 
bered  when  busy  cares  and  trials  were  quite  forgot,  came  fresh 
and  thick  before  him  many  and  many  a  time,  and,  rustling  above 
the  dusty  growth  of  years,  came  back  green  boughs  of  yesterday. 

33ut  there  were  other  persons  associated  with  these  recollec¬ 
tions,  and  many  changes  came  about  before  they  had  being — a 
necessary  reflection  for  the  purposes  of  these  adventurers,  which 
at  once  subside  into  their  accustomed  train,  and  shunning  all 
flighty  anticipations  or  wayward  wanderings,  pursue  their  steady 
and  decorous  course. 

If  the  Brothers  Cheei’yble,  as  they  found  Nicholas  worthy  of 
trust  and  confidence,  bestowed  upon  him  every  day  some  new 
and  substantial  mark  of  kindness,  they  were  not  less  mindful  of 
those  who  depended  on  him,  "Various  little  presents  to  Mrs. 
Nicklebj" — always  of  the  very  things  they  most  required — tended 
in  no  slight  degree  to  the  improvement  and  embellishment  of  the 
cottage.  Kate’s  little  store  of  trinkets  became  quite  dazzling  ; 

and  for  company - !  If  brother  Charles  and  brother  Ned 

failed  to  look  in  for  at  least  a  few  minutes  every  Sunday,  or  one 
evening  in  the  week,  there  was  Mr.  Tim  Linkin water  (who  had 
never  made  half-a-dozen  other  acquaintances  in  all  his  life,  and 
who  took  such  delight  in  his  new  friends  as  no  words  can  express) 
constantly  coming  and  going  in  his  evening  walks,  and  stopping 
to  rest;  while  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble  happened,  by  some  strange 
conjunction  of  circumstances,  to  be  passing  the  door  on  some 
business  or  other  at  least  three  nights  in  the  week. 

“  He  is  the  most  attentive  young  man  I  ever  saw,  Kate,”  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby  to  her  daughter,  one  evening  when  this  last- 
named  gentleman  had  been  the  subject  of  the  worthy  lady’s 
eulogium  for  some  time,  and  Kate  had  sat  perfectly  silent. 

“Attentive,  mamma  !”  rejoined  Kate. 

“  Bless  my  heart,  Kate !”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  her 
wonted  suddenness,  “what  a  color  you  have  got;  why,  you’re 
quite  flushed. 

“  Oh,  mamma  !  what  strange  things  you  fancy.” 

“  It  wasn’t  fancy,  Kate,  my  dear.  I’m  certain  of  that,”  re 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


707 


turned  her  mother.  "  However,  it’s  gone  now  at  any  rate,  so 
it  don’t  much  matter  whether  it  was  or  not.  What  was  it  we 
were  talking  about  ?  Oh  I  Mr.  Frank.  I  never  saw  such  at¬ 
tention  in  lay  life,  never.” 

“  Surely  you  are  not  serious,”  returned  Kate,  coloring  again ; 
and  this  time  beyond  all  dispute. 

“Not  serious  I”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “why  shouldn’t  I 
be  serious  ?  I’m  sure  I  never  was  more  serious.  I  will  say  that 
bis  politeness  and  attention  to  me  is  one  of  the  most  becoming, 
gratifying,  pleasant  things  I  have  seen  for  a  very  long  time. 
You  don’t  often  meet  with  such  behavior  in  young  men,  and  it 
strikes  one  more  when  one  does  meet  with  it.” 

“  Oh  I  attention  to  you,  mamma,”  rejoined  Kate,  quickly — 
“  oh  yes.” 

“Hear  me,  Kate,”  retorted  INIrs.  Nickleby,  “what  an  exira- 
ordinary  girl  you  are.  Was  it  likely  I  should  be  talking  of  his 
attention  to  any  body  else  ?  I  declare  I’m  quite  sorry  to  think 
he  should  be  in  love  with  a  German  lady,  that  I  am.” 

“  He  said  very  j)Ositively  that  it  was  no  such  thing,  mamma,’ 
returned  Kate.  “  Don’t  you  remember  his  saying  so  that  very 
Crst  night  he  came  here  ?  Besides,”  she  added,  in  a  more  gentle 
tone,  “  why  should  we  be  sorry  if  it  is  the  case?  What  is  it  to 
us,  mamma  ?” 

“  Nothing  to  us,  Kate,”  perhaps,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  em¬ 
phatically;  “but  something  to  me,  I  confess.  I  like  English 
l)Cople  to  be  thorough  English  people,  and  not  half  English 
and  half  I  don’t  know  what.  I  shall  tell  him  point-blank 
next  time  he  comes,  that  I  wish  he  would  marry  one  of  his  owu 
countrywomen;  and  see  what  he  says  to  to  that.” 

“  J'ray  don’t  think  of  such  a  thing,  mamma,”  returned  Kate, 
hastily;  “  not  for  the  world.  Consider — how  very - ” 

“  Well,  my  dear,  how  very  whatl”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  open¬ 
ing  her  eyes  in  great  astonishment. 

Before  Kate  had  returned  any  reply,  a  queer  little  double¬ 
knock  announced  that  Miss  La  Creevy  had  called  to  see  them; 
and  when  Miss  La  Creevy  presented  herself,  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
though  strongly  disposed  to  be  argumentative  on  the  previous 
question,  forgot  all  about  it  in  a  gush  of  supposes  about  the  coach 
ahe  had  come  by;  supposing  that  the  man  who  drove  must  have 


708 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


been  either  the  man  in  the  shirt-sleeves  or  the  man  with  the 
black  eye;  that  whoever  he  was,  he  hadn’t  found  that  parasol 
she  left  inside  last  week ;  that  no  doubt  they  had  stopped  a 
long  while  at  the  Halfway  House,  coming  down  ;  or  that  per¬ 
haps  being  full,  they  had  come  straight  on  ;  and  lastly,  that  they 
surely  must  have  passed  Nicholas  on  the  road. 

“I  saw  nothing  of  him,”  answered  Miss  La  Creevy;  “but  1 
saw  that  dear  old  soul,  Mr.  Linkinwater.” 

“  Taking  his  evening  walk,  and  coming  on  to  rest  here  befoie 
he  returns  back  to  the  city.  I’ll  be  bound!”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

“I  should  think  he  was,”  returned  Miss  La  Creevy;  “espe¬ 
cially  as  young  Mr.  Cheeryble  was  with  him.” 

“  Surely  that  is  no  reason  why  Mr.  Linkinwater  should  bo 
coming  here,”  said  Kate. 

“  Why  I  think  it  is,  my  dear,”  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  “  For 
a  young  man  Mr.  Frank  is  not  a  very  great  walker;  and  I  ob¬ 
serve  that  he  generally  falls  tired,  and  requires  a  good  long  rest, 
when  he  has  come  as  far  as  this.  But  where  is  ray  friend  ?”  said 
the  little  woman,  looking  about,  after  having  glanced  slyly  at 
Kate.  “  He  has  not  been  run  away  with  again,  has  he  ?” 

“Ah  !  where  is  Mr.  Smike?”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby;  “  he  was 
here  this  instant.” 

Upon  further  inquiry,  it  turned  out,  to  the  good  lady’s  un¬ 
bounded  astonishment,  that  Smike  had  that  moment  gone  up 
stairs  to  bed. 

“Well,  now,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “he  is  the  strangest  crea¬ 
ture  I  Last  Tuesday — was  it  Tuesday?  Yes,  to  be  sure  it 
was ;  you  recollect,  Kate,  my  dear,  the  very  last  time  young 
Mr.  Cheeryble  was  here — last  Tuesday  night  he  went  off  in  just 
the  same  strange  way,  at  the  very  moment  the  knock  came  to 
the  door.  It  cannot  be  that  he  don’t  like  company,  because  he 
is  always  fond  of  people  who  are  fond  of  Nicholas,  and  I  am 
sure  young  Mr.  Cheerj^ble  is.  And  the  strangest  thing  is,  that 
he  does  not  go  to  bed;  therefore  it  cannot  be  because  he  is 
tired.  I  know  he  doesn’t  go  to  bed,  because  my  room  is  the 
next  one,  and  when  I  went  up  stairs  last  Tuesday,  hours  after 
him,  I  found  that  he  had  not  even  taken  his  shoes  off;  and  he 
had  no  candle,  so  he  must  have  sat  moping  in  the  dark  all  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


709 


lime.  Now,  upon  my  word,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “when  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  that’s  very  extraordinary  !”  * 

As  the  hearers  did  not  echo  this  sentiment,  hut  remoined 
profoundly  silent,  either  as  not  knowing  what  to  say,  or  as  being 
unwilling  to  interrupt,  Mrs.  Nickleby  pursued  the  thread  of  her 
discourse  after  her  o  vn  fashion. 

“  I  hope,”  said  that  lady,  “  that  this  unaccountable  conduct 
may  not  be  the  beginning  of  his  taking  to  his  bed  and  living 
there  all  his  life,  like  the  Thirsty  Woman  of  Tutbury,  or  the 
Cock-lane  Ghost,  or  some  of  those  extraordinary  creatures 
One  of  them  had  some  connection  with  our  family.  I  forget, 
without  looking  back  to  some  old  letters  I  have  up  stairs, 
whether  it  was  my  great-grandfather  who  went  to  school  with 
the  Cock-lane  Ghost,  or  the  Thirsty  Woman  of  Tutbury  who 
went  to  school  with  my  grandmother.  Miss  La  Creevy,  you 
know,  of  course.  Which  was  it  that  didn’t  mind  what  the 
clergyman  said?  The  Cock-lane  Ghost,  or  the  Thirsty  Woman 
of  Tutbuiy  ?” 

“The  Cock-lane  Ghost,  I  believe.” 

“Then  I  have  no  donbt,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “that  it  was 
with  him  my  great-grandfather  went  to  school ;  for  I  know  the 
master  of /his  school  was  a  dissenter,  and  that  would  in  a  great 
measure  account  for  the  Cock-lane  Ghost’s  behaving  in  such  an 
improper  manner  to  the  clergyman  when  he  grew  up.  Ah  ! 

Train  up  a  ghost — child,  I  mean - ” 

Any  further  reflections  on  this  fruitful  theme  were  abruptly  cut 
short  by  the  arrival  of  Tim  Linkinwater  and  Mr.  Frank 
Cheeryble ;  in  the  hurry  of  receiving  whom,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
speedily  lost  sight  of  every  thing  else. 

“  I  am  so  sorry  Nicholas  is  not  at  home,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
“Kate,  my  dear,  you  must  be  both  Nicholas  and  yourself.” 

“  ]\liss  Nickleby  need  be  but  herself,”  said  Frank.  “I — if  1 
may  venture  to  say  so — oppose  all  change  in  her.” 

“  Then  at  all  events  she  shall  press  you  to  stay,”  returned 
Mrs  Nickleby.  “Mr.  Linkinwater  says  ten  minutes,  but  I 
cannot  let  you  go  so  soon  ;  Nicholas  would  be  very  much  vexed, 

1  am  sure.  Kate  my  dear - ” 

In  obedience  to  a  great  number  of  nods  and  wiidvs  and  frowna 
of  extra  significance,  Kate  added  her  entreaties  that  the  visitors 


710 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


would  remain ;  but  it  was  observable  that  she  addressed  them 
exclusively  to  Tim  Liulunwater  ;  and  there  was,  besides,  a  cer¬ 
tain  embarrassment  in  her  manner,  which,  although  it  was  as  far 
from  impairing  its  graceful  character  as  the  tinge  it  communi¬ 
cated  to  her  cheek  was  from  diminishing  her  beauty,  was  obvious 
at  a  glance  even  to  Mrs.  Niekleby.  Not  being  of  a  very  specu¬ 
lative  character,  however,  save  under  circumstances  when  her 
speculations  could  be  put  into  words  and  uttered  aloud,  that  dis¬ 
creet  matron  attributed  the  emotion  to  the  circumstance  of  her 
daughter’s  not  happening  to  have  her  best  frock  on — “  though 
I  never  saw  her  look  better,  certainly,”  she  reflected  at  the  same 
time.  Having  settled  the  question  in  this  way,  and  being  most 
complacently  satisfied  in  this,  as  in  all  other  instances,  her  con¬ 
jecture  could  not  fail  to  be  the  right  one,  Mrs.  Niekleby  dis¬ 
missed  it  from  her  thoughts,  and  inwardly  congratulated  herself 
on  being  so  shrewd  and  knowing. 

Nicholas  did  not  come  home,  nor  did  Smike  reappear ;  but 
neither  circumstance,  to  say  the  truth,  had  any  great  eftect  upon 
the  little  party,  who  were  all  in  the  best  humor  possible. 
Indeed,  there  sprung  up  quite  a  flirtation  between  Miss  La 
Creevy  and  Tim  Linkinwater,  who  said  a  thousand  jocose  and 
facetious  things,  and  became,  by  degrees,  quite  gallant,  not  to 
say  tender.  Little  Miss  La  Creevy  on  her  part  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  rallied  Tim  on  having  remained  a  bachelor  all  his 
life,  with  so  much  success,  that  Tim  was  actually  induced  to 
declare,  that  if  he  could  get  any  body  to  have  him,  he  didn’t 
know  but  what  he  might  change  his  condition  even  yet.  Miss 
La  Creevy  earnestly  reccommended  a  lady  she  knew  who  would 
exactly  suit  Mr.  Linkinwater,  and  had  a  very  comfortable  pro¬ 
perty  of  her  own  ;  but  this  latter  qualification  had  very  little 
etfect  upon  Tim,  who  manfully  protested  that  fortune  would  be 
no  object  with  him,  but  that  true  worth  and  cheerfulness  of  dis¬ 
position  were  what  a  man  should  look  for  in  a  wife,  and  that 
if  he  had  these  he  could  find  money  enough  for  the  moderate 
wants  of  both.  This  avowal  was  considered  so  honorable  to 
Tim,  that  neither  Mrs.  Niekleby  nor  Miss  La  Creevy  could 
sufficiently  extol  it ;  and  stimulated  by  their  praises,  Tim 
launched  out  into  several  other  declarations  also  manifesting 
the  disinterestedness  of  his  heart,  and  a  great  devotion  to  tha 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


711 


fair  sex,  which  were  received  with  no  less  approbation.  This 
was  done  acid  said  with  a  comical  mixture  of  jest  and  earnest, 
and  leading  to  a  great  amount  of  laughter,  made  them  very 
merry  indeed. 

Kate  was  commonly  the  life  and  soul  of  the  conversation  at 
home  ;  but  she  was  more  silent  than  usual  upon  this  occasion — 
perhaps  because  Tim  and  Miss  La  Creevy  engrossed  so  much 
of  it — and  keeping  aloof  from  the  talkers,  sat  at  the  window 
W'atching  the  shadows  as  the  evening  closed  in,  and  enjoying  the 
quiet  beauty  of  the  night,  which  seemed  to  have  scarcely  less  at¬ 
tractions  for  Frank,  who  first  lingered  near  and  then  sat  down 
beside  her.  Ko  doubt  there  are  a  great  many  things  to  be  said 
appropriate  to  a  summer  evening,  and  no  doubt  they  are  best 
said  in  a  low  voice,  as  being  most  suitable  to  the  peace  and 
serenity  of  the  hour;  long  pauses,  too,  at  times,  and  then  an 
earnest  word  or  so,  and  then  another  interval  of  silence  which 
somehow  does  not  seem  like  silence  either,  and  perhaps  now 
and  then  a  hasty  turning  away  of  the  head,  or  drooping  of  the 
eyes  towards  the  ground — all  these  minor  circumstances,  vvith  a 
disinclination  to  have  candles  introduced  and  a  tendency  to 
confuse  hours  with  minutes,  are  doubtless  mere  influences  of  the 
time,  as  many  lovely  lips  can  clearly  testify.  Neither  is  there 
the  slightest  reason  why  Mrs.  Nickleby  should  have  expi’essed 
surprise  when — candles  being  at  length  brought  in — Kate’s 
bright  eyes  were  nnable  to  bear  the  light  which  obliged  her  to 
avert  her  face,  and  even  to  leave  the  room  for  some  short  time; 
because  when  one  has  sat  in  the  dark  so  long,  candles  are  daz¬ 
zling,  and  nothing  can  be  more  strictly  natural  than  that  such 
results  should  be  produced,  as  all  well-informed  young  people 
know.  For  that  matter,  old  people  know  it  too,  or  did  know 
it  once,  but  they  forget  these  things  sometimes,  and  more’s  the 

The  good  lady’s  surprise,  however,  did  not  end  here.  It  was 
greatly  increased  when  it  was  discovered  that  Kate  had  not  the 
least  appetite  for  supper  :  a  discovery  so  alarming  that  there  is 
no  knowing  in  what  unaccountable  efforts  of  oratory  Mrs.  Nick- 
leby’s  apprehensions  might  have  been  vented,  if  the  general  at¬ 
tention  had  not  been  attracted  at  the  moment  by  a  very  strange 
and  uncommon  noise,  proceeding,  as  the  pale  and  trembiing 


712 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


r>ervant-girl  affirmed,  and  as  every  body’s  sense  of  hearing  seemed 
to  affirm  also,  “right  down”  the  chimney  of  the  adjoining  room. 

It  being  quite  plain  to  the  comprehension  of  all  present,  that 
however  extraordinary  and  improbable  it  might  appear,  the 
noise  did  nevertheless  proceed  from  the  chimney  in  quebtion  ; 
and  the  noise  (which  was  a  strange  compound  of  various  shuf¬ 
fling,  sliding,  rumbling,  and  struggling  sounds,  all  muffled  by  the 
chimney)  still  continuing,  Frank  Cheeryble  caught  up  a  candle, 
and  Tim  Linkinwater  the  tongs,  and  they  would  have  very 
(juickly  ascertained  the  cause  of  this  disturbance  if  Mrs.  Nick- 
leby  had  not  been  taken  very  faint,  and  declined  being  left  behind 
on  any  account  This  produced  a  short  remonstrance,  which 
terminated  in  their  all  proceeding  to  the  troubled  chamber  in  a 
body,  excepting  only  Miss  La  Creevy,  who,  as  the  servant-girl 
volunteered  a  confession  of  having  been  subject  to  fits  in  her  in¬ 
fancy,  remained  with  her  to  give  the  alarm  and  apply  restora¬ 
tives,  in  case  of  extremity. 

Advancing  to  the  door  of  the  mysterious  apartment,  they 
were  not  a  little  surprised  to  hear  a  human  voice,  chanting 
with  a  highly  elaborated  expression  of  melancholy,  and  in  tones 
of  suffocation  which  a  human  voice  might  have  produced  from 
under  five  or  six  feather-beds  of  the  best  quality,  the  once  popu¬ 
lar  air  of  “  Has  she  then  failed  in  her  truth,  the  beautiful  maid 
I  adore  I”  Nor,  on  bursting  into  the  room  without  demand¬ 
ing  a  parley,  was  their  astonishment  lessened  by  the  discovery 
that  the  romantic  sounds  certainly  proceeded  from  the  throat 
of  some  man  up  the  chimuey,  of  whom  nothing  was  visible  but 
a  pair  of  legs,  which  were  dangling  above  the  grate,  apparently 
feeling  with  extreme  anxiety  for  the  top  bar  whereon  to  effect  a 
landing. 

A  sight  so  unusual  and  unbusiness-like  as  this  completely 
paralyzed  Tim  Linkinwater,  who,  after  one  or  two  gentle  pinches 
at  the  stranger’s  ankles,  which  were  productive  of  no  effect, 
stood  clapping  the  tongs  together  as  if  he  were  sharpening  them 
for  another  assault,  and  did  nothing  else. 

“  This  must  be  some  drunken  fellow,”  said  Frank.  “  No  thief 
would  announce  his  presence  thus.” 

As  he  said  this  with  great  indignation,  he  raised  the  candle 
to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  legs,  and  was  darting  forward  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


713 


pull  them  down  with  very  little  ceremony,  when  Mrs.  Nickleby 
clasping  her  hands,  uttered  a  sharp  sound  something  between  a 
scream  and  an  exclamation,  and  demanded  to  know  whether  the 
mysterious  limbs  were  not  clad  in  small-clothes  and  grey  worsted 
stockings,  or  whether  her  eyes  had  deceived  her. 

“Yes,”  cried  Frank,  looking  a  little  closer.  “Small-clothes 
certainly,  and — and — rough  grey  stockings,  too.  Do  you  know 
him.  Ma’am  ?” 

“  Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  deliberately  sitting 
herself  down  in  a  chair  with  that  sort  of  desperate  resignation 
which  seemed  to  imply  that  now  matters  had  come  to  a  crisis, 
and  all  disguise  was  useless,  “  you  will  have  the  goodness,  my 
love,  to  explain  precisely  how  this  matter  stands.  I  have  given 
him  no  encouragement — none  whatever — not  the  least  in  the 
world.  You  know  that,  my  dear,  perfectly  well.  He  was  very 
respectful — exceedingly  respectful — when  he  declared,  as  you 
were  a  witness  to  ;  still  at  the  same  time,  if  I  am  to  be  perse¬ 
cuted  in  this  way,  if  vegetable  what’s-his-names  and  all  kinds  of 
garden  stuff  are  to  strew  my  path  out  of  doors,  and  gentlemen 
are  to  come  choking  up  our  chimneys  at  home,  I  really  don’t 
know — upon  ray  word  I  do  not  know — what  is  to  become  of  me. 
It’s  a  very  hard  case — harder  than  any  thing  I  was  ever  exposed 
to  before  I  married  your  poor  dear  papa,  though  I  suffered  a 
good  deal  of  annoyance  then — but  that,  of  course,  I  expected, 
and  made  up  my  mind  for.  When  I  was  not  nearly  so  old  as 
you,  my  dear,  there  was  a  young  gentleman  who  sat  next  us  at 
church,  who  used  almost  every  Sunday  to  cut  my  name  in  large 
letters  in  the  front  of  his  pew  while  the  sermon  was  going  on. 
It  was  gratifying,  of  course,  naturally  so,  but  still  it  was  an 
annoyance,  because  the  pew  was  in  a  very  conspicuous  place, 
and  he  was  several  times  publicly  taken  out  by  the  beadle  for 
doing  it.  But  that  was  nothing  to  this.  This  is  a  great  deal 
worse,  and  a  great  deal  more  embarrassing.  I  would  rather, 
Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great  solemnity,  and 
an  effusion  of  tears — “  I  would  rather,  I  declare,  have  been  a 
pig-faced  ladjh  than  be  exposed  to  such  a  life  as  this  !” 

Fraidc  Cheeryble  and  Tim  Linkinwater  looked,  in  irrepressible 
astonishment,  first  at  each  other  and  then  at  Kate,  who  felt  that 
some  explanation  w'as  necessary,  but  who,  between  her  terror 


714 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


at  the  apparition  of  the  legs,  her  fear  lest  their  owner  should  be 
smothered,  and  her  anxiety  to  give  the  least  ridiculous  solution 
of  the  mystery  that  it  was  capable  of  bearing,  was  quite  unable 
to  utter  a  single  word. 

“  He  gives  me  great  pain,”  continued  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drying 
her  eyes — “  great  pain  ;  but  don’t  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head,  I  beg. 
On  no  account  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head.” 

It  would  not,  under  existing  circumstances,  have  been  quite 
60  easy  to  hurt  a  hair  of  the  gentleman’s  head  as  Mrs.  Nickleby 
seemed  to  imagine,  inasmuch  as  that  part  of  his  person  was 
some  feet  up  the  chimney,  which  was  by  no  means  a  wide  one. 
But  as  all  this  time  he  had  never  left  off  singinof  about  the  bank- 
ruptcy  of  the  beautiful  maid  in  respect  of  truth,  and  now  began 
not  only  to  croak  very  feebly,  but  to  kick  with  great  violence  as 
if  respiration  became  a  task  of  difficulty,  Frank  Cheeryble  with¬ 
out  further  hesitation  pulled  at  the  shorts  and  worsteds  with 
such  heartiness  as  to  bring  him  floundering  into  the  room  with 
greater  precipitation  than  he  had  quite  calculated  upon. 

“  Oh !  yes,  yes,”  said  Kate,  directly  the  whole  figure  of  the 
singular  visitor  appeared  in  this  abrupt  manner.  “I  know  who 
it  is.  Pray,  don’t  be  rough  with  him.  Is  he  hurt?  I  hope 
not — oh,  pray  see  if  he  is  hurt.” 

“  He  is  not,  I  assure  you,”  replied  Frank,  handling  the  object 
of ’his  surprise,  after  this  appeal,  with  sudden  tenderness  and 
respect.  ‘‘He  is  not  hurt  in  the  least.” 

“  Don’t  let  him  come  any  nearer,”  said  Kate,  retiring  as  far 
as  she  could. 

“  No,  no,  he  shall  not,”  rejoined  Frank.  “  You  see  I  have 
him  secure  here.  But  may  I  ask  you  what  this  means,  and 
whether  you  expected  this  old  gentleman  ?” 

“Oh,  no,”  said  Kate,  “of  course  not:  but  he — mamma  does 
not  think  so,  I  believe — but  he  is  a  mad  gentleman  who  has 
escaped  from  the  next  house,  and  must  have  found  an  opportu 
nity  of  secreting  himself  here.” 

“  Kate,”  interposed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  severe  dignity, 
“  I  am  surprised  at  you.” 

“  Dear  mamma — ”  Kate  gently  remonstrated. 

“  I  am  surprised  at  you,”  repeated  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  “  upon 
my  word,  Kate,  I  am  quite  astonished  that  you  should  join  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


715 


)3ersecutors  of  this  unfortunate  gentleman,  when  you  know  very 
well  that  they  have  the  basest  designs  upon  his  property,  and 
that  that  is  the  whole  secret  of  it.  It  would  be  much  kindei 
of  you,  Kate,  to  ask  Mr.  Linkinwater  or  Mr.  Cheeiyble  to 
interfere  in  his  behalf,  and  see  him  righted.  You  ought  not  to 
allow  your  feelings  to  influence  you  ;  it’s  not  right — very  far 
from  it.  What  should  my  feelings  be,  do  you  suppose  ?  If  any 
body  ought  to  be  indignant,  who  is  it  ?  I,  of  course,  and  very 
properly  so.  Still,  at  the  same  time,  I  wouldn’t  commit  such 
an  injustice  for  the  world.  No,”  continued  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
drawing  herself  up,  and  looking  another  way  with  a  kind  of 
bashful  stateliness;  “  this  gentleman  will  understand  me  when  I 
tell  him  that  I  repeat  the  answer  I  gave  him  the  other  day, — ■ 
that  I  always  will  repeat  it,  though  I  do  believe  him  to  be  sin¬ 
cere  when  I  And  him  placing  himself  in  such  dreadful  situations 
on  my  account — and  that  I  request  him  to  have  the  goodness 
to  go  away  directly,  or  it  will  be  impossible  to  keep  his  behavior 
a  secret  from  my  son  Nicholas.  I  am  obliged  to  him,  very  much 
obliged  to  him,  but  I  cannot  listen  to  his  addresses  for  a  moment. 
It  is  quite  impossible.” 

While  this  address  was  in  course  of  delivery,  the  old  gentle¬ 
man,  with  his  nose  and  cheeks  embellished  with  large  patches  of 
soot,  sat  upon  the  ground  with  his  arms  folded,  eyeing  the  spec¬ 
tators  in  profound  silence,  and  with  a  very  majestic  demeanor. 
He  did  not  appear  to  take  the  smallest  notice  of  what  Mis. 
Nickleby  said,  but  when  she  ceased  to  speak  he  honored  her 
with  a  long  stare,  and  inquired  if  she  had  quite  finished. 

“  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,”  replied  that  lady  modestly. 
“I  really  cannot  say  any  thing  more.” 

“  Very  good,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  raising  his  voice,  “  then 
bring  in  the  bottled  lightning,  a  clean  tumbler,  and  a  cork-screw.” 

Nobody  executing  this  order,  the  old  gentleman,  after  a  short 
pause,  raised  his  voice  again  and  demanded  a  thunder  sandwich 
This  article  not  being  forthcoming  either,  he  requested  to  be 
served  with  a  fricassee  of  boot-tops  and  gold-fish  sauce,  and 
then  laughing  heartily,  gratified  his  hearers  with  a  very  long, 
very  loud,  and  most  melodious  bellow. 

But  still  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  reply  to  the  significant  looks  of 
all  about  her,  shook  her  head  as  though  to  assure  them  that  she 


716 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


saw  nothing  whatever  in  all  this,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  a  slight 
degree  of  eccentricity.  She  might  have  remained  impressed 
with  these  opinions  down  to  the  latest  moment  of  her  life,  but 
for  a  slight  train  of  circumstances,  which,  trivial  as  they  were, 
altered  the  whole  complexion  of  the  case. 

It  happened  that  Miss  La  Creevy,  finding  her  patient  in  no 
very  threatening  condition  and  being  strongly  impelled  by  curi¬ 
osity  to  see  what  was  going  forward,  bustled  into  the  room  while 
the  old  gentleman  was  in  the  very  act  of  bellowing.  It  hap¬ 
pened,  too,  that  the  instant  the  old  gentleman  saw  her,  he  stopped 
short,  skipped  suddenly  on  his  feet,  and  fell  to  kissing  his 
hand  violently  :  a  change  of  demeanor  which  almost  terrified  the 
little  portrait-painter  out  of  her  senses,  and  caused  her  to  re¬ 
treat  behind  Tim  Linkinwater  with  the  utmost  expedition. 

“Aha!”  cried  the  old  gentleman,  folding  his  hands,  and 
squeezing  them  with  great  force  against  each  other.  “  I  see 
her  now ;  I  see  her  now.  My  love,  my  life,  my  bride,  my  peer¬ 
less  beauty.  She  is  come  at  last- — at  last — and  all  is  gas  and 
gaiters !” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  looked  rather  disconcerted  for  a  moment,  but 
immediately  recovering,  nodded  to  Miss  La  Creevy  and  the 
other  spectators  several  times,  and  frowned,  and  smiled  gravely, 
giving  them  to  understand  that  she  saw  where  the  mistake  was, 
and  would  set  it  all  to  rights  in  a  minute  or  two. 

“  She  is  come  !”  said  the  old  gentleman,  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  heai’t.  “  Cormoran  and  Blunderbore  1  She  is  come  !  All 
the  wealth  I  have  is  hers  if  she  will  take  me  for  her  slave. 
Where  are  grace,  beauty  and  blandishments  like  those  ?  In  the 
Empress  of  Madagascar  ?  No.  In  the  Queen  of  Diamonds  ? 
No.  In  Mrs.  Rowland,  who  every  morning  bathes  in  Kalydor 
for  nothing  ?  No.  Melt  all  these  down  into  one,  with  the  three 
Graces,  the  nine  Muses,  and  fourteen  biscuit-bakers’  daughters 
from  Oxford-street,  and  make  a  woman  half  as  lovely.  Pho  I  I 
defy  you.” 

After  uttering  this  rhapsody,  the  old  gentleman  snapped  his 
fingers  twenty  or  thirty  times,  and  then  subsided  into  an  ecstatic 
contemplation  of  Miss  La  Creevy’s  charms.  This  affording 
Mrs.  Nickleby  a  favorable  opportunity  of  explanation,  she  went 
about  it  straight. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


717 


“I  am  sure/’  said  the  worthy  lady,  with  a  prefatory  cough, 
“  that  it’s  a  great  relief  under  such  trying  circumstances  as  these, 
to  have  any  body  else  mistaken  for  me — a  very  great  relief ;  and 
it’s  a  circumstance  that  never  occurred  before,  although  I  have 
several  times  been  mistaken  for  my  daughter  Kate.  I  have  no 
doubt  the  people  were  very  foolish  and  perhaps  ought  to  have 
known  better,  but  still  they  did  take  me  for  her,  and  of  course 
that  was  no  fault  of  mine  and  it  would  be  very  hard  indeed  if  I 
was  to  be  made  responsible  for  it.  However,  in  this  instance, 
of  course  I  must  feel  that  I  should  do  exceedingly  wrong  if  I 
sulfercd  any  body— especially  any  body  that  I  am  under  great 
obligations  to — to  be  made  uncomfortable  on  my  account,  and 
therefore  I  think  it  my  duty  to  tell  that  gentleman  that  he  is 
mistaken — that  I  am  the  lady  who  he  was  told  by  some  imper¬ 
tinent  person  was  niece  to  the  Council  of  Paving-stones,  and 
that  I  do  beg  and  entreat  of  him  to  go  quietly  away,  if  it’s  only 
for” — here  Mrs.  Nickleby  simpered  and  hesitated — “for  my 
sake.” 

It  m.ight  have  been  expected  that  the  old  gentleman  would 
have  been  penetrated  to  the  heart  by  the  delicacy  and  conde¬ 
scension  of  this  appeal,  and  that  he  would  at  least  have  returned 
a  courteous  and  suitable  reply.  'What,  then,  was  the  shock 
which  Mrs.  Nickleby  received,  when,  accosting  her  in  the  most 
unmistakable  manner,  he  replied  in  a  loud  and  sonorous  voice 
■ — “  Avaunt - Cat  I” 

“  Sir,”  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  faint  tone. 

“  Cat,”  repeated  the  old  gentleman.  “  Puss,  Kit,  Tit,  Grim¬ 
alkin,  Tabby,  Brindlc — "Whoosh  1”  with  which  last  sound,  ut¬ 
tered  in  a  hissing  manner  between  his  teeth,  the  old  gentleman 
swung  his  arms  violently  round  and  round,  and  at  the  same  time 
alternately  advanced  on  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  retreated  from  her, 
in  that  species  of  savage  dance  with  which  boys  on  market-days 
limy  be  seen  to  frighten  pigs,  sheep,  and  other  animals,  when 
they  give  out  obstinate  indications  of  turning  down  a  wrong 
street. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  wasted  no  words,  but  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  horror  and  surprise,  and  immediately  fainted  away. 

“I’ll  attend  to  mamma,”  said  Kate,  hastily;  “I  am  not  at 


718 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


all  frightened.  But  pray  take  him  away ;  pray  take  him 
away.” 

Frank  was  not  at  all  confident  of  his  power  of  complying 
with  this  request,  until  he  bethought  himself  of  the  stratagem 
of  sending  Miss  La  Creevy  on  a  few  paces  in  advance,  and 
urging  the  old  gentleman  to  follow  her.  It  succeeded  to  a 
miracle  ;  and  he  went  away  in  a  rapture  of  admiration,  strongly 
guarded  by  Tim  Liukinwater  on  one  side,  and  Frank  himself 
on  the  other. 

“Kate,”  murmured  Mrs.  Nickleby,  reviving  when  the  coast 
was  clear,  “  is  he  gone  ?” 

She  was  assured  that  he  was, 

“I  shall  never  forgive  myself,  Kate,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby; 
“  Never !  That  gentleman  has  lost  his  senses,  and  I  am  the 
unhappy  cause.” 

“  You  the  cause  !”  said  Kate,  greatly  astonished. 

“I,  my  love,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  desperate  calm¬ 
ness.  “  You  saw  what  he  was  the  other  day  ;  you  see  what  he 
is  now.  I  told  your  brother,  weeks  and  weeks  ago,  that  I 
hoped  a-disappointment  would  not  be  too  much  for  him.  You 
see  what  a  wreck  he  is.  Making  allowance  for  his  being  a  little 
flighty,  you  know  how  rationally,  and  sensibly,  and  honorably 
‘  he  talked,  when  we  saw  him  in  the  garden.  You  have  heard 
the  dreadful  nonsense  he  has  been  guilty  of  this  night,  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  gone  on  with  that  poor  unfortunate 
little  old  maid.  Can  any  bodv  doubt  how  all  this  has  been 
brought  about !” 

“1  should  scarcely  think  they  could,”  said  Kate,  mildly. 

“I  should  scarcely  think  so,  either,”  rejoined  her  mother. 
“Well !  if  I  am  the  unfortunate  cause  of  this.  I  have  the  satis¬ 
faction  of  knowing  that  I  am  not  to  blame,  I  told  Nicholas — 
I  said  to  him,  ‘  Nicholas,  my  dear,  we  should  be  very  careful 
how  we  proceed.’  He  would  scarcely  hear  me.  If  the  matter 
had  only  been  properly  taken  up  at  first,  as  I  wished  it  to 

be - .  But  you  are  both  of  you  so  like  your  poor  papa. 

However,  I  have  my  consolation,  and  that  should  be  enough 
for  me  !” 

Washing  her  hands,  thus,  of  all  responsibility  under  this  head, 
past,  present,  or  to  come,  Mrs.  Nickleby  kindly  added  that  she 


NiCnOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


719 


hoped  her  children  might  never  have  greater  cause  to  reproach 
themselves  than  she  had,  and  prepared  herself  to  receive  the 
escort,  who  soon  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  the  old 
gentleman  was  safely  housed,  and  that  they  found  his  custo¬ 
dians,  who  had  been  making  merry  with  some  friends,  wholly 
ignorant  of  his  absence. 

Quiet  being  again  restored,  a  delicious  half  hour — so  Frank 
called  it  in  the  course  of  subsequent  conversation  with  Tim 
Linkinwater  as  they  were  walking  home — a  delicious  half  hour 
was  spent  in  conversation,  and  Tim’s  watch  at  length  apprising 
him  that  it  was  high  time  to  dejiart,  the  ladies  were  left  alone, 
though  not  without  many  offers  on  the  part  of  Frank  to  remain 
antil  Nicholas  arrived,  no  matter  what  hour  of  the  night  it 
niigiit  be,  if,  after  the  late  neighborly  irruption,  they  entertained 
the  least  fear  of  being  left  to  themselves.  As  their  freedom 
from  all  further  apprehension,  however,  left  no  pretext  for  his 
insisting  on  mounting  guard,  he  was  obliged  to  abandon  the 
citadel,  and  to  retire  with  the  trusty  Tim. 

Nearly  three  hours  of  silence  passed  away,  and  Kate  blushed 
to  find  when  Nicholas  returned,  how  long  she  had  been  sitting 
alone  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts. 

“  I  really  thought  it  had  not  been  half  an  hour,”  she  said. 

“  They  must  have  been  pleasant  thoughts,  Kate,”  rejoined 
Nicholas,  gaily,  “to  make  time  pass  away  like  that.  What 
were  they,  now  ?” 

Kate  was  confused ;  she  toyed  with  some  trifle  on  the  table — 
looked  up  and  smiled — looked  down  and  dropped  a  tear. 

“  Why,  Kate,”  said  Nicliolas,  drawing  his  sister  towards  him 
and  kissing  her,  “let  me  see  your  face.  No?  Ah!  that  was 
but  a  glimpse  ;  that’s  scarcely  fair.  A  longer  look  than  that, 
Kate.  Come — and  Fll  read  your  thoughts  for  you.” 

There  was  something  in  this  proposition,  albeit  it  was  said 
without  the  slightest  consciousness  or  application,  which  so 
alarmed  his  sister,  that  Nicholas  laughingly  changed  the  subject 
to  domestic  matters,  and  thus  gathered  by  degrees  as  they  left 
the  room  and  went  up  stairs  together,  how  lonely  Smike  had 
been  all  night — and  by  very  slow  degrees,  too,  for  on  this  sub¬ 
ject  also  Kate  seemed  to  speak  with  some  reluctance. 


46 


720 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Poor  fellow,”  said  Nicholas,  tapping  gently  at  his  door, 
"  what  can  be  the  cause  of  all  this !” 

Kate  was  hanging  on  her  brother’s  arm,  and  the  door  being 
quickly  opened,  had  not  time  to  disengage  herself,  before  Smike, 
very  pale,  and  haggard,  and  completely  dressed,  confronted 
them. 

“And  have  you  not  been  to  bed  ?”  said  Nicholas. 

“N — n — no,”  was  the  reply. 

Nicholas  gently  detained  his  sister,  who  made  an  effort  to 
retire  ;  and  asked,  “  Why  not  ?” 

“I  could  not  sleep,”  said  Smike,  grasping  the  hand  which 
his  friend  extended  to  him. 

“You  are  not  well  ?”  rejoined  Nicholas. 

“  I  am  better,  indeed — a  great  deal  better,”  said  Smike, 
quickly. 

“Then  why  do  you  give  way  to  these  fits  of  melancholy?” 
inquired  Nicholas,  in  his  kindest  manner ;  “  or  why  not  tell  us 
the  cause  ?  You  grow  a  different  creature,  Smike.” 

“I  do;  I  know  I  do,”  he  replied.  “I  will  tell  you  the 
reason  one  day,  but  not  now.  I  hate  myself  for  this  ;  you  are 
all  so  good  and  kind.  But  I  cannot  help  it.  My  heart  is  very 
full ; — you  do  not  know  how  full  it  is.” 

He  wrung  Nicholas’s  hand  before  he  released  it;  and  glancing 
for  a  moment  at  the  brother  and  sister  as  they  stood  together, 
as  if  there  were  something  in  their  strong  affection,  which 
touched  him  very  deeply,  withdrew  into  his  chamber,  and  was 
soon  the  only  watcher  under  that  quiet  roof. 


CHAPTER  L. 


INVOLVES  A  SERIOUS  CATASTROPHE. 

The  little  race-course  at  Hampton  was  in  the  full  tide  and 
height  of  its  gaiety,  the  day  as  dazzling  as  day  could  be,  the 
sun  high  in  the  cloudless  sky  and  shining  in  its  fullest  splendor. 
Every  gaudy  color  that  fluttered  in  the  air  from  carriage  seat 
and  garish  tent  top,  shone  out  in  its  gaudiest  hues.  Old  dingy 
flags  grew  new  again,  faded  gilding  was  reburnished,  stained 
rotten  canvas  looked  a  snowy  white ;  the  very  beggars’  rags 
were  fi’eshened  up,  and  sentiment  quite  forgot  its  charity  in  its 
fervent  admiration  of  poverty  so  picturesque. 

It  was  one  of  those  scenes  of  life  and  animation,  caught  in  its 
very  brightest  and  freshest  moments,  which  can  scarcely  fail  to 
please ;  for  if  the  eye  be  tired  of  show  and  glare,  or  the  ear 
be  weary  with  a  ceaseless  round  of  noise,  the  one  may  repose, 
turn  almost  where  it  will,  on  eager,  happy  and  expectant  faces, 
and  the  other  deaden  all  consciousness  of  more  annoying  sounds 
in  those  of  mirth  and  exhilaration.  Even  the  sun-burnt  faces  of 
gipsy  children,  half  naked  though  they  be,  suggest  a  drop  of 
comfort.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  see  that  the  sun  has  been 
there,  to  know  that  the  air  and  light  are  on  them  every  day,  to 
feel  that  they  are  children  and  lead  children’s  lives  ;  that  if  their 
pillows  be  damp,  it  is  with  the  dews  of  Heaven,  and  not  with 
tears ;  that  the  limbs  of  their  girls  are  free,  and  that  they  are 
not  crippled  by  distortions,  imposing  an  unnatural  and  horrible 
penance  upon  their  sex ;  that  their  lives  are  spent  from  day  to 
day  at  least  among  the  waving  trees,  and  not  in  the  midst  of 
dreadful  engines  which  make  young  children  old  before  they 
know  what  childhood  is,  and  give  them  the  exhaustion  and  in¬ 
firmity  of  age,  without,  like  age,  the  privilege  to  die.  God  send 
that  the  old  nursery  tales  were  true,  and  that  gipsies  stole  such 
children  by  the  score  ! 

The  great  race  of  the  day  had  just  been  run  ;  and  the  close 

(721) 


Tl'Z 


MCnOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


lines  of  people  on  either  side  of  the  course  suddenly  breaking 
up  and  pouring  into  it,  imparted  a  new  liveliness  to  the  scene, 
which  was  again  all  busy  movement.  Some  hurried  eagerly  to. 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  winning  horse,  others  darted  to  and  fre 
searching  no  less  eagerly  for  the  carriages  they  had  left  in  quest 
of  better  stations.  Here  a  little  knot  gathered  round  a  pea  and 
thimble  table  to  watch  the  plu(  king  of  some  unhappy  greenhorn, 
and  there  another  proprietor  with  his  confederates  in  various 
disguises — one  man  in  spectacles,  another  with  an  eyC-glass  and 
a  stylish  hat,  a  third  dressed  as  a  farmer  well  to  do  in  the  world, 
with  his  top-coat  over  his  arm  and  his  flash  notes  in  a  large 
leathern  pocket-book,  and  all  with  heavy-handled  whips  to 
represent  most  innocent  country  fellows  who  had  trotted  there 
on  horseback — sought,  by  loud  and  noisy  talk  and  pretended 
play  to  entrap  some  unwary  customer,  while  the  gentlemen  con¬ 
federates  (of  more  villanous  aspect  still,  in  clean  linen  and  good 
clothes,)  betrayed  their  close  interest  in  the  concern  by  the 
anxious  furtive  glance  they  cast  on  all  new  comers.  These  cvould 
be  hanging  on  the  outskirts  of  a  wide  circle  of  people  assembled 
round  some  itinerant  juggler,  opposed  in  his  turn  by  a  noisy 
band  of  music,  or  the  classic  game  of  “  Ring  the  Bull,”  while 
ventriloquists  holding  dialogues  with  wooden  dolls,  and  fortune¬ 
telling  women  smothering  the  cries  of  real  babies,  divided  with 
them,  and  many  more,  the  general  attention  of  the  company. 
Drinking-tents  were  full,  glasses  began  to  clink  in  carriages, 
hampers  to  be  unpacked,  tempting  provisions  to  be  set  forth, 
knives  and  forks  to  rattle,  champagne  corks  to  fly,  eyes  to  brighten 
that  were  not  dull  before,  and  pickpockets  to  count  their  gains 
during  the  last  heat.  The  attention  so  recently  strained  on  one 
object  of  interest,  wms  now  divided  among  a  hundred  ;  and  look 
wdiere  you  would,  was  a  motley  assemblage  of  feasting,  laughing, 
talking,  begging,  gambling,  and  mummery. 

Of  the  gambling-booths  there  was  a  plentiful  show,  flourish¬ 
ing  in  all  the  splendor  of  carpeted  ground,  striped  hangings, 
crimson  cloth,  pinnacled  roofs,  geranium  pots,  and  livery  ser¬ 
vants.  There  were  the  Stranger’s  club-house,  the  Athenmura 
club-house,  the  Hampton  club-house,  the  Saint  James’s  club¬ 
house,  and  half-a-mile  of  club-houses  to  play  in  :  and  there  was 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


723 


rouge-et-noir,  French  hazard,  and  La  llerveille,  to  p!ay  at.  It 
is  into  one  of  these  booths  that  our  story  takes  its  way. 

Fitted  up  with  three  tables  for  the  purposes  of  play,  and 
crowded  with  players  and  lookers  on,  it  was — although  the 
largest  place  of  the  kind  npon  the  course^ — intensely  hot,  not¬ 
withstanding  that  a  portion  of  the  canvas  roof  was  rolled  back 
to  admit  more  air,  and  there  were  two  doors  for  a  free  passage  in 
and  out.  Excepting  one  or  two  men  who — each  with  a  long 
roll  of  half-crowns,  chequered  with  a  few  stray  sovereigns  in 
his  left  hand — staked  their  money  at  every  roll  of  the  ball  with 
a  business-like  sedateness  which  showed  that  they  were  used  to 
it,  and  had  been  playing  all  day  and  most  probably  all  the  day 
before,  there  was  no  very  distinctive  character  about  the  players, 
who  were  chiefly  young  men,  apparently  attracted  by  curiosity, 
or  staking  small  sums  as  part  of  the  amusement  of  the  day, 
with  no  very  great  interest  in  winning  or  losing.  There  were 
two  persons  present,  however,  who,  as  peculiarly  good  speci¬ 
mens  of  a  class,  deserve  a  passing  notice. 

Of  these,  one  was  a  man  of  six  or  eight  and  fifty,  who  sat  on 
a  chair  near  one  of  the  entrances  of  the  booth,  with  his  hands 
folded  on  the  top  of  his  stick  and  his  chin  appearing  above  them, 
lie  was  a  tall,  fat,  long-bodied  man,  buttoned  up  to  the  throat 
in  a  light  green  coat,  which  made  his  body  look  still  longer  than 
it  was,  and  wore  besides  drab  breeches  and  gaiters,  a  white 
neckerchief,  and  a  broad-brimmed  white  hat.  Amid  all  the 
buzzing  noise  of  the  games  and  the  perpetual  passing  in  and 
out  of  people,  he  seemed  perfectly  calm  and  abstracted,  without 
the  smallest  particle  of  excitement  in  his  composition.  He  ex¬ 
hibited  no  indication  of  weariness,  nor,  to  a  casual  observer,  of 
interest  either.  There  he  sat,  quite  still  and  collected.  Some¬ 
times,  but  very  rarely,  he  nodded  to  some  passing  face,  or  beck¬ 
oned  to  a  waiter  to  obey  a  call  from  one  of  the  tables.  The 
next  instant  he  subsided  into  his  old  state.  He  might  have 
been  some  profoundly  deaf  old  gentleman,  who  had  come  in  to 
take  a  rest,  or  he  might  have  been  patiently  waiting  for  a  friend 
without  the  least  consciousness  of  any  body’s  presence,  or  fixed 
in  a  trance,  or  under  the  influence  of  opium.  People  turned 
round  and  looked  at  him  ;  he  made  no  gesture,  caught  nobody’s 
eye, — let  them  pass  away,  and  others  come  on  and  be  succeeded 


724 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


by  others,  and  took  no  notice.  When  he  did  move  it  seemed 
wonderful  how  he  could  have  seen  any  thing  to  occasion  it.  And 
so,  in  truth,  it  was.  But  there  was  not  a  face  that  passed  in  or 
out  this  man  failed  to  see,  not  a  gesture  at  any  one  of  the  three 
tables  that  was  lost  upon  him,  not  a  word  spoken  by  the 
bankers  but  reached  his  ear,  not  a  winner  or  loser  he  could  not 
have  marked  ;  and  he  was  the  proprietor  of  the  place. 

The  other  presided  over  the  rouge-et-noir  table.  He  was 
probably  some  ten  years  younger,  and  was  a  plump,  paunchy, 
sturdy-looking  fellow,  with  his  under  lip  a  little  pursed  from  a 
habit  of  counting  money  inwardly  as  he  paid  it,  but  with  no 
decidedly  bad  expression  in  his  face,  which  was  rather  an  honest 
and  jolly  one  than  otherwise.  He  wore  no  coat,  the  weather  being 
hot,  and  stood  behind  the  table  with  a  huge  mound  of  crowns 
and  half-crowns  before  him,  and  a  cash-box  for  notes.  This 
game  was  constantly  playing.  Perhaps  twenty  people  would 
be  playing  at  the  same  time.  This  man  had  to  roll  the  ball,  to 
watch  the  stakes  as  they  were  laid  down,  to  gather  them  off  the 
colors  which  lost,  to  pay  those  who  won,  to  do  it  all  with  the 
utmost  dispatch,  to  roll  the  ball  again,  and  to  keep  this  game 
perpetually  alive.  He  did  it  all  with  a  rapidity  absolutely  marvel¬ 
ous  ;  never  hesitating,  never  making  a  mistake,  never  stopping, 
and  never  ceasing  to  repeat  such  unconnected  phrases  as  the 
following,  which,  partly  from  habit,  and  partly  to  have  some¬ 
thing  appropriate  and  business-like  to  say,  he  constantly  poured 
out  with  the  same  monotonous  emphasis,  and  in  nearly  the  same 
order,  all  day  long  : — 

“  Rooge-a-nore  from  Paris,  gentlemen,  make  your  game  and 
back  your  own  opinions — any  time  while  the  ball  rollS' — roogo- 
a-nore  from  Paris,  gentlemen,  it’s  a  French  game,  gentlemen,  I 
brought  it  over  myself,  I  did  indeed ! — rooge-a-nore  from  Paris 
— black  wins — black — stop  a  minute.  Sir,  and  I’ll  pay  yon 
directly — two  there,  half  a  pound  there,  three  there — and  one 
there- — gentlemen,  the  ball’s  a  rolling — any  time,  Sir,  while  the 
ball  rolls — the  beauty  of  this  game  is,  that  you  can  double  your 
stakes  or  put  down  your  money,  gentlemen,  any  time  while  the 
ball  rolls — black  again — black  wins — I  never  saw  such  a  thing 
— I  never  did  in  all  my  life,  upon  my  word  I  never  did  ;  if  any 
gentleman  had  been  backing  the  black  in  the  last  five  minutes 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


725 


he  must  hare  won  five-and -forty  pounds  in  four  rolls  of  the  ball, 
he  must  indeed — Grentleinen,  we’ve  port,  sherry,  cigars,  and 
most  excellent  champagne.  Here,  wai-ter,  bring  a  bottle  of 
champagne,  and  let’s  have  a  dozen  or  fifteen  cigars  here — and 
let’s  be  comfortable,  gentlemen — and  bring  some  clean  glasses 
— any  time  while  the  ball  rolls — I  lost  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
seven  pounds  yesterday,  gentlemen,  at  one  roll  of  the  ball :  I 
did  indeed  ! — how  do  you  do.  Sir,”  (recognizing  some  knowing 
gentleman  without  any  halt  or  change  of  voice,  and  giving  a 
wink  so  slight  that  it  seems  an  accident,)  “will  you  take  a  glass 
of  sherry.  Sir — here,  wai-ter,  bring  a  clean  glass,  and  hand  the 
sherry  to  this  gentleman — and  hand  it  round,  will  you,  waiter — • 
this  is  the  rooge-a-nore  from  Paris,  gentlemen — any  time  while 
the  ball  rolls — gentlemen,  make  your  game,  and  back  your  own 
opinions — it’s  the  rooge-a-nore  from  Paris,  quite  a  new  game,  I 
brought  it  over  myself,  I  did  indeed — gentlemen  the  ball’s  a 
rolling.” 

This  officer  was  busily  plying  his  vocation  when  half-a-dozen 
persons  sauntered  through  the  booth,  to  whom — but  without 
stopping  either  in  his  speech  or  work — he  bowed  respectfully, 
at  the  same  time  directing  by  a  look  the  attention  of  a  man  be¬ 
side  him  to  the  tallest  figure  in  the  group,  in  recognition  of 
whom  the  proprietor  pulled  off  his  hat.  This  was  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk,  with  whom  were  his  friend  and  pupil,  and  a  small  train 
of  gentlemanly-dressed  men,  of  characters  more  doubtful  than 
obscure. 

The  proprietor,  in  a  low  voice,  bade  Sir  Mulberry  good  day. 
Sir  Mulberry,  in  the  same  tone,  bade  the  proprietor  go  to  the 
devil,  and  turned  to  speak  with  his  friends. 

There  was  evidently  an  irritable  consciousness  about  him  that 
ho  was  an  object  of  curiosity  on  this  first  occasion  of  showing 
himself  in  public  after  the  accident  that  had  befallen  him  ;  and 
it  was  easy  to  [lerceive  that  he  appeared  on  the  race-course,  that 
day,  more  in  the  hope  of  meeting  with  a  great  many  people 
who  knew  him,  and  so  getting  over  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
annoyance  at  once,  than  with  any  purpose  of  enjoying  the  sport. 
There  yet  remained  a  slight  scar  upon  his  face,  and  whenever 
he  was  recognized,  as  he  was  almost  every  minute  by  people 
sauntering  iu  and  out,  he  made  a  restless  effort  to  conceal  it 


726 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


with  his  glove,  showing  how  keenly  he  felt  the  disgrace  he  had 
undergone. 

“Ah  1  Hawk,”  said  one  very  sprucely-dressed  personage  in 
a  Now-market  coat,  a  choice  neckerchief,  and  all  other  accesso¬ 
ries  of  the  most  unexceptionable  kind.  “  How  d’ye  do,  old 
fellow 

This  was  a  rival  trainer  of  yonng  noblemen  and  gentlemen, 
and  the  person  of  all  others  whom  Sir  Mulberry  most  hated  and 
dreaded  to  meet.  They  shook  hands  with  excessive  cordiality. 

“  And  how  are  you  now',  old  fellow,  hey  ?” 

“  Quite  well,  quite  well,”  said  Sir  Mulberry. 

“That’s  right,”  said  the  other.  “  How  d’ye  do,  Yerisopht? 
He’s  a  little  pulled  down,  our  friend  here — rather  out  of  condi¬ 
tion  still,  hey  ?” 

It  should  be  observed  that  the  gentleman  had  very  white 
teeth,  and  that  when  there  was  no  excuse  for  laughing,  he  gene¬ 
rally  finished  with  the  same  monosyllable,  which  he  uttered  to 
disiplay  them. 

“  He’s  in  a  very  good  condition,  there’s  nothing  the  matter 
with  him,”  said  the  young  man,  carelessly. 

“Upon  my  soul  I’m  glad  to  hear  it,”  rejoined  the  other. 
“  Have  you  just  returned  from  Brussels  ?” 

“  We  only  reached  town  late  last  night,”  said  Lord  Frederick. 
Sir  Mulberry  turned  away  to  speak  to  one  of  his  own  part}'’,  and 
feigned  not  to  hear. 

“  Now,  upon  my  life,”  said  the  friend,  atfecting  to  speak  in  a 
whisper,  “it’s  an  uncommonly  bold  and  game  thing  in  Hawk  to 
show  himself  so  soon.  I  say  it  advisedly,  there’s  a  vast  deal 
of  courage  in  it.  You  see  he  has  just  rusticated  long  enough 
to  excite  curiosity,  and  not  long  enough  for  men  to  have  for¬ 
gotten  that  deuced  unpleasant — by  the  by — you  know  the  rights 
of  the  affair  of  course.  \Vhy  did  you  never  give  those  con¬ 
founded  papers  the  lie  ?  I  seldom  read  the  papers,  but  I  looked 
in  the  papers  for  that,  and  may  I  be - ” 

“  Look  in  the  papers,”  interrupted  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  sud¬ 
denly  round — “  to-morrow — no,  next  day,  will  you  ?” 

“  Upon  my  life,  my  dear  fellow,  I  seldom  or  never  read  tho 
papers,”  said  the  other,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  “but  I  will  at 
your  recommendation.  What  shall  I  look  jjr,  hey?” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


727 


"  Good  day,”  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  abruptly  on  his  heel, 
and  drawing  his  pupil  with  him.  Falling  again  into  the  loiter¬ 
ing,  careless  pace  at  which  they  had  entered,  they  lounged  out 
arm  in  arm. 

“  I  won’t  give  him  a  case  of  murder  to  read,”  muttered  Sir 
Mulberry,  with  an  oath ;  “  but  it  shall  be  something  very  near  it, 
if  whip-cord  cuts  and  bludgeons  bruise.” 

Ilis  companion  said  nothing,  but  there  was  that  in  his  manner 
which  galled  Sir  Mulberry  to  add,  with  nearly  as  much  ferocity 
as  if  his  friend  had  been  Nicholas  himself, 

“  I  sent  Jenkins  to  Nickleby  before  eight  o’clock  this  morn¬ 
ing.  He’s  a  stanch  one ;  he  was  back  wdth  me  before  the 
messenger.  I  had  it  all  from  him  in  the  first  five  minutes.  I 
know  where  this  hound  is  to  be  met  wdth — time  and  place 
both.  But  there’s  no  need  to  talk  ;  to-morrow  will  soon  be 
here.” 

“  And  w'ha-at’s  to  be  done  to-morrow  ?”  inquired  Lord  Fred¬ 
erick. 

“  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  honored  him  with  an  angry  glance,  but 
condescended  to  return  no  verbal  answer  to  this  inquiry,  and 
both  walked  sullenly  on  as  though  their  thoughts  were  busily 
occupied,  until  they  w^ere  quite  clear  of  the  crowd,  and  almost 
alone,  w'hen  Sir  Mulberry  wheeled  round  to  return. 

“  Stop,”  said  his  companion,  “  I  want  to  speak  to  you—  in 
earnest.  Don’t  turn  back.  Let  us  walk  here  a  few  minutes,’" 

“  What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  that  you  could  not  say  yonder 
as  well  as  here  ?”  returned  his  Mentor,  disengaging  his  arm. 

“Hawk,”  rejoined  the  other,  “tell  me;  “I  must  know — ” 

“  ]\Iusl  know,”  interrupted  the  other,  disdainfully.  “  Whev/ 1 
Go  on.  If  you  must  know,  of  course  there’s  no  escape  for  me. 
Must  know  I” 

“INIust  ask,  then,”  returned  Lord  Frederick,  “and  must  press 
you  for  a  i)laiu  and  straightforward  answer — is  what  you  have 
just  said  only  a  mere  whim  of  the  moment,  occasioned  by  your 
being  out  of  humor  and  irritated,  or  is  it  your  serious  inten¬ 
tion,  and  one  that  you  have  actually  contemplated  ?” 

“Why,  don’t  you  remember  what  passed  on  the  subject  one 
night,  when  I  was  laid  up  with  a  broken  limb  ?”  said  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry,  with  a  sneel , 


72S 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Perfectly  well.” 

"  Then  take  that  for  an  answer,  in  the  devil’s  name,”  replied 
Sir  MulbeiT}'^,  “and  ask  me  for  no  other.” 

Such  was  the  ascendency  he  had  acquired  over  his  dupe,  and 
such  the  latter’s  general  habit  of  submission,  that,  for  the  mo¬ 
ment,  tlie  young  man  seemed  half-afraid  to  pursue  the  subject. 
He  soon  overcame  this  feeling,  however,  if  it  had  restrained 
him  at  all,  and  retorted  angrily : 

“  If  I  remember  what  passed  at  the  time  you  speak  of,  I 
expressed  a  strong  opinion  on  this  subject,  and  said^  that  with 
iny  knowledge  or  consent,  you  never  should  do  what  you  threaten 
now.” 

“  Will  you  prevent  me  ?”  asked  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a  laugh. 

“  Ye-es,  if  I  can,”  returned  the  other,  promptly. 

“  A  very  proper  saving  clause,  that  last,”  said  Sir  Mulberry ; 
“  and  one  you  stand  in  need  of.  Oh !  look  to  your  own  busi¬ 
ness  and  leave  me  to  look  to  mine.” 

“This  is  mine,”  retorted  Lord  Frederick.  “I  make  it  mine; 
I  will  make  it  mine.  It’s  mine  already.  I  am  more  compro¬ 
mised  than  I  should  be,  as  it  is.” 

“  Do  as  you  please,  and  what  you  please,  for  yourself,”  said 
Sir  Mulberry,  affecting  an  easy  good  humor.  “  Surely  that 
must  content  you  I  Do  nothing  for  me;  that’s  all.  I  advise 
no  man  to  interfere  in  proceedings  that  I  choose  to  take,  and 
I  am  sure  you  know  me  better  than  to  do  so.  The  fact  is,  I 
see,  you  mean  to  offer  me  advice.  It  is  well  meant,  I  have  no 
doubt,  but  I  reject  it.  Now,  if  you  please,  we  will  return  to 
the  carriage.  I  find  no  entertainment  here,  but  quite  the  re¬ 
verse,  and  if  we  prolong  this  conversation  we  might  quarrel, 
which  would  be  no  proof  of  wisdom  in  either  you  or  me.” 

With  this  rejoinder,  and  waiting  for  no  further  discussion, 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  yawned,  and  very  leisurely  turned  back. 

There  was  not  a  little  tact  and  knowledge  of  the  young 
lord’s  disposition  in  this  mode  of  treating  him.  Sir  Mul¬ 
berry  clearly  saw  that  if  his  dominion  were  to  last,  it  must  be 
established  now.  lie  knew  that  the  moment  he  became  violent, 
the  young  man  would  become  violent  too.  He  had  many 
times  been  enabled  to  strengthen  his  influence  when  any  circum- 
ataace  had  occurred  to  weaken  it,  by  adopting  this  cool  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


723 


laconic  style,  and  be  trusted  to  it  now,  with  very  little  doubt  ot 
its  entire  success. 

But  while  he  did  this,  and  wore  the  most  careless  and  indif- 
t’erent  deportment  that  his  practiced  arts  enabled  him  to  assume, 
he  inwardly  resolved  not  only  to  visit  all  the  mortification  of 
being  compelled  to  suppress  his  feelings  with  additional  severity 
upon  Nicholas,  but  also  to  make  the  young  lord  pay  dearly  for 
it  one  day  in  some  shape  or  other.  So  long  as  he  had  been 
a  passive  instrument  in  his  hands.  Sir  Mulberry  had  regarded 
him  with  no  other  feeling  than  contempt;  but  now  that  he  pre¬ 
sumed  to  avow  opinions  in  opposition  to  his  and  even  to  turn 
upon  him  with  a  lofty  tone  and  an  air  of  superiority,  he  began 
to  hate  him.  Conscious  that  in  the  vilest  and  most  worthless 
sense  of  the  term,  he  was  dependent  upon  the  weak  young  lord, 
Sir  Mulberry  could  the  less  brook  humiliation  at  his  hands,  and 
when  he  began  to  dislike  him  he  measured  his  dislike — as 
men  often  do — by  the  extent  of  the  injuries  he  had  inflicted 
upon  its  object.  When  it  is  remembered  that  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk  had  plundered,  duped,  deceived,  and  fooled  his  pupil  in 
every  possible  way,  it  will  not  be  wondered  at  that,  beginning  to 
hate  him,  he  began  to  hate  him  cordially. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  young  lord  having  thought — which  he 
very  seldom  did  about  any  thing — having  thought,  and  seriously 
too,  upon  the  affair  with  Nicholas,  and  the  circumstances  which 
led  to  it,  had  arrived  at  a  manly  and  honest  conclusion.  Sir 
Mulberry’s  coarse  and  insulting  behavior  on  the  occasion  in 
question  had  produced  a  deep  impression  on  his  mind  ;  a  strong 
6us})icion  of  his  having  led  him  on  to  pursue  Miss  Nickleby  for 
puri)oses  of  his  own,  had  been  lurking  there  for  some  time  ;  ho 
was  really  ashamed  of  his  share  in  the  transaction,  and  deeply 
mortified  by  the  misgiving  that  he  had  been  gulled.  He  had 
had  sufficient  leisure  to  reflect  upon  these  things  during  their 
late  retirement,  and  at  times  when  his  careless  and  indolent 
nature  would  permit,  had  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity. 
Slight  circumstances  too  had  occurred  to  increase  his  suspicion. 
It  wanted  but  a  very  slight  circumstance  to  kindle  his  wrath 
against  Sir  Mulberry,  and  this  his  disdainful  and  insolent  tone 
in  their  recent  conversation  (the  only  one  they  had  held  upon 


<30 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


the  subject  since  the  period  to  which  Sir  Mulberry  referred) 
etfected. 

Thus  they  rejoined  their  friends,  each  with  causes  of  dislike 
against  the  other  rankling  in  his  breast,  and  the  young  man 
haunted  besides  with  thouglits  of  the  vindictive  retaliation  which 
was  threatened  against  Nicholas,  and  the  determination  to  pre¬ 
vent  it  by  some  strong  step,  if  possible.  But  this  was  not  all. 
Sir  Mulberry,  conceiving  that  he  had  silenced  him  effectually, 
could  not  suppress  his  triumph,  or  forbear  from  following  up 
what  he  conceived  to  be  his  advantage.  Mr.  Pyke  was  there, 
and  Mr.  Pluck  was  there,  and  Colonel  Chouser,  and  other 
gentlemen  of  the  same  caste,  and  it  wms  a  great  point  for  Sir 
Mulberry  to  show  them  that  he  had  not  lost  his  influence.  At 
first  the  young  lord  contented  himself  with  a  silent  determina¬ 
tion  to  take  measures  for  withdrawing  himself  from  the  connec¬ 
tion  immediately.  By  degrees  he  grew  more  angry,  and  was 
exasperated  by  jests  and  familiarities  which  a  few  hours  before 
would  have  be-en  a  source  of  amusement  to  him.  This  did  not 
serve  him,  for  at  such  bantering  or  retort  as  suited  the  company, 
he  was  no  match  for  Sir  Mulberry.  Still  no  violent  rupture 
took  place,  and  they  returned  to  town,  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck 
and  other  gentlemen  frequently  protesting  on  the  way  thither, 
that  Sir  Mulberry  had  never  been  in  such  tip-top  spirits  in  all 
his  life. 

They  dined  together  sumptuously.  The  wine  flowed  freely, 
as  indeed  it  had  clone  all  day.  Sir  Mulberry  drank  to  recom¬ 
pense  himself  for  his  recent  abstinence,  the  young  lord  to  drown 
his  indignation,  and  the  remainder  of  the  party  because  the  wine 
was  of  the  best  and  they  had  nothing  to  pay.  It  was  nearly 
midnight  when  they  rushed  out,  wild,  burning  with  wine,  their 
blood  boiling,  and  their  brains  on  fire,  to  the  gaming  table. 

Here  they  encountered  another  party,  mad  like  themselves. 
The  excitement  of  play,  hot  rooms,  and  glaring  lights,  was  not 
calculated  to  allay  the  fever  of  the  time.  In  that  giddy  whirl 
of  noise  and  confusion  the  men  were  delirious.  Who  thought 
of  money,  ruin,  or  the  morrow,  in  the  savage  intoxication  of  the 
moment  ?  More  wine  was  called  for,  glass  after  glass  was 
drained,  their  parched  and  scalding  mouths  were  cracked  with 
thirst.  Down  poured  the  wine  like  oil  on  blazing  Are.  Ami 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


781 


Btill  the  riot  went  on — the  debauchery  gained  its  height — glasses 
were  dashed  upon  the  floor  by  hands  that  could  not  carry  them 
to  lips,  oaths  were  shouted  out  by  lips  which  could  scarcely 
form  the  words  to  vent  them  in  ;  drunken  losers  cursed  and 
roared  ;  some  mounted  on  the  tables,  waving  bottles  above  their 
heads  and  bidding  defiance  to  the  rest ;  some  danced,  some  sang, 
some  tore  the  cards  and  raved,  Tiunult  and  frenzy  reigned 
Eupreme ;  when  a  noise  arose  that  drowned  all  others,  and  two 
men,  seizing  each  other  by  the  throat,  struggled  into  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

A  dozen  voices,  until  now  unheard,  called  aloud  to  part  them. 
Those  who  had  kept  themselves  cool  to  win,  and  who  earned 
their  living  in  such  scenes,  threw  themselves  upon  the  combat¬ 
ants,  and  forcing  them  asunder,  dragged  them  some  space  apart. 

“  Let  me  go  !”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  in  a  thick  hoarse  voice ; 
“  he  struck  me  I  Do  you  hear  ?  I  say,  he  struck  me.  Have  I 
a  friend  here  ?  Who  is  this  ?  Westwood,  do  you  hear  me  say 
he  struck  me  I” 

“I  hear,  I  hear,”  replied  one  of  those  who  held  him.  “  Come 
away  for  to-night.” 

“  I  will  not,  by  G — ,”  he  replied,  fiercely.  “  A  dozen  men 
about  us  saw  the  blow.” 

“  To-morrow  will  be  ample  time,”  said  the  friend. 

“It  will  not  be  ample  time  !”  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  gnashing 
his  teeth.  “  To-night — at  once — here  !”  His  passion  was  so 
great  that  he  could  not  articulate,  but  stood  clenching  his  fist, 
tearing  his  hair,  and  stami)ing  upon  the  ground. 

“  What  is  this,  my  lord  ?”  said  one  of  those  who  surrounded 
him,  “  Have  blows  passed  ?” 

“  One  blow  has,”  was  the  panting  reply.  “  I  struck  him — I 
proclaim  it  to  all  here.  I  struck  him,  and  he  well  knows  why. 
I  say  with  him,  let  this  quarrel  be  adjusted  now.  Captain 
Adams,”  said  the  young  lord,  looking  hurriedly  about  him,  and 
addressing  one  of  those  who  had  interposed,  “  Let  me  speak 
with  you,  I  beg.” 

The  person  addressed  stepped  forward,  and,  taking  the  young 
man's  arm.  they  retired  together,  followed  shortly  afterwards  by 
Sir  Mulberry  and  his  friend 

It  was  a  profligate  haunt  of  the  worst  repnte,  and  not  a  place 


82 


NICHOLAS  NICKIEBY. 


in  wliich  such  an  aEfair  was  likely  to  awaken  an}  sympathy  for 
either  party,  oi  to  call  forth  any  further  remonstrance  or  inter¬ 
position.  Elsewhere  its  further  progress  would  have  been  in¬ 
stantly  prevented,  and  time  allowed  for  sober  and  cool  re¬ 
flection  ;  but  not  there.  Disturbed  in  their  orgies,  the  party 
broke  up ;  some  reeled  away  with  looks  of  tipsy  gravity,  others 
withdrew  noisily  discussing  what  had  just  occurred  ;  the  gentle¬ 
men  of  honor  who  lived  upon  their  winnings  remarked  to  each 
other  as  they  went  out  that  Hawk  was  a  good  shot ;  and  those 
who  had  been  most  noisy  fell  fast  asleep  upon  sofas,  and  thought 
nc  more  o.bout  it. 

Meanwhile  the  two  seconds,  as  they  may  be  called  now,  after 
a  long  conference,  each  with  his  principal,  met  together  in 
another  room.  Both  utterly  heartless,  both  men  upon  town, 
both  thoroughly  initiated  in  its  worst  vices,  both  deeply  in  debt, 
both  fallen  from  some  higher  estate,  both  addicted  to  every  de¬ 
pravity  for  which  society  can  find  some  genteel  name  and  plead 
its  most  depraving  conventionalities  as  an  excuse,  they  were 
naturally  gentleman  of  most  unblemished  honor  themselves,  and 
of  great  nicety  concerning  the  honor  of  other  people. 

These  two  gentlemen  were  unusually  cheerful  just  now,  for 
the  affair  was  pretty  certain  to  make  some  noise,  and  could 
scarcely  fail  to  enhance  their  reputations  considerably. 

“This  is  an  awkward  affair,  Adams,”  said  Mr.  Westwood, 
drawing  himself  up, 

“  Very,”  returned  the  captain  ;  “  a  blow  has  been  struck,  and 
there  is  but  one  course,  q/ course.” 

“No  apology,  I  suppose?”  said  Mr.  Westwood. 

“Not  a  syllable.  Sir,  from  my  man,  if  we  talk  till  dooms¬ 
day,”  returned  the  captain.  “  The  original  cause  of  dispute,  1 
understand,  was  some  girl  or  other,  to  whom  your  principal  ap¬ 
plied  certain  terras,  which  Lord  Frederick,  defending  the  girl, 
repelled.  But  this  led  to  a  long  recrimination  upon  a  great  many 
sore  subjects,  charges,  and  counter-charges.  Sir  Mulberry  was 
sarcastic  ;  Lord  Frederick  was  excited,  and  struck  him  in  the 
heat  of  provocation,  and  under  circumstances  of  great  aggra¬ 
vation.  That  blow,  unless  there  is  a  full  retraction  on  the  ])art 
of  Sir  Mulberry,  Lord  Frederick  is  ready  to  justify.” 

“There  is  no  more  to  be  said,”  returned  the  other  “but  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


738 


settle  the  hour  and  the  place  of  meeting.  It’s  a  responsibility; 
but  there  is  a  strong  feeling  to  have  it  over :  do  you  object  to 
say  at  sunrise  ?” 

“  Sharp  work,”  replied  the  captain,  referring  to  his  watch ; 
“however,  as  this  seems  to  have  been  a  long  time  brooding,  and 
negotiation  is  only  a  waste  of  words — no.” 

“  Something  may  possibly  be  said  out  of  doors  after  what 
passed  in  the  other  room,  which  renders  it  desirable  that  wo 
should  be  olf  without  delay,  and  quite  clear  of  town,”  said  Mr. 
Westwood.  “  What  do  you  say  to  one  of  the  meadows  opjyo- 
site  Twickenham,  by  the  river-side  ?” 

The  captain  saw  no  objection. 

“Shall  we  join  company  in  the  avenue  of  trees  which  leads 
from  Petersham  to  Ham  House,  and  settle  the  exact  spot  when 
wm  arrive  there  ?”  said  Mr.  Westwood. 

To  this  the  captain  also  assented.  After  a  few  other  pre¬ 
liminaries,  equally  brief,  and  having  settled  the  road  each  party 
should  take  to  avoid  suspicion,  they  separated. 

“We  shall  just  have  comfortable  time,  my  lord,”  sa.id  the 
captain,  when  he  had  communicated  the  arrangements,  “to  call 
at  my  rooms  for  a  case  of  pistols,  and  then  jog  coolly  dowm.  If 
you  w'ill  allow  me  to  dismiss  your  servant,  we’ll  take  my  cab, 
for  yours,  perhaps,  might  be  recognized.” 

What  a  contrast  when  they  reached  the  street,  to  the  scene 
they  had  just  left  I  It  was  already  daybreak.  For  the  flaring 
yellow  light  wdthin,  wms  substituted  the  clear,  bright,  glorious 
morning ;  for  a  hot,  close  atmosphere,  tainted  with  the  smell  of 
expiring  lamps,  and  reeking  with  the  steams  of  riot  and  dissi¬ 
pation,  the  free,  fresh,  wdiolesome  air.  But  to  the  fevered  head 
On  w'hich  that  cool  air  blew,  it  seemed  to  come  laden  wdth  re¬ 
morse  for  time  misspent  and  countless  opportunities  neglected. 
With  throbbing  veins  and  burning  skin,  eyes  wdld  and  heavy, 
thoughts  hurried  and  disordered,  he  felt  as  though  the  light 
wmre  a  reproach,  and  shrunk  involuntarily  from  the  day  as  if  he 
w'ere  some  foul  and  hideous  thing. 

“  Shivering  said  the  captain.  “  You  are  cold.” 

“  Bather.” 

It  does  strike  cool,  coming  out  of  those  hot  rooms.  Wrap 
that  cloak  about  you.  So,  so  ;  now  wm’re  olf.” 


714 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


They  rattled  through  the  quiet  streets,  made  tlieir  call  at  the 
captain’s  lodgings,  cleared  the  town,  and  emerged  upon  the 
open  road,  without  hindrance  or  molestation. 

Fields,  trees,  gardens,  hedges,  every  thing  looked  very  beau¬ 
tiful  ;  the  young  man  scarcely  seemed  to  have  noticed  them  be- 
Fre,  though  he  had  passed  the  same  objects  a  thousand  times. 
Tliere  was  a  peace  and  serenity  upon  them  all  strangely  at 
variance  with  the  bewilderment  and  confusion  of  his  own  half 
sobered  thoughts,  and  yet  impressive  and  welcome.  He  had 
00  fear  upon  his  mind  ;  but  as  he  looked  about  him  he  had  less 
anger,  and  though  all  old  delusions,  relative  to  his  worthless 
late  companion,  were  now  cleared  away,  he  rather  wished  he 
had  never  known  him  than  thought  of  its  having  come  to  this. 

The  past  night,  the  day  before,  and  many  other  days  and 
nights  beside,  all  mingled  themselves  up  in  one  unintelligible 
and  senseless  whirl ;  he  could  not  separate  the  transactions  of 
one  time  from  those  of  another.  Last  night  seemed  a  week 
ago,  and  months  ago  were  as  last  night.  Now  the  noise  of  the 
wheels  resolved  itself  into  some  wild  tune  in  which  he  could 
recognize  scraps  of  airs  he  knew,  and  now  there  was  nothing  in 
his  ears  but  a  stunning  and  bewildering  sound  like  rushing 
water.  But  his  companion  rallied  him  on  being  so  silent,  and 
they  talked  and  laughed  boisterously.  When  they  stopped  he 
v'as  a  little  surprised  to  find  himself  in  the  act  of  smoking,  but 
on  reflection  he  remembered  when  and  where  he  had  taken  the 
cigar. 

They  stopped  at  the  avenue  gate  and  alighted,  leaving  the 
carriage  to  the  care  of  the  servant,  who  was  a  smart  fellow,  and 
nearly  as  well  accustomed  to  such  proceedings  as  his  master. 
ISir  Mulberry  and  his  fr>end  were  already  there,  and  all  four 
walked  in  profound  silence  up  the  aisle  of  stately  elm  trees, 
which,  meeting  far  above  their  heads,  formed  a  long  green  per¬ 
spective  of  gothic  arches,  terminating  like  some  old  ruin  in  the 
open  sky. 

After  a  pause,  and  a  brief  conference  between  the  seconds, 
they  at  length  turned  to  the  right,  and  taking  a  track  across  a 
littk  meadow,  passed  Ham  House  and  came  into  some  fields 
beyond.  In  one  of  these  they  stopped.  The  ground  was  mea¬ 
sured,  some  usual  forms  gone  through,  the  two  principals  were 
placed  front  to  front  at  the  distance  agreed  upon,  and  Sir  Mnl* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


735 


berry  turned  his  face  towards  Ins  young  adversary  for  the  first 
time.  He  was  very  pale — his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  dress 
disordered,  and  his  hair  disheveled — all  most  probably  the  con 
sequences  of  the  previous  day  and  night.  For  the  face,  it  ex¬ 
pressed  nothing  but  violent  and  evil  passions.  He  shaded  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  gazed  at  his  opponent  steadfastly  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  taking  the  weapon  which  was  tendered  to 
him,  bent  his  eyes  upon  that,  and  looked  up  no  more  until  the 
word  was  given,  when  he  instantly  fired. 

The  two  shots  were  fired  as  nearly  as  possible  at  the  same 
instant.  In  that  instant  the  young  lord  turned  his  head  sharply 
round,  fixed  upon  his  adversary  a  ghastly  stare,  and  without  a 
groan  or  stagger,  fell  down  dead. 

“He’s  gone,”  cried  Westwood,  who,  with  the  other  second, 
had  run  up  to  the  body,  and  fallen  on  one  knee  beside  it. 

“His  blood  be  on  his  own  head,”  said  Sir  Mulberry.  “  He 
brought  this  upon  himself,  and  forced  it  upon  me.” 

“Captain  Adams,”  cried  Westwood,  hastily,  “I  call  you  to 
witness  that  this  was  fairly  done.  Hawk,  we  have  not  a  moment 
to  lose.  AVe  must  leave  this  place  immediately,  push  for  Brigh¬ 
ton,  and  cross  to  France  with  all  speed.  This  has  been  a  bad 
business,  and  may  be  worse  if  we  delay  a  moment.  Adams, 
considt  your  own  safety,  and  don’t  remain  here;  the  living  be¬ 
fore  the  dead— good  bye.” 

With  these  words  he  seized  Sir  Mulberry  by  the  arm,  and 
hurried  him  away.  Captain  Adams,  only  pausing  to  convince 
himself  beyond  all  question  of  the  fatal  result,  sped  olf  in  the 
same  direction,  to  concert  measures  with  his  servant  for  removing 
the  body,  and  securing  his  own  safety  likewise. 

So  died  Lord  Frederick  A^erisopht,  by  the  hand  which  he  had 
loaded  with  gifts  and  clasped  a  thousand  times  ;  by  the  act  of 
Iiim  but  for  whom  and  others  like  him  he  might  have  lived  a 
happy  man,  and  died  with  children’s  faces  round  his  bed. 

The  sun  came  proudly  up  in  all  his  majesty,  the  noble  river 
ran  its  winding  course,  the  leaves  quivered  and  rustled  in  the 
air,  the  Ijirds  poured  their  cheerful  songs  from  every  tree,  the 
short-lived  butterfly  fluttered  its  little  wings;  all  the  light  and 
life  of  day  came  on,  and,  amidst  it  all,  and  pressing  down  the 
grass  whose  every  blade  bore  twenty  tiny  lives,  lay  the  dead  man, 
with  his  stark  and  rigid  face  turned  upwards  to  the  sky. 


CHAPTER  LI. 


TOE  rnOJECT  OF  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  AND  HIS  FRIEND  .\P- 
PB  CACHING  A  SUCCESSFUL  ISSUE,  BECOMES  UNEXPECTEDLY 
KNOWN  TO  ANOTHER  PARTY',  NOT  ADMITTED  INTO  THEIR  CON¬ 
FIDENCE. 

In  an  old  house,  dismal,  dark  and  dusty,  which  seemed  to 
have  withered,  like  himself,  and  to  have  grown  yellow  and 
shriveled  in  hoarding  him  from  the  light  of  day,  as  he  had  in 
hoarding  his  money,  lived  Arthur  Gride.  Meagre  old  chairs 
and  tables  of  spare  and  bony  make,  and  hard  and  cold  as  misers/ 
hearts,  were  ranged  in  grim  array  against  the  gloomy  walls  ; 
attenuated  presses,  grown  lank  and  lantern-jawed  in  guarding 
the  treasures  they  enclosed,  and  tottering,  as  though  from  con¬ 
stant  fear  and  dread  of  thieves,  shrunk  up  in  dark  corners, 
whence  they  cast  no  shadows  on  the  ground,  and  seemed  to 
hide  and  cower  from  observation.  A  tall  grim  clock  upon  the 
stairs,  with  long  lean  hands  and  famished  face,  ticked  in  cautious 
whispers,  and  when  it  struck  the  time  in  thin  and  piping  sounds, 
like  an  old  man’s  voice,  rattled  as  if  ’twere  pinched  with 
hunger. 

No  fireside  couch  was  there,  to  invite  repose  and  comfort. 
Elbow-chairs  there  were,  but  they  looked  uneasy  in  their  minds, 
cocked  their  arras  suspiciously  and  timidly,  and  kept  upon  their 
guard.  Others  were  fantastically  grim  and  gaunt,  as  having 
drawn  themselves  up  to  their  utmost  height,  and  put  on  their 
fiercest  looks  to  stare  all  comers  out  of  countenance.  Olhers 
again  knocked  up  against  their  neighbors,  or  leant  for  support 
against  the  wall,  somewhat  ostentatiously,  as  if  to  call  all  men  to 
witness  that  they  were  not  worth  the  taking.  The  dark  square 
lumbering  bedsteads  seemed  built  for  restless  dreams  ;  the  musty 
hangings  to  creep  in  scanty  folds  together,  whispering  among 
themselves,  when  rustled  by  the  wind,  their  trembling  knowledge 


NICHOLAS  N  I C  K  L  E  B  Y . 


7‘^'i 

of  the  tempting  wares  that  lurked  within  the  dark  and  tight- 
locked  closets. 

From  out  the  most  spare  and  hungry  room  in  all  this  spare 
and  hungry  house,  there  came  one  morning  the  tremulous  tones 
of  old  Gride’s  voice,  as  it  feebly  chirruped  forth  the  fag  end  of 
some  forgotten  song,  of  which  the  burden  ran 

Ta — ran — tan — too, 

Throw  the  old  shoe, 

And  niaj  the  wedding  be  lucky  : 

which  he  repeated  in  the  same  shrill  quavering  notes  again  and 
again,  until  a  violent  fit  of  coughing  obliged  him  to  desist,  and 
to  pursue  in  silence  the  occupation  upon  which  he  was  engaged. 

This  occupation  was  to  take  down  from  the  shelves  of  a  worm- 
eaten  wardrobe,  a  quantity  of  frowsy  garments,  one  by  one ;  to 
subject  each  to  a  careful  and  minute  inspection  by  holding  it  up 
against  the  light,  and  after  folding  it  with  great  exactness,  to 
lay  it  on  one  or  other  of  two  little  heaps  beside  him.  He  never 
took  two  articles  of  clothing  out  together,  but  always  brought 
them  forth  singly,  and  never  failed  to  shut  the  wardrobe  door 
and  turn  the  key,  between  each  visit  to  its  shelves. 

“  The  snuff-colored  suit,”  said  Arthur  Gride,  surveying  a 
threadbare  coat,  “did  I  look  well  in  snuff-color?  let  me  think.” 

The  result  of  his  cogitations  appeared  to  be  unfavorable,  for 
he  folded  the  garment  once  more,  laid  it  aside,  and  mounted  on 
a  chair  to  get  down  another,  chirping  while  he  did  so — 

Young,  loving,  and  fair. 

Oh  what  happiness  there  ! 

The  wedding  is  sure  to  be  lucky: 

“They  always  put  in  ‘young,’”  said  old  Arthur,  "but  songs 
are  only  written  for  the  sake  of  rhyme,  and  this  is  a  silly  one 
that  the  poor  country  people  sang  when  I  was  a  little  boy 
Though  stop — young  is  quite  right  too — it  means  the  bi  ide— 
yes.  He,  he,  he !  It  means  the  bride.  Oh  dear,  that’s  good 
That’s  very  good.  And  true  besides — quite  true  !” 

In  the  satisfaction  of  this  discovery  he  went  over  the  verse 
again  with  increased  expression  and  a  shake  or  two  here  and 
there,  and  then  resumed  his  employment. 

“  The  bottle-grpen,  ’  said  old  Arthur;  “the  bottle-green  was 


738 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


a  famous  suit  to  wear,  and  I  bought  it  very  cheap  at  a  pawn¬ 
broker’s,  and  there  was — he,  he,  he  ! — a  tarnished  shilling  in  the 
waistcoat  pochet.  To  think  that  the  pawnbroker  shouldn’t 
have  known  there  was  a  shilling  in  it !  I  knew  it ;  I  felt  it  when 
I  was  examining  the  quality.  Oh,  what  a  dull  dog  !  It  was  a 
lucky  suit  too,  this  bottle-gi’een.  The  very  day  I  put  in  on  first, 
old  Lord  Mallowford  was  burnt  to  death  in  his  bed,  and  all  the 
post-obits  fell  in.  I’ll  be  married  in  the  bottle-green.  Peg — 
Peg  Sliderskew — I’ll  wear  the  bottle-green.” 

This  call,  loudly  repeated  twice  or  thrice  at  the  room-door, 
brought  into  the  apartment  a  short,  thin,  weasen,  blear-eyed  old 
woman,  palsy-stricken  and  hideously  ugly,  who,  wiping  her 
shriveled  face  upon  her  dirty  apron,  inquired,  in  that  subdued 
tone  in  which  deaf  people  commonly  speak  ; 

“Was  that  you  a  calling,  or  only  the  clock  a  striking  ?  My 
hearing  gets  so  bad,  I  never  know  which  is  which ;  but  when  I 
hear  a  noise  I  know  it  must  be  one  of  you,  because  nothing  else 
ever  stirs  in  the  house.” 

“  Me,  Peg — me,”  said  Arthur  Gride,  tapping  himself  on  tho 
breast  to  render  the  reply  more  intelligible. 

“  You,  eh  ?”  returned  Peg.  “  And  what  do  you  want  ?” 

“I’ll  be  married  in  the  bottle-green,”  cried  Arthur  Gride. 

“  It’s  a  deal  too  good  to  be  married  in,  master,  rejoined  Peg, 
after  a  short  inspection  of  the  suit.  “  Haven’t  you  got  any 
thing  worse  than  this?” 

“Nothing  that’ll  do,”  replied  old  Arthur. 

“  Why  not  do  ?”  retorted  Peg.  “  Why  don’t  you  wear  your 
every  day  clothes  like  a  man — eh  ?” 

“They  ain’t  becoming  enough.  Peg,”  returned  her  master. 

“  Not  what  enough  ?”  said  Peg. 

“  Becoming.” 

“Becoming  what?”  said  Peg,  sharply.  “Not  becoming  too 
old  to  wear  ?  ■ 

Arthur  Gride  muttered  an  imprecation  upon  his  housekeeper’s 
deafness,  as  he  roared  in  her  ear  : 

“Not  smart  enough  :  I  want  to  look  as  well  as  I  can.” 

“Look?”  cried  Peg.  “If  she’s  as  handsome  as  you  say  sh»' 
is,  she  won’t  look  much  at  you,  master,  take  your  oath  of  that ; 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


73i 


and  as  to  how  you  look  yourself — pepper-and-salt,  bottle-green,’ 
eky-blue,  or  tartan-plaid,  will  make  no  differenee  in  you.” 

With  which  consolatory  assurance.  Peg  Sliderskew  gathered 
ap  the  chosen  suit,  and  folding  her  skinny  arms  upon  the  bundle, 
stood  mouthing,  and  grinning,  and  blinking  her  watery  eyes 
like  an  uncouth  figure  in  some  monstrous  piece  of  carving, 

“  You’re  in  a  funny  humor,  ain't  you.  Peg  ?”  said  Arthur,  with 
not  the  best  possible  grace. 

"  Why,  isn’t  it  enough  to  make  me  ?”  rejoined  the  old  woman 
“  I  shall  soon  enough  be  put  out,  though,  if  any  body  tries  to 
domineer  it  over  me,  and  so  I  give  you  notice,  master.  No 
body  shall  be  put  over  Peg  Sliderskew’s  head  after  so  many 
years ;  you  know  that,  and  so  I  needn’t  tell  you.  That  won’t 
do  for  me — no,  no,  nor  for  you.  Try  that  once  and  come  to 
ruin — ruin — ruin.” 

“  Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  shall  never  try  it,”  said  Arthur  Gride, 
appalled  by  the  mention  of  the  word,  “  not  for  the  world.  It 
would  be  very  easy  to  ruin  me;  we  must  be  very  careful ;  more 
saving  than  ever  with  another  mouth  to  feed.  Only  we — we 
mustn’t  let  her  lose  her  good  looks.  Peg,  because  I  like  to 
see  ’em.” 

“Take  care  you  don’t  find  good  looks  come  expensive,” 
returned  Peg,  shaking  her  forefinger. 

“But  she  can  earn  money  herself.  Peg,”  said  Arthur  Gride, 
eagerly  watching  what  effect  his  communication  produced  upon 
the  old  woman’s  countenance :  She  can  draw,  paint,  work  all 
manner  of  pretty  things  for  ornamenting  stools  and  chairs  : 
slippers.  Peg,  watch-guards,  hair-chains,  and  a  thousand  little 
dainty  trifles  that  I  couldn’t  give  you  half  the  names  of.  Then 
she  can  play  the  piano,  fund,  what’s  more,  she’s  got  one,)  and 
sing  like  a  little  bitu.  She’ll  be  very  cheap  to  dress  and  keep. 
Peg;  don’t  you  think  she  will?” 

“If  you  don’t  let  her  make  a  fool  of  you,  she  may,”  returned 
Peg. 

“A  fool  of  me  !”  exclaimed  Arthur.  “Trust  your  old  master 
not  to  be  fooled  by  pretty  faces.  Peg ;  no,  no,  no — nor  by  ugly 
ones  neither,  Mrs.  Sliderskew.”  he  softly  added  by  way  of 
soliloquy. 


740 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  You’re  a  saying  something  you  don’t  want  me  to  hear,” 
said  Peg  ;  “  I  know  yon  are.” 

“Oh,  dear!  the  devil’s  in  this  woman,”  muttered  Artliur*, 
adding  with  an  ugly  leer,  “  1  said  I  trusted  every  thing  to  you, 
Peg,  that  was  all.” 

“  You  do  that,  master,  and  all  your  cares  are  over,”  said  Peg. 
approvingly. 

“  When  I  do  that,  Peg  Sliderskew,”  thought  Arthur  Gride, 
“they  will  be.” 

Although  he  thought  this  very  distinctly,  he  durst  not  move 
his  lips  lest  the  old  woman  should  detect  him.  He  even  seemed 
half  afraid  that  she  might  have  read  his  thoughts,  for  he  leered 
coaxingly  upon  her  as  he  said  aloud  : — 

“  Take  up  all  loose  stitches  in  the  bottle-green  with  the  best 
black  silk.  Have  a  skein  of  the  best,  and  some  new  buttons  for 
the  coat,  and — this  is  a  good  idea.  Peg,  and  one  you’ll  like,  I 
know — as  I  have  never  given  her  any  thing  yet,  and  girls  like 
such  attentions,  you  shall  polish  up  a  sparkling  necklace  that 
I’ve  got  up  stairs,  and  I’ll  give  it  her  upon  the  wedding  morn¬ 
ing — clasp  it  round  her  charming  little  neck  myself — and  take 
it  away  again  next  day.  He,  he,  he  1 — lock  it  up  for  her.  Peg, 
and  lose  it.  Who’ll  be  made  the  fool  of  there,  I  wonder,  to 
begin  with — eh.  Peg  ?” 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  appeared  to  approve  highly  of  this  inge¬ 
nious  scheme,  and  expressed  her  satisfaction  by  various  rankings 
and  twitchings  of  her  head  and  body,  which  by  no  means  en¬ 
hanced  her  charms.  These  she  prolonged  until  she  had  hob¬ 
bled  to  the  door,  when  she  exchanged  them  for  a  sour  malig¬ 
nant  look,  and  twisting  her  under-jaw  from  side  to  side,  mut¬ 
tered  hearty  curses  upon  the  future  Mrs.  Gride,  as  she  crept 
slowly  down  the  stairs,  and  paused  for  breath  at  nearly  every  one. 

“  She’s  half  a  witch,  I  think,”  said  Arthur  Gride,  when  he 
found  himself  again  alone.  “  But  she’s  very  frugal,  and  she’s 
very  deaf;  her  living  costs  me  next  to  nothing,  and  it’s  no  use 
her  listening  at  keyholes,  for  she  can’t  hear.  She’s  a  charming 
woman — for  the  purpose  ;  a  most  discreet  old  housekeeper,  and 
worth  her  weight  in — copper.” 

Having  extolled  the  merits  of  his  domestic  in  these  high  terms, 
old  Arthur  went  back  to  the  burden  of  his  song,  and,  the  suit  • 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


741 


destined  to  grace  his  approaching  nuptials  being  now  selected, 
replaced  the  others  with  no  less  care  than  he  had  displayed  in 
drawing  them  from  the  musty  nooks  where  they  had  silently 
reposed  for  many  years. 

Startled  by  a  ring  at  the  door,  he  hastily  concluded  this  ope¬ 
ration,  and  locked  the  press  ;  but  there  was  no  need  for  any 
particular  hurry  as  the  discreet  Peg  seldjm  knew  the  bell  was 
rung  unless  she  happened  to  cast  her  dim  eyes  upwards  and  to 
see  it  shaking  against  the  kitchen  ceiling.  After  a  short  delay, 
however.  Peg  tottered  in,  followed  by  Newman  Noggs. 

“Ah  1  Mr.  Noggs  1”  cried  Arthur  Gride,  rubbing  his  hands. 
“  My  good  friend,  Mr.  Noggs,  what  news  do  you  bitng  for  me. 

Newman,  with  a  steadfast  and  immoveable  aspect,  and  his 
fixed  eye  very  fixed  indeed,  replied,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  “A  letter.  From  Mr.  Nickleby.  The  bearer  waits.” 

“Won’t  you  take  a — a — ” 

Newman  looked  up,  and  smacked  his  lips. 

“  A  chair  ?”  said  Arthur  Gride. 

“No,”  replied  Newman.  “  Thank’ee.” 

Arthur  opened  the  letter  with  trembling  hands,  and  devoured 
its  contents  with  the  utmost  greediness,  chuckling  rapturously 
over  it  and  reading  it  several  times  before  he  could  take  it  from 
before  his  eyes.  So  many  times  did  he  peruse  and  reperuse  it, 
that  Newman  considered  it  expedient  to  remind  him  of  his 
presence. 

“Answer,”  said  Newman.  “Bearer  waits.” 

“True,”  replied  old  Artlmr.  “Yes — yes;  I  almost  forgot,  I 
do  declare.” 

“I  thought  you  were  forgetting,”  sai’d  Newman. 

“  Quite  right  to  remind  me,  Mr.  Noggs.  Oh  very  right  in¬ 
deed,”  said  Arthur.  “Yes.  I’ll  write  a  line.  I’m — I’m  rather 
hurried,  Mr.  Noggs  The  news  is — ” 

“Bad?”  interrupted  Newman. 

“  No,  j\lr.  Noggs,  thank  you  ;  good,  good.  The  very  best  of 
news.  Sit  down.  I’ll  get  the  pen  and  ink,  and  write  a  line  in 
answer.  I’ll  not  detain  you  long,  I  know  you’re  a  treasure  to 
your  master, Mr.  Noggs.  He  speaks  of  you  in  such  terms  some¬ 
times,  that,  oh  dear  !  you’d  be  astonished.  I  may  say  that  I  do 
too.  and  always  did.  I  always  say  the  same  of  you.” 


742 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


That’s  ‘  Curse  Mr.  Noggs  with  all  ray  heart !’  then,  if  you 
dO;”  thought  Newraan,  as  Gride  hurried  out. 

The  letter  had  fallen  on  the  ground.  Looking  carefully  about 
hira  for  an  instant,  Newman,  impelled  by  curiosity  to  know  the 
result  of  the  design  he  had  overheard  from  his  office  closet, 
caught  it  up'and  rapidly  read  as  lollows  : 

“  Gride, 

“  1  saw  Bray  again  this  morning,  and  proposed  the  day 
after  to-morrow  (as  you  suggested)  for  the  marriage.  There  is 
no  objection  on  his  part,  and  all  days  are  alike  to  his  daughter. 
'We  will  go  together,  and  you  must  be  with  me  by  seven  in  the 
morning.  I  need  not  tell  yon  to  be  punctual. 

“Make  no  further  visits  to  the  girl  in  the  mean  time.  You 
have  been  there  of  late  much  oftener  than  you  should.  She 
does  not  languish  for  you,  and  it  might  have  been  dangerous. 
Bestrain  your  youthful  ardor  for  eight-and- forty  hours,  and  leave 
her  to  the  father.  You  only  undo  what  he  does,  and  does  well. 

“  Yours, 

“  Ralph  Nickleby.” 

A  footstep  was  heard  without.  Newman  dropped  the  letter 
on  the  same  spot  again,  pressed  it  with  his  foot  to  prevent  its 
fluttering  away,  regained  his  seat  in  a  single  stride,  and  looked 
as  vacant  and  unconscious  as  ever  mortal  looked.  Arthur  Gride, 
after  peering  nervously  about  him,  spied  it  on  the  ground,  picked 
it  up,  and  sitting  down  to  write,  glanced  at  Newman  Noggs, 
Mdio  was  staring  at  the  wall  with  an  intensity  so  remarkable, 
that  Arthur  was  quite  alarmed. 

“  Do  you  see  anything  particular,  Mr.  Noggs  ?”  said  Arthur, 
trying  to  follow  the  direction  of  Newman’s  eyes — which  was  an 
impossibility  and  a  thing  no  man  had  ever  done. 

“  Only  a  cobweb,”  replied  Newman. 

“  Oh  I  is  that  all  ?” 

“  No,”  said  Newman.  “  There’s  a  fly  in  it.” 

“  There  are  a  good  many  cobwebs  here,”  observed  Arthur 
Gride. 

“So  there  are  in  our  place,”  returned  Newman;  “and  flies, 

too  ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


743 


Newman  appeared  to  derive  great  entertainment  from  this 
repartee,  and  to  the  great  discomposure  of  Arthur  Gride’s  nerves 
produced  a  series  of  sharp  cracks  from  his  finger-joints,  resem¬ 
bling  the  noise  of  a  distant  discharge  of  small  artillery.  Arthur 
succeeded  in  finishing  his  reply  to  Kalph’s  note,  nevertheless, 
and  at  length  handed  it  over  to  the  eccentric  messenger  for  de. 
livery. 

“That’s  it,  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  Gride. 

Newman  gave  a  nod,  put  it  in  his  hat,  and  was  shuffling 
away,  when  Gride,  whose  doting  delight  knew  no  bounds, 
beckoned  him  back  again,  and  said  in  a  shrill  whisper,  and  with 
a  grin  which  puckered  up  his  whole  face,  and  almost  obscured 
his  eyes — 

“  Will  you — will  you  take  a  little  drop  of  something — ^just  a 
taste  ?” 

In  good  fellowship  (if  Arthur  Gride  had  been  capable  of  it) 
Newman  wonld  not  have  drunk  with  him  one  bubble  of  the 
richest  wine  that  was  ever  made  ;  but  to  see  what  he  w^uld  be 
at,  and  to  punish  him  as  much  as  he  could,  he  accepted  the 
offer  immediately. 

Arthur  Gride,  therefore,  again  applied  himself  to  tlm  press, 
and  from  a  shelf  laden  with  tali  Flemish  drinking-glasses  and 
quaint  bottles,  some  with  necks  like  so  many  storks,  and  others 
with  square  Dutch-built  bodies  and  short  fat  apopletic  throats, 
took  down  one  dusty  bottle  of  promising  appearance  and  two 
glasses  of  curiously  small  size. 

“You  never  tasted  this,”  said  Arthur.  “It’s  eau-d'or — 
golden  water.  I  like  it  on  account  of  its  name.  It’s  a  delicious 
name.  Water  of  gold,  golden  water!  Oh  dear  me,  it  seems 
quite  a  sin  to  drink  it!” 

As  his  courage  appeared  to  be  fast  failing  him,  and  he  trifled 
with  the  stopper  in  a  manner  which  threatened  the  dismissal  of 
the  bottle  to  its  old  place,  Nevvman  took  up  one  of  the  little 
glasses  and  chinked  it  twice  or  thrice  against  the  bottle,  as  a 
gentle  reminder  that  he  had  not  been  helped  yet.  With  a 
deep  sigh  Arthur  Gride  slowly  filled  it — though  not  to  the  brim 
i — and  then  filled  his  own. 

“  Stop,  stop;  don’t  drink  it  yet,”  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on 
Ncwinar’s  ;  “it  was  given  to  me  twenty  years  ago,  and  when  I 


744 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


take  a  little  taste,  which  is  ve — ry  seldom,  I  like  to  think  of  it 
beforehand  and  teaze  myself.  We’ll  drink  a  toast.  Shall  we 
have  a  toast,  Mr.  Noggs  ?” 

“Ah  I”  said  Newman,  eyeing  his  little  glass  impatiently. 
“  Imok  sharp.  Bearer  waits,” 

“Why,  then.  I’ll  tell  you  what,”  tittered  Arthur,  “we’ll 
di’ink — he,  he,  he  ! — we’ll  drink  a  lady.” 

“  The  ladies  ?”  said  Newman. 

“No,  no,  Mr.  Noggs,”  replied  Gride,  arresting  his  hand,  “a 
lady.  You  wonder  to  hear  me  say  a  lady — I  know  you  do,  I 
know  you  do.  Here’s  little  Madeline — that’s  the  toast,  Mr. 
Noggs — little  Madeline!” 

“Madeline!”  said  Newman;  inwardly  adding,  “and  God 
help  her !” 

The  rapidity  and  unconcern  with  which  Newman  dismissed 
his  portion  of  the  golden  water  had  a  great  effect  upon  the  old 
man,  who  sat  upright  in  his  chair  and  gazed  at  him  open- 
mouthed,  as  if  the  sight  had  taken  away  his  breath.  Quite 
unmoved,  however,  Newman  left  him  to  sip  his  own  at  leisure, 
or  to  pour  it  back  again  into  the  bottle  if  he  chose,  and  de¬ 
parted  ;  after  greatly  outraging  the  dignity  of  Peg  Sliderskew 
by  brushing  past  her  in  the  passage  without  a  word  of  apologv 
or  recognition. 

Mr.  Gride  and  his  housekeeper,  immediately  on  being  lefi 
alone,  resolved  themselves  into  a  committee  of  ways  and  means, 
and  discussed  the  arrangements  which  should  be  made  for  the 
reception  of  the  young  bride.  As  they  were,  like  some  other 
committees,  extremely  dull  and  prolix  in  debate,  this  history 
may  pursue  the  footsteps  of  Newman  Noggs,  thereby  combining 
advantage  with  necessity  ;  for  it  would  have  been  necessary  to 
do  so  under  any  circumstances,  and  necessity  has  no  law  as  all 
the  world  know. 

“You’ve  been  a  long  time,”  said  Balph,  when  Newman  re¬ 
turned. 

“  lie  was  a  long  time,”  replied  Newman. 

“Bah!”  cried  Balph,  impatiently.  “Give  me  his  note,  if  ne 
gave  you  one ;  his  message,  if  he  didn’t.  And  don’t  go  away. 
I  want  a  word  with  you.  Sir.” 

Newman  handed  in  the  note,  and  looked  very  virtuous  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


745 


innocent  while  his  employer  broke  the  seal,  and  glanced  his  eye 
over  it. 

“lie’ll  be  sure  to  come  1”  muttered  Ralph,  as  he  tore  it  to 
pieces ;  “  why  of  course  I  know  he’ll  be  sure  to  come.  What 
need  to  say  that?  Noggs!  Pray,  Sir,  what  man  was  that 
with  wdiom  I  saw  you  in  the  street  last  night  ?” 

“I  don’t  know,”  replied  Newman. 

“You  had  better  refresh  your  memory.  Sir,”  said  Ralph, 
with  a  threatening  look. 

“I  tell  you,”  returned  Newman,  boldly,  “that  I  don’t  know 
him  at  all.  He  came  here  twice  and  asked  for  you.  You  w^ere 
out.  He  came  again.  You  packed  him  off  yourself.  He 
gave  the  name  of  Brooker. 

“  I  know  he  did,”  said  Ralph  “  what  then  ?” 

“  What  then  ?  Why,  then  he  lurked  about  and  dogged  me 
in  the  street.  He  follows  me  night  after  night,  and  urges  me 
to  bring  him  face  to  face  with  you,  as  he  says  he  has  been  once, 
and  not  long  ago  either.  He  wants  to  sec  you  face  to  face,  he 
says,  and  you’ll  soon  hear  him  out,  he  warrants.” 

“  And  what  say  you  to  that  ?”  inquired  Ralph,  looking  keenly 
at  his  drudge. 

“That  it’s  no  business  of  mine,  and  I  w^on’t.  I  told  him  he 
might  catch  you  in  the  street,  if  that  was  all  he  wanted,  but  no  ! 
that,  wouldn’t  do.  You  w^ouldn’t  hear  a  w^ord  there,  he  said. 
He  must  have  you  alone  in  a  room  with  the  door  locked,  w^here 
he  could  speak  without  fear,  and  you’d  soon  change  your  tone, 
and  hear  him  patiently.” 

“  An  audacious  dog  !”  Ralph  muttered. 

“  That’s  all  I  know,”  said  Newman,  “I  say  again,  I  don’t 
know  what  man  he  is.  I  don’t  believe  he  knows  himself.  You 
have  seen  him  ;  perhaps  you  do.” 

“  I  think  I  do,”  replied  Ralph. 

“  Well,”  retorted  Newman,  sulkily,  “  then  don’t  expect  me  to 
know  him  too,  that’s  all.  You’ll  ask  me  next  why  I  never  told 
you  this  before.  What  would  you  say,  if  I  was  to  tell  you  all 
that  people  say  of  you?  What  do  you  call  me  when  I  some¬ 
times  do?  ‘Brute,  ass  I’  and  snap  at  me  like  a  dragon.” 

This  was  true  enough,  though  the  question  which  Newman 
anticipated  was,  in  fact,  upon  Ralph’s  lips  at  the  moment. 


,46 


NICHOLAS  NIOKLEBT. 


“He  is  an  idle  ruffian,”  said  Ralph;  ‘‘a  vagabond  from 
beyond  the  sea,  where  he  traveled  for  his  crimes,  a  felon  let  loose 
to  run  his  neck  into  the  halter ;  a  swindler,  who  has  the  auda¬ 
city  to  try  his  schemes  on  me  who  know  him  well.  The  next 
time  he  tampers  with  you,  hand  him  over  to  the  police,  for 
attempting  to  extort  money  by  lies  and  threats, — d’ye  hear  ? 
and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  He  shall  cool  his  heels  in  iail  a  little 
time,  and  I’ll  be  bound  he  looks  for  other  folks  to  leece  when 
he  comes  out.  You  mind  what  I  say,  do  you  ?” 

“  I  hear,”  said  Newman. 

“Do  it  then,”  returned  Ralph,  “and  I’ll  reward  you.  Now, 
you  may  go.” 

Newman  readily  availed  himself  of  the  permission,  and  shut¬ 
ting  himself  up  in  his  little  otBce,  remained  there  in  very  serious 
cogitation  all  day.  When  he  was  released  at  night,  he  pro¬ 
ceeded  with  all  the  expedition  he  could  use  to  the  city,  and 
took  up  his  old  position  behind  the  pump,  to  watch  for  Nicho¬ 
las — for  Newman  Noggs  was  proud  in  his  way,  and  couid  not 
bear  to  appear  as  his  friend  before  the  Brothers  Cheeryole,  in 
the  shabby  and  degraded  state  to  which  he  was  reduced. 

He  had  not  occupied  this  position  many  minutes  when  he  vvas 
rejoiced  to  see  Nicholas  approaching,  and  darted  out  from  his 
ambuscade  to  meet  him.  Nicholas,  on  his  part,  was  no  less 
pleased  to  encounter  his  friend,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  some 
time,  so  their  greeting  was  a  warm  one. 

“  I  was  thinking  of  you  at  that  moment,”  said  Nicholau. 

“  That’s  right,”  rejoined  Newman,  “  and  I  of  you.  I  C0i*idn’t 
help  coming  up  to-night.  I  say,  I  think  I’m  going  to  find  out 
something.” 

“  And  what  may  that  be  ?”  returned  Nicholas,  smiling  at  this 
odd  communication. 

“  I  don’t  know  what  it  may  be,  I  don’t  know  what  it  may  not 
be,”  said  Newman ;  “  it’s  some  secret  in  which  your  uncle  is 
concerned,  but  what,  I’ve  not  yet  been  able  to  discover,  although 
I  have  my  strong  suspicions.  I’ll  not  himt  ’em  now,  in  case  you 
should  be  disappointed.” 

“  I  disappointed  1”  cried  Nicholas;  “  am  I  interested  ?” 

“I  think  you  are,”  replied  Newman.  I  have  a  crotchet  in 
my  head  that  it  must  be  so.  “I  have  found  out  a  man,  who 


.'NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


747 


plainly  knows  more  than  he  cares  to  tell  at  once,  and  he  has 
already  dropped  such  hints  to  me  as  puzzle  me — I  say,  as  puzzle 
me,”  said  Newman,  scratching  his  red  nose  into  a  state  of  violent 
inflammation,  and  staring  at  Nicholas  with  all  his  might  and 
main  meanwhile. 

Admiring  what  could  have  wound  his  friend  up  to  such  a 
pitch  of  mystery,  Nicholas  endeavored,  by  a  series  of  ques¬ 
tions,  to  elucidate  the  cause,  but  in  vain.  Newman  could  not 
be  drawn  into  any  mor&  explicit  statement,  than  a  repetition  of 
the  perplexities  he  had  already  thrown  out,  and  a  confused 
oration,  showing,  how  it  was  necessary  to  use  the  utmost  cau¬ 
tion  ;  now  the  lynx-eyed  Ralph  had  already  seen  him  in  com 
pany  with  his  unknown  correspondent ;  and  how  he  had  baffled 
the  said  Ralph  by  extreme  guardedness  of  manner  and  inge¬ 
nuity  of  speech,  having  prepared  himself  for  such  a  contingency 
from  the  first. 

Remembering  his  companion’s  propensity, — of  which  his 
nose,  indeed,  perpetually  warned  all  beholders  like  a  beacon,- — 
Nicholas  had  drawn  him  into  a  sequestered  tavern,  and  there 
they  fell  to  reviewing  the  origin  and  progress  of  their  acquaint¬ 
ance,  as  men  sometimes  do,  and  tracing  out  the  little  events  by 
which  it  was  most  strongly  marked,  came  at  last  to  Miss  Cecilia 
IJobster. 

“And  that  reminds  me,”  said  Newman,  “that  you  never  told 
me  the  young  lady’s  real  name.” 

“  Madeline  I”  said  Nicholas. 

“ Madeline  !”  cried  Newman;  “what  Madeline?  Her  other 
name — say  her  other  name.” 

“Bray  !”  said  Nicholas,  in  great  astonishment. 

“  It’s  the  same  !”  shrieked  Newman.  “  Sad  story  ?  Can  yon 
stand  idly  by,  and  let  that  unnatural  marriage  take  place  with¬ 
out  one  attempt  to  save  her  ?” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  exclaimed  Nicholas,  starting  up; 
“  marriage  !  are  you  mad  ?” 

“Are  you?  is  she?  are  yon  blind,  deaf,  senseless,  dead  ?” 
said  Newman.  “  Do  you  know  that  within  one  day,  by  means 
of  your  uncle  Ralph,  she  will  be  married  to  a  man  as  bad  as 
he,  and  worse,  if  worse  there  is  ?  Do  you  know  that  within 
out  day  she  will  be  sacrificed,  as  sure  as  you  stand  there  alive. 


r48 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


to  a  hoary  wretch — a  devil  born  and  bred,  and  grey  in  devils* 
ways  ?” 

“  Be  careful  what  you  say,”  replied  Nicholas,  “  for  Heaven’s 
sake  be  careful.  I  am  left  here  alone,  and  those  who  could 
stretch  out  a  hand  to  rescue  her  are  far  away.  What  is  it  that 
you  mean  ?” 

“  I  never  heard  her  name,”  said  Newman,  choking  with  his 
energy.  “Why  didn’t  you  tell  me?  How  was  I  to  know? 
We  might  at  least  have  had  some  time  to  think  1” 

“  What  is  it  that  you  mean?”  cried  Nicholas. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  arrive  at  this  information ;  but 
after  a  great  quantity  of  extraordinary  pantomime  which  in  no 
way  assisted  it,  Nicholas,  who  was  almost  as  wild  as  Newman 
Noggs  himself,  forced  him  down  upon  his  seat  and  held  him 
down  till  he  began  his  tale. 

Rage,  astonishment,  indignation,  and  a  storm  of  passions 
rushed  through  the  listener’s  heart  as  the  plot  was  laid  bai-e. 
He  no  sooner  understood  it  all,  than  with  a  face  of  ashy  pale¬ 
ness,  and  trembling  in  every  limb,  he  darted  from  the  house. 

“  Stop  him  !”  cried  Newman,  bolting  out  in  pursuit.  “  He’ll 
be  doing  something  desperate — he’ll  murder  somebody — hallo  I 
there,  stop  him.  Stop  thief !  stop  thief  1” 


CHAPTER  LII. 


NICHOI.AS  DESPAmS  OF  RESCUING  MADELINE  BRAY,  BUT  PI.UCKS 

UP  HIS  SPIRITS  AGAIN,  AND  DETERMINES  TO  ATTEMPT  IT. 

DOMESTIC  INTELLIGENCE  OF  THE  KENWIGSES  AND  LILLYVI0K8. 

Finding  that  Newman  was  determined  to  arrest  his  progress 
at  any  hazard,  and  apprehensive  that  some  well-intentioned 
passenger,  attracted  by  the  cry  of  “stop-thief,”  might  really  lay 
violent  hands  upon  his  person,  and  place  him  in  a  disagreeable 
predicament  from  which  he  might  have  some  difficulty  in  extri¬ 
cating  himself,  Nicholas  soon  slackened  his  ])ace,  and  suffered 
Newman  Noggs  to  come  up  with  him,  which  he  did  in  so 
breathless  a  condition  that  it  seemed  impossible  he  could  have 
held  out  for  a  minute  longer. 

“  I  will  go  straighu  to  Bray’s,”  said  Nicholas.  “I  will  see 
this  man  ;  and  if  there  is  one  feeling  of  humanity  lingering  in 
his  breast,  one  spark  of  consideration  for  his  own  child,  mother¬ 
less  and  friendless  as  she  is,  I  will  awaken  it.” 

“You  will  not,”  replied  Newman,  “You  will  not,  indeed.” 

“  Then,”  said  Nicholas,  pressing  onward,  “  I  will  act  upon  my 
first  impulse,  and  go  straight  to  Ralph  Nickleby.” 

“By  the  time  you  reach  his  house  he  will  be  in  bed,”  said 
Newman. 

“  I’ll  drag  him  from  it,”  cried  Nicholas,  fiercely. 

“  Tut,  tut,”  said  Noggs  “Be  yourself.” 

“You  are  the  best  of  friends  to  me,  Newman,”  rejoined 
Nicholas  after  a  pause,  and  taking  his  hand  as  he  spoke.  “I 
have  made  head  against  many  trials,  but  the  misery  of  aiiolher, 
and  such  misery  is  involved  in  this  one,  that  I  declare  to  you 
1  am  rendered  desperate,  and  know  not  how  to  act.” 

In  truth  it  did  seem  a  hopeless  case.  It  was  impossible  to 
make  any  use  of  such  intelligence  as  Newman  Noggs  had 
gleaned  when  he  lay  concealed  in  the  closet.  The  mere  cir¬ 
cumstance  of  the  compact  between  Ralph  Nickleby  and  Gride 

(7491 


750 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


would  not  invalidate  the  marriage,  or  render  Bray  averse  to  it, 
wdio,  if  he  did  not  actually  know  of  the  existence  of  some  such 
understanding,  doubtless  suspected  it.  What  had  been  hinted 
wdth  reference  to  some  fraud  on  Madeline,  had  been  put  with 
sufficient  obscurity  by  Arthur  Gride,  but  coming  from  Newman 
Noggs,  and  obscured  still  further  by  the  smoke  of  his  pocket 
pistol,  it  became  wholly  unintelligible  and  involved  in  utter 
darkness. 

“There  seems  no  ray  of  hope,”  said  Nicholas. 

“The  greater  necessity  for  coolness,  for  reason,  for  considera¬ 
tion,  for  thought,”  said  Newman,  pausing  at  every  alternate 
word,  to  look  anxiously  in  his  friend’s  face.  “  Where  are  the 
brothers  ?” 

“  Both  absent  on  urgent  business,  as  they  will  be  for  a  week 
to  come.” 

“  Is  there  no  way  of  communicating  wdth  them  ?  no  w'ay  of 
getting  one  of  them  here  by  to-morrow  night  ?” 

“Impossible!”  said  Nicholas,  “the  sea  is  between  us  and 
them.  With  the  fairest  winds  that  ever  blew,  to  go  and  return 
would  take  three  days  and  nights.” 

“Their  nephew — ”  said  Newman,  “their  old  clerk.” 

“AVhat  could  either  do  that  I  cannot  ?”  rejoined  Nicholas. 
“With  reference  to  them  especially,  I  am  enjoined  to  the 
strictest  silence  on  this  subject.  What  right  have  I  to  betray 
the  confidence  reposed  in  me,  when  nothing  but  a  miracle  can 
prevent  this  monstrous  sacrifice  ?” 

“Think,”  urged  Newmian.  “Is  there  no  way?” 

“There  is  none,”  said  Nicholas,  in  utter  dejection.  “Not 
one.  The  lather  urges — the  daughter  consents.  These  demons 
have  her  in  their  toils  ;  legal  right,  might,  power,  money,  and 
every  influence  ai’e  on  their  side.  How  can  I  hope  to  save 
her  ?” 

“  Hope  TO  the  last,”  said  Newman,  clapping  him  on  the  back. 
“  Always  hope,  that’s  a  dear  boy.  Never  leave  off  hoping,  it 
don’t  answer.  Do  you  mind  me,  Nick  ?  it  don’t  answer.  Don’t 
leave  a  stone  unturned.  It’s  always  something  to  know  you’ve 
done  the  most  you  could.  But  don’t  leave  off  hoping,  or  it’s 
of  no  use  doing  any  thing.  Hope,  hope,  to  the  last!” 

Nicholas  needed  encouragement,  for  the  suddenness  with 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  T. 


751 


which  intelligence  of  the  two  usurers’  plans  had  come  upon 
nim,  the  little  time  which  remained  for  exertion,  the  proba¬ 
bility,  almost  amounting  to  certainty  itself,  that  a  few  hours 
would  place  Madeline  Bray  forever  beyond  his  reach,  consign 
her  to  unspeakable  misery,  and  perhaps  to  an  untimely  death  : 
all  this  quite  stunned  and  overwhelmed  him.  Every  hope  con¬ 
nected  with  her  that  he  had  suffered  himself  to  form,  or  had 
entertained  unconsciously,  seemed  to  fall  at  his  feet  withered 
and  dead.  Every  charm  with  which  his  memory  or  imagination 
had  surrounded  her,  presented  itself  before  him  only  to  heighten 
his  anguish  and  add  new  bitterness  to  his  despair.  Every  feeling 
of  sympathy  for  her  forlorn  condition,  and  of  admiration  for  her 
heroism  and  fortitude,  aggravated  the  indignation  which  shook 
him  in  every  limb,  and  swelled  his  heart  almost  to  bursting. 

But  if  Nicholas’s  own  heart  embarrassed  him,  Newman’s 
came  to  his  relief.  There  was  so  much  earnestness  in  his  re¬ 
monstrance,  and  such  sincerity  and  fervor  in  his  manner,  odd 
and  ludicrous  as  it  always  was,  that  it  imparted  to  Nicholas 
new  firmness,  and  enabled  him  to  say,  after  he  had  walked  on 
for  some  little  way  in  silence, 

“You  read  me  a  good  lesson,  Newman,  and  I  will  profit  by 
it.  One  step  at  least  I  may  take,  am  bound  to  take  indeed, 
and  to  that  I  will  apply  myself  to-morrow.” 

“What  is  that?”  asked  Noggs,  wistfully.  “Not  to  threaten 
Balph  ?  Not  to  see  the  father  ?” 

“To  see  the  daughter,  Newman,”  replied  Nicholas.  “To 
do  what  after  all  is  the  utmost  that  the  brothers  could  do  if 
they  were  here,  as  Heaven  send  they  were  I  To  reason  with 
her  upon  this  hideous  union,  to  point  out  to  her  all  the  horrors 
to  which  she  is  hastening;  rashly,  it  may  be,  and  without  due 
reflection.  To  entreat  her  at  least  to  pause.  She  can  have 
had  no  counselor  for  her  good  ;  and  perhaps  even  I  may  move 
her  so  far  yet,  though  it  is  the  eleventh  hour,  and  she  up  )n  the 
very  brink  of  ruin.” 

“  Bravely  spoken  !”  said  Newman.  “  Well  done,  well  done  ! 
Yes.  Very  good.” 

“And  I  do  declare,”  cried  Nicholas,  with  honest  enthusiasm, 
“that  in  this  effort  lam  influenced  l)y  no  selfish  or  personal 
considerations,  but  by  pity  for  her  and  detestation  and  abhor 
4S 


762 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


rence  of  this  heartless  scheme ;  and  that  I  would  do  the  same 
were  there  twenty  rivals  in  the  field,  and  I  the  last  and  least 
favored  of  them  all.” 

“You  would,  I  believe,”  said  Newman.  “But  where  are  you 
hurrying  now  ?” 

“  Homewards,”  answered  Nicholas.  “  Do  you  come  with  me, 
or  shall  I  say  good  night  ?” 

“I’ll  come  a  little  way  if  you  will  but  walk,  not  run,’’  said 
Noggs. 

“  I  cannot  walk  to-night,  Newman,”  returned  Nicholas,  hur¬ 
riedly.  “  I  must  move  rapidly,  or  I  could  not  draw  my  breath. 
I’ll  tell  you  what  I’ve  said  and  done  to-morrow  !” 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  darted  off  at  a  rapid  pace, 
and  plunging  into  the  crowds  which  thronged  the  street,  was 
quickly  lost  to  view. 

“  He’s  a  violent  youth  at  times,”  said  Newman,  looking  after 
him ;  “  and  yet  I  like  him  for  it.  There’s  cause  enough  now, 
or  the  deuce  is  in  it.  Hope  !  I  said  hope,  I  think  I  Ralph 
Nickleby  and  Gride  with  their  heads  together — and  hope  for 
the  opposite  party  !  Ho  !  ho  !” 

It  was  with  a  very  melancholy  laugh  that  Newman  Noggs 
concluded  this  soliloquy,  and  it  was  with  a  very  melancholy 
shake  of  the  head  and  a  very  rueful  countenance,  that  he  turned 
about,  aud  went  plodding  on  his  way. 

This,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  have  been  to  some 
small  tavern  or  dram-shop,  that  being  his  way  in  more  senses 
than  one;  but  Newman  was  too  much  interested  and  too 
anxious  to  betake  himself  even  to  this  resource,  and  so,  with 
many  desponding  and  dismal  reflections,  went  straight  home. 

It  had  come  to  pass  that  afternoon,  that  Miss  Morleena  Ken- 
wigs  had  received  an  invitation  to  repair  next  day  per  steamer 
from  Westminster  Bridge  unto  the  Eel-pie  Island  at  Twicken¬ 
ham,  there  to  make  merry  upon  a  cold  collation,  bottled-beer, 
shrub,  and  shrimps,  and  to  dance  in  the  open  air  to  the  music 
of  a  locomotive  band,  conveyed  thither  for  the  purpose  :  the 
steamer  being  specially  engaged  by  a  dancing-master  of  ex¬ 
tensive  connection  for  the  accommodation  of  his  numerous 
pupils,  and  the  pupils  displaying  their  aporeciation  of  the 
dancing-master’s  services  by  purchasing  themselves,  and  in- 


NICnOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


768 


fencing  their  friends  to  do  the  like,  divers  light-blue  tickets  en¬ 
titling  them  to  join  the  expedition.  Of  these  light-blue  tickets, 
one  had  been  presented  by  an  ambitious  neighbor  to  Miss  Mor- 
leena  Kenwigs,  with  an  invitation  to  join  her  daughters;  anti 
Mrs.  Kenwigs,  rightly  deeming  that  the  honor  of  the  family  was 
involved  in  Miss  Morleena’s  making  the  most  splendid  appear¬ 
ance  possible  on  so  short  a  notice,  and  testifying  to  the  dancing- 
master  that  there  were  other  dancing-masters  besides  him,  and 
to  all  fathers  and  mothers  present  that  other  people’s  child'’en 
could  learn  to  be  genteel  besides  theirs,  had  fainted  away  twice 
under  the  magnitude  of  her  preparations,  but  upheld  by  a  de¬ 
termination  to  sustain  the  family  name  or  perish  in  the  attempt, 
was  still  hard  at  work  when  Newman  Noggs  came  home. 

Now,  between  the  Italian-ironing  of  frills,  the  flouncing  of 
trousers,  the  trimming  of  frocks,  the  hxintings  and  the  comings- 
to  again  incidental  to  the  occasion,  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  been  so 
entirely  occupied  that  she  had  not  observed,  until  within  half 
an  hour  before,  that  tlie  flaxen  tails  of  Miss  Morleena’s  hair 
were  in  a  manner  run  to  seed  ;  and  that  unless  she  were  put 
under  the  hands  of  a  skillful  hair-dresser,  she  never  could  achieve 
that  signal  triumph  over  the  daughters  of  all  other  people,  any 
thing  less  than  which  would  be  tantamount  to  defeat.  This 
discovery  drove  Mrs.  Kenwigs  to  despair,  for  the  hair-dresser 
lived  three  streets  and  eight  dangerous  crossings  off.  Morleena 
could  not  be  trusted  to  go  there  alone,  even  if  such  a  proceeding 
were  strictly  proper,  of  which  ISIrs.  Kenwigs  had  her  doubts  ; 
Mr.  Kenwigs  had  not  returned  from  business;  and  there  was 
nobody  to  take  her.  So  Mrs.  Kenwigs  first  slapped  Miss 
Kenwigs  for  being  the  cause  of  her  vexation,  and  then  shed 
tears. 

“You  ungrateful  child  I”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  “after  I  have 
gone  through  what  I  have  this  night  for  your  good.” 

“  I  can’t  help  it,  ma,”  replied  Morleena,  also  in  tears;  “my 
hair  will  grow.” 

“  Don’t  talk  to  me,  you  naughty  thing  !”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs, 
“don’t,  Even  if  1  was  to  trust  yon  by  yourself  and  you  were 
to  escape  being  run  over,  I  know  you’d  run  in  to  Laura  Chop- 
kins,”  who  was  the  daughter  of  the  ambitious  neighbor,  “and 
tell  her  what  you’re  going  to  wear  to-morrow,  I  know  yon 


754 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEHI. 


would.  You’ve  no  proper  pride  in  yourself,  and  are  not  Lo  bd 
trusted  out  of  sight  for  an  instant.” 

Deploring  the  evil-mindedness  of  her  eldest  daughter  in  these 
terms,  Mrs.  Kenwigs  distilled  fresh  drops  of  vexation  from  her 
eyes,  and  declared  that  she  did  believe  there  never  was  anybody 
BO  tried  as  she  was.  Thereupon  Morleena  Kenwigs  wept 
afresh,  and  they  bemoaned  themselves  together. 

Matters  were  at  this  point  as  Newman  Noggs  was  heard  to 
limp  past  the  door  on  his  way  up  stairs,  when  Mrs.  KenwigvS, 
gaining  new  hope  from  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  hastily  re¬ 
moved  from  her  countenance  as  many  traces  of  her  late  emotion 
as  were  effaceable  on  so  short  a  notice ;  and  presenting  herself 
before  him,  and  representing  their  dilemma,  entreated  that  he 
would  escort  Morleena  to  the  hair-dresser’s  shop. 

“I  wouldn’t  ask  you,  Mr.  Noggs,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  “if 
I  didn’t  know  what  a  good,  kind-hearted  creature  you  are — no, 
not  for  worlds.  I  am  a  weak  constitution,  Mr.  Noggs,  but  my 
spirit  would  no  more  let  me  ask  a  favor  where  I  thought  there 
was  a  chance  of  its  being  refused,  than  it  would  let  me  submit 
to  see  my  children  trampled  down  and  trod  upon  by  envy  and 
lowness  !” 

Newman  was  too  good-natured  not  to  have  consented,  even 
without  this  avowal  of  confidence  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 
Accordingly,  a  very  few  minutes  had  elapsed  when  he  and  Miss 
Morleena  were  on  their  way  to  the  hair-dresser’s. 

It  was  not  exactly  a  hair-dresser’s ;  that  is  to  say,  people 
of  a  coai’se  and  vulgar  turn  of  mind  might  have  called  it  a 
barber’s,  for  they  not  only  cut  and  curled  ladies  elegantly  and 
children  carefully,  but  shaved  gentlemen  easily.  Still  it  was 
a  highly  genteel  establishment — quite  first-rate  in  fact — and 
there  were  displayed  in  the  window,  besides  other  elegancies, 
waxen  busts  of  a  light  lady  and  a  dark  gentleman,  which  were 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  neighborhood.  Indeed,  some  ladies 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  assert,  that  the  dark  gentleman  was  ac¬ 
tually  a  portrait  of  the  spirited  young  proprietor,  and  the  great 
similarity  between  their  head-dresses — both  wore  very  glossy 
hair  with  a  narrow  walk  straight  down  the  middle,  and  a  pro¬ 
fusion  of  Hat  circular  curls  on  both  sides — encouraged  the  idea 
The  better  informed  among  the  sex,  however,  made  light  of  this 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


756 


assertion,  for  however  willing  they  were  (and  they  were  very  will¬ 
ing)  to  do  full  justice  to  the  handsome  face  and  figure  of  the  pro¬ 
prietor,  they  held  the  countenance  of  the  dark  gentleman  in  the 
window  to  be  an  exquisite  and  abstract  idea  of  masculine  beauty, 
realized  sometimes  perhaps  among  angels  and  military  men,  but 
very  rarely  embodied  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  mortals. 

It  was  to  this  establishment  that  Newman  Noggs  led  Miss 
Kenwigs  in  safety,  and  the  proprietor  knowdng  that  Miss  Ken- 
wigs  had  three  sisters,  each  with  two  flaxen  tails,  and  all  good 
for  sixpence  a-piece  once  a  month  at  least,  promptly  deserted 
an  old  gentleman  whom  he  had  just  lathered  for  shaving,  and 
handing  him  over  to  the  journeyman,  (who  was  not  very  popular 
among  the  ladies,  by  reason  of  his  obesity  and  middle  age,) 
waited  on  the  young  lady  himself. 

Just  as  this  change  had  been  effected,  there  presented  himself 
for  shaving,  a  big,  burly,  good-humored  coal-heaver,  with  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  who  drawing  his  hand  across  his  chin,  requested 
to  know  when  a  shaver  would  be  disengaged. 

The  journeyman  to  whom  this  question  was  put  looked 
doubtfully  at  the  young  proprietor,  and  the  young  proprietor 
looked  scornfully  at  the  coahheaver,  observing  at  the  same 
time — 

“You  won’t  get  shaved  here,  my  man.” 

“  Why  not  ?”  said  the  coal-heaver. 

“We  don’t  shave  gentlemen  in  your  line,”  remarked  the 
young  proprietor. 

“  Why,  I  see  you  a  shaving  of  a  baker  when  I  was  a  looking 
through  the  winder,  last  week,”  said  the  coal  heaver. 

“  It’s  necessary  to  draw  the  line  somewheres,  my  fine  feller,” 
replied  the  principal.  “  We  draw  the  line  there.  We  can’t  go 
beyond  bakers.  If  we  was  to  get  any  lower  than  bakers  oui 
customers  would  desert  us,  and  we  might  shut  up  shop.  You 
must  try  some  other  establishment,  sir.  We  couldn’t  do  it 
here.” 

The  applicant  stared,  grinned  at  Newman  Noggs,  who  ap- 
peai’ed  highly  entertained,  looked  slightly  round  the  shop,  as  if 
in  depreciation  of  the  pomatum  pots  and  other  articles  of  stock, 
took  bis  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  gave  a  very  loud  wdustle,  and 
then  put  it  in  again,  and  w'alked  ont. 


756 


•  NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


The  old  gentleman  who  had  just  been  lathered,  and  who  waa 
sitting  in  a  melancholy  manner,  with  his  face  turned  towards  the 
wall,  appeared  quite  unconscious  of  this  incident,  and  to  be  insen¬ 
sible  to  every  thing  around  him  in  the  depth  of  a  reverie — a 
very  mournful  one,  to  judge  from  the  sighs  he  occasionally  vented 
■ — in  which  he  was  absorbed.  Affected  by  this  example,  the 
proprietor  began  to  clip  Miss  Ken  wigs,  the  journeyman  to  scrape 
the  old  gentleman,  and  Newman  Noggs  to  read  last  Sunday’s 
paper,  all  three  in  silence  ;  when  Miss  Kenwigs  uttered  a  shrill 
little  scream,  and  Newman  raising  his  eyes,  saw  that  it  had  been 
elicited  by  the  circumstance  of  the  old  gentleman  turning  his 
head,  and  disclosing  the  features  of  Mr.  Lillyvick,  the  collector. 

The  features  of  Mr.  Lillyvick  they  were,  but  strangely  altered. 
If  ever  an  old  gentleman  had  made  a  point  of  appearing  in 
public,  shaved  close  and  clean,  that  old  gentleman  was  Mr, 
Lillyvick.  If  ever  a  collector  had  borne  himself  like  a  collector, 
and  assumed  before  all  men  a  solemn  and  portentous  dignity 
as  if  he  had  the  world  on  his  books  and  it  was  all  two  quarters 
in  arrear,  that  collector  was  Mr.  Lillyvick.  And  now,  thei’e 
he  sat  with  the  remains  of  a  beard  at  least  a  week  old  encum¬ 
bering  his  chin,  a  soiled  and  crumpled  shirt-frill  crouching  as  it 
were  upon  his  breast  instead  of  standing  boldly  out ;  a  demeanor 
so  abashed  and  drooping,  so  despondent,  expressive  of  such 
humiliation,  grief,  and  shame,  that  if  the  souls  of  forty  unsub¬ 
stantial  housekeepers,  all  of  whom  had  had  their  water  cut  off 
for  non-payment  of  the  rate,  could  have  been  concentrated  in 
one  body,  that  one  body  could  hardly  have  expressed  such  morti¬ 
fication  and  defeat  as  were  now  expressed  in  the  person  of  Mr. 
liillyvick,  the  collector. 

Newman  Noggs  uttered  his  name,  and  Mr.  Lillyvick  groaned, 
then  coughed  to  hide  it.  But  the  groan  was  a  full-sized  groan, 
and  the  cough  was  but  a  wheeze. 

“  Is  any  thing  the  matter  ?”  said  Newman  Noggs. 

“Matter,  Sir!”  cried  Mr.  Lillyvick.  “The  plug  of  life  is 
dry.  Sir,  and  but  the  mud  is  left.” 

This  speech- — the  style  of  which  Newman  attributed  to  Mr. 
Lillyvic'k’s  recent  association  with  theatrical  characters — not 
being  quite  explanatiry,  Newman  looked  as  if  he  were  about 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEEY.  ‘ 


757 


to  ask  another  question,  when  Mr.  Lilly vick  prevented  him  by 
sliaking  his  hand  mournfully,  and  then  waving  his  own. 

“Let  me  be  shaved,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick.  “I  shall  be  done 
before  Morleena — it  is  Morleena,  isn’t  it  ?” 

“  Yes,”  said  Newman. 

“  Kcnwigses  have  got  a  boy,  haven’t  they  ?”  inquired  the 
collector. 

Again  Newman  said  “Yes.” 

“  Is  it  a  nice  boy  ?”  demanded  the  collector. 

“  It  ain’t  a  very  nasty  one,”  returned  Newman,  rather  embar¬ 
rassed  by  the  question. 

“Susan  Kenwngs  used  to  say,”  observed  the  collector,  “  that 
if  ever  she  had  another  boy,  she  hoped  it  might  be  like  me.  Is 
this  one  like  me,  Mr.  Noggs  ?” 

This  was  a  puzzling  inquiry,  but  Newman  evaded  it  by  re¬ 
plying  to  Mr.  Lillyvick,  that  he  thought  the  baby  might  possi¬ 
bly  come  like  him  in  time. 

“  I  should  be  glad  to  have  somebody  like  me,  somehow,”  said 
JNIr.  Lillyvick,  “before  I  die.” 

“  Y^'ou  don’t  mean  to  do  that  yet  awhile  ?”  said  Newman. 

Unto  which  Mr.  Lillyvick  replied  in  a  solemn  voice,  “Let  me 
be  shaved;”  and  again  consigning  himself  to  the  hands  of  the 
journeyman,  said  no  more. 

This  wms  remarkable  behavior,  and  so  remarkable  did  it  seem 
to  Miss  Morleena,  that  that  young  lady,  at  the  imminent  hazard 
of  having  her  ear  sliced  off,  had  not  been  able  to  forbear  looking 
round  some  score  of  times  during  the  foregoing  colloquy.  Of 
her,  however,  Mr.  Lillyvick  took  no  notice,  rather  striving  (so, 
at  least,  it  seemed  to  Newman  Noggs)  to  evade  her  observation, 
and  to  shrink  into  himself  whenever  he  attracted  her  regards. 
Newman  wondered  very  much  what  could  have  occasioned  this 
altered  behavior  on  the  part  of  the  collector  ;  but  philosophi¬ 
cally  reflecting  that  he  would  most  likely  know  sooner  or  later, 
aud  that  he  could  perfectly  afford  to  wait,  he  was  very  little  dis¬ 
turbed  by  the  singularity  of  the  old  gentleman’s  deportment. 

The  cutting  and  curling  being  at  last  concluded,  the  old  gen¬ 
tleman,  who  had  been  some  time  wmiting,  rose  to  go,  and  walking 
out  with  Newman  and  Id's  charge,  took  Newman’s  arm,  and 
proceeded  with  them  for  some  time  without  making  any  obser- 


758 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


vation.  Newman,  who  in  power  of  taciturnity  was  excelled  by 
few  people,  made  no  attempt  to  break  silence,  and  so  they  went 
on  until  they  liad  very  nearly  reached  Miss  Morleena’s  home, 
when  Mr.  Lillyvick  said — 

“Were  th-e  Kenwigses  very  much  overpowered,  Mr,  Noggs, 
by  that  news?” 

“What  news  ?”  returned  Newmian. 

“  That  about — my — being - ” 

“  Mai’ried  ?”  suggested  Newman. 

“  Ah  !”  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  with  another  groan — this  time 
not  even  disguised  by  a  wheeze. 

“It  made  ma  cry  when  she  knew  it,”  interposed  Miss  Mor- 
leena,  “but  we  kept  it  from  her  for  a  long  time  ;  and  pa  was 
very  low  in  his  spirits,  but  he  is  better  now ;  and  I  was  very  ill, 
but  I  am  better  too. 

“  Would  you  give  your  great-uncle  Lillyvick  a  kiss  if  he  was 
to  ask  you,  Morleena  ?”  said  the  collector,  with  some  hesitation. 

“  Yes, — uncle  Lillyvick,  I  would,”  returned  Miss  Morleena, 
wdth  the  energy  of  both  her  parents  combined  ;  “  but  not  aunt 
Lillyvick.  She’s  not  an  aunt  of  mine,  and  I’ll  never  call  her 
one.” 

Immediately  upon  the  utterance  of  these  words,  Mr.  Lillyvick 
caught  Miss  Morleena  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  being 
by  this  time  at  the  door  of  the  house  where  Mr.  Kenwigs  lodged 
(which,  as  has  been  before  mentioned,  usually  stood  wide  open), 
he  walked  straight  up  into  Mr.  Kenwigs’s  sitting-room,  and  put 
Miss  Morleena  down  in  the  midst.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
were  at  supper.  At  sight  of  their  perjured  relative,  Mrs.  Ken¬ 
wigs  turned  faint  and  pale,  and  Mr.  Kenwigs  rose  majestically 

“Kenwigs,”  said  the  collector,  “shake  hands.” 

“Sir,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “the  time  has  been  when  I  was 
proud  to  shake  hands  with  such  a  man  as  that  man  as  now  sur- 
wmys  me.  The  time  has  been.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “  when  a 
wisit  from  that  man  has  excited  in  me  and  my  family’s  boozums 
sensations  both  nateral  and  awakening.  But  now  I  look  upon 
that  man  with  emotions  totally  surpassing  everythink,  and  I  ask 
myself  where  is  his  7«onor,  where  is  his  straight-for’ardness,  and 
where  is  his  human  natur.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


759 


“  Susan  Kenwigs,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  turning  humbly  to  his 
niece,  “don’t  you  say  anything  to  me  ?” 

“She  is  not  equal  to  it,  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  striking  tlio 
table  emphatically.  “  What  with  the  nursing  of  a  healthy  bab- 
by,  and  the  reflections  on  your  cruel  conduct,  four  pints  of  malt 
liquor  a  day  is  hardly  able  to  sustain  her.” 

“I  am  glad,”  said  the  poor  collector  meekly,  “that  the  baby 
is  a  healthy  one.  I  am  very  glad  of  that.” 

This  was  touching  the  Kenwigses  on  their  tenderest  point. 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  instantly  burst  into  tears,  and  Mr.  Kenwigs 
evinced  great  emotion. 

“  My  pleasantest  feeling  all  the  time  that  child  was  expected,” 
said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  mournfully,  “was  a  thinking,  ‘if  it’s  a  boy, 
as  I  hope  it  may  be,  for  I  have  heard  its  uncle  Lillyvick  say 
agaiu  and  again  he  vrould  prefer  our  having  a  boy  next — if  it’s 
a  boy,  what  will  his  uncle  Lillyvick  say — what  will  he  like  him 
to  be  called — will  he  be  Peter,  or  Alexander,  or  Pompey,  or 
Liorgeenes,  or  what  will  he  be  ?’  and  now  when  I  look  at  him 
• — a  precious,  unconscious,  helpless  infant,  with  no  use  in  his 
little  arms  but  to  tear  his  little  cap,  and  no  use  in  his  little  legs 
but  to  kick  his  little  self — when  I  see  him  a  lying  on  his  mother’s 
lap  cooing  and  cooing,  and  in  his  innocent  state  almost  a  choking 
himself  with  his  little  fist — when  I  see  him  such  a  infant  as  he 
is,  and  think  that  that  uncle  Lillyvick,  as  was  once  a  going  to  bo 
so  fond  of  him  has  withdrawed  himself  away,  such  a  feeling  of 
wengeance  comes  over  me  as  no  language  can  depicter,  and  I 
feel  as  if  even  that  holy  babe  was  a  telling  me  to  hate  him.” 

This  aifecting  picture  moved  Mrs.  Kenwigs  deeply.  After 
several  imperfect  words  which  vainly  attempted  to  struggle  to 
the  surface,  but  were  drowned  and  washed  away  by  the  strong 
tide  of  her  tears,  she  spake. 

“Uncle,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  “  to  think  that  you  should haAO 
turned  your  back  upon  me  and  my  dear  children,  and  up-ori 
Kenwigs,  which  is  the  author  of  their  being — you  who  was  once 
so  kind  and  affectionate,  and  who,  if  any  body  had  told  us  such 
a  thing  of,  we  should  have  withered  with  scorn  like  lightning — ^ 
you  that  little  Lillyvick  our  first  and  earliest  boy  was  named 
after  at  the  very  altar — oh  gracious  ! 


700 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Was  it  money  that  we  cared  for  said  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
"Was  it  property  that  we  ever  thought  of?” 

"No,”  cried  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  "I  scorn  it.” 

"  So  do  I,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “  and  always  did. 

‘  My  feelings  have  been  lancerated,”  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  "  my 
heart  has  been  torn  asunder  with  anguish,  I  have  been  thrown 
back  in  my  confanement,  my  unoffending  infant  has  been  ren¬ 
dered  uncomfortable  and  fractious,  Morleena  has  pined  herself 
away  to  nothing ;  all  this  I  forget  and  forgive,  and  with  you, 
uncle,  I  never  can  quarrel.  But  never  ask  me  to  receive  her — 
never  do  it,  uncle.  For  I  will  not,  I  will  not,  I  won’t,  I  won’t, 
I  won’t — ” 

"Susan,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  “consider  your  child.” 

" Yes,”  shrieked  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  "I  will  consider  my  child! 
I  will  consider  my  child  !  my  own  child,  that  no  uncles  can 
deprive  me  of,  my  own  hated,  despised,  deserted,  cut-oh  little 
child.”  And  here  the  emotions  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs  became  so 
violent  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  was  fain  to  administer  hartshorn  in¬ 
ternally  and  vinegar  externally,  and  to  destroy  a  staylace,  four 
petticoat  strings,  and  several  small  buttons. 

Newman  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  this  scene,  for  Mr. 
Lillyvick  had  signed  to  him  not  to  withdraw,  and  Mr.  Kenwigs 
had  further  solicited  his  presence  by  a  nod  of  invitation.  When 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  been  in  some  degree  restored,  and  Newman, 
as  a  person  possessed  of  some  influence  vuth  her,  had  remon¬ 
strated  and  begged  her  to  compose  herself,  Mr.  Lillyvick  said 
in  a  faltering  voice  : 

"  I  never  shall  ask  any  body  here  to  receive  m}^ - 1  needn’t 

mention  the  word,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Kenwigs  and 
Susan,  yesterday  was  a  week  she  eloped  with  a  half-pay  captain.” 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  started  together. 

"Eloped  with  a  half-pay  captain,”  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick, 
"  basely  and  falsely  elo[)ed  with  a  half-pay  captain — with  a 
bottle-nosed  captain  that  any  man  might  have  considered  him¬ 
self  safe  from.  It  was  in  this  room,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  looking 
sternly  round,  “that  I  first  see  Henrietta  Petowker.  It  is  in 
this  room  that  I  turn  her  off  for  ever.” 

This  declaration  completely  changed  the  whole  posture  of 
affairs.  Mr&  Kenwigs  threw  herself  upon  the  old  gentleman’s 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


7fi1 

neck,  bitterly  reproaching  herself  for  her  late  harshness,  and 
exclaiming  if  she  had  suffered,  what  must  his  sufferings  have 
been  I  Mr.  Kenwigs  grasped  his  hand  and  vowed  eternal 
friendship  and  remorse.  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  horror-stricken  to 
think  that  she  should  ever  have  nourished  in  her  bosom  such  a 
snake,  adder,  viper,  serpent,  and  base  crocodile  as  Henrietta 
Fetowker.  Mr.  Kenwigs  argued  that  she  must  have  been  bad 
indeed  not  to  have  improved  by  so  long  a  contemplation  of  Mrs. 
Kenwigs’s  virtue.  Mrs.  Kenwigs  remembered  that  Mr.  Kenwigs 
tiad  often  said  that  he  was  not  quite  satisfied  of  the  propriety 
of  Miss  Petowker’s  couduct,  and  wondered  how  it  was  that  she 
could  have  been  blinded  by  such  a  wretch.  Mr.  Kenwigs  re¬ 
membered  that  he  had  had  his  suspicions,  but  did  not  wonder 
why  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  not  had  hers,  as  she  was  all  chastity, 
purity,  and  truth,  and  Henrietta  all  baseness,  falsehood,  and 
deceit.  And  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  both  said,  with  strong 
feeling  and  tears  of  sympathy,  that  every  thing  happened  for  the 
best,  and  conjured  the  good  collector  not  to  give  way  to  una¬ 
vailing  grief,  but  to  seek  consolation  in  the  society  of  those  af¬ 
fectionate  relations  whose  arms  and  hearts  were  ever  open  to 
him. 

"  Out  of  affection  and  regard  for  you,  Susan  and  Kenwigs,” 
said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  “and  not  out  of  revenge  and  spite  against 
her,  for  she  is  below  it,  I  shall  to-morrow  morning  settle  upon 
your  children,  and  make  payable  to  the  survivors  of  them  when 
they  come  of  age  or  marry,  that  money  that  I  once  meant 
to  leave  ’em  in  my  will.  The  deed  shall  be  executed  to-morrow, 
and  Mr.  Noggs  shall  be  one  of  the  witnesses.  He  hears  me 
promise  this,  and  he  shall  see  it  done.” 

Overpowered  by  this  noble  and  generous  offer,  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  Miss  Morleena  Kenwigs  all  began  to  sob 
together,  and  the  noise  of  their  sobbing  communicating  itself  to 
the  next  room,  where  the  children  lay  a-bed,  and  causing  them 
to  cry  too,  Mr.  Kenwigs  rushed  wildly  in  and  bringing  them 
out  in  his  arms  by  two  and  two,  tumbled  them  down  in  their 
nigbt-caps  and  gowns  at  the  feet  of  Mr.  Lillyvick,  and  called 
ujmD  them  to  thank  and  bless  him. 

“^^ud  now,”  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  when  a  heart-rending  scene 
had  ensued  and  the  children  were  cleared  away  again.  “Give 


7G2 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


me  some  supper.  This  toot  place  twenty  mile  from  town,  I 
came  up  this  morning,  and  have  been  lingering  about  all  day 
without  being  able  to  make  up  my  mind  to  come  and  see  you. 
1  Imraored  lier  in  every  thing,  she  had  her  own  way,  she  did  just 
as  she  pleased,  and  now  she  has  done  this.  There  was  twelve 
teaspoons  and  twenty-four  pound  in  sovereigns — I  missed  them 
first — it’s  a  trial — I  feel  I  shall  never  be  able  to  knock  a  double 
knock  again  when  I  go  my  rounds — don’t  say  any  thing  more 
about  it,  please — the  spoons  were  worth — never  mind — never 
mind  1” 

With  such  muttered  outpourings  as  these,  the  old  gentleman 
shed  a  few  tears,  but  they  got  him  into  the  elbow-chair  and 
prevailed  upon  him,  without  much  pressing,  to  make  a  hearty 
supper,  and  by  the  time  he  had  finished  his  first  pipe  and  dis¬ 
posed  of  half-a-dozen  glasses  out  of  a  crown  bowl  of  punch, 
ordered  by  Mr.  Kenwigs  in  celebration  of  his  return  to  the 
bosom  of  his  family,  he  seemed,  though  still  very  humble,  quite 
resigned  to  his  fate,  and  rather  relieved  than  otherwise  by  the 
flight  of  his  wife. 

“  When  I  see  that  man,”  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  with  one  hand 
round  Mrs.  Kenwigs’s  waist,  his  other  hand  supporting  his  pipe 
(which  made  liim  wink  and  cough  very  much,  for  he  was  no 
smoker)  and  his  eyes  on  Morleena,  who  sat  upon  her  uncle's 
knee,  “  when  I  see  that  man  a  mingling  once  again  in  the  spear 
which  he  adorns,  and  see  his  affections  deweloping  themselves 
in  legitimate  sitiwatious,  I  feel  that  his  natur  is  as  elewated  and 
expanded  as  his  standing  afore  society  as  a  public  character  is 
uuimpeached,  and  the  woices  of  my  infant  children  purvided 
for  in  life,  seem  to  whisper  to  me  softly,  ‘  This  is  an  ewent  at 
which  Evins  itself  looks  down  !’  ” 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


CONTAINING  THE  FURTHER  PROGRESS  OF  THE  PLOT  CONTRIVED 
BY  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  AND  MR.  ARTHUR  GRIDE. 

With  that  settled  resolution  and  steadiness  of  purpose  to 
ivliich  extreme  circumstances  so  often  give  birth,  acting  upon 
far  less  excitable  and  more  sluggish  temperaments  than  that 
which  was  ‘he  lot  of  Madeline  Bray’s  admirer,  Nicholas  started, 
at  dawn  of  day,  from  the  restless  couch  which  no  sleep  had 
visited  on  the  previous  night,  and  prepared  to  make  that  last 
appeal  by  whose  slight  and  fragile  thread  her  only  remaining 
hope  of  escape  depended. 

Although,  to  restless  and  ardent  minds,  morning  may  be  the 
fitting  season  for  exertion  and  activity,  it  is  not  always  at  that 
time  that  hope  is  strongest  or  the  spirit  most  sanguine  and 
buoyant.  In  trying  and  doubtful  positions,  use,  custom,  a 
steady  contemplation  of  the  difficulties  which  surround  us,  and 
a  familiarity  with  them,  imperceptibly  diminish  our  appre¬ 
hensions  and  beget  coupiarative  indilference,  if  not  a  vague  and 
reckless  confidence  in  some  relief,  the  means  or  nature  of  which 
we  care  not  to  foresee.  But  when  we  come  fresh  upon  such 
things  ill  the  morning,  with  that  dark  and  silent  gap  between 
us  and  yesterday,  with  every  link  in  the  brittle  chain  of  hope  to 
rivet  afresh,  our  hot  enthusiasm  subdued,  and  cool  calm  reason 
substituted  in  its  stead,  doubt  and  misgiving  revive.  As  the 
traveler  sees  farthest  by  day,  and  becomes  aware  of  rugged 
mountains  and  trackless  plains  which  the  friendly  darkness  had 
shrouded  from  his  sight  and  mind  together,  so  the  wayfarer  in 
the  toilsome  path  of  human  life  sees  with  each  returning  sun 
some  new  obstacle  to  surmount,  some  new  height  to  be  attained  ; 
distances  stretch  out  before  him  which  last  night  were  scarcely 
taken  into  account,  and  the  liglit  wliich  gilds  all  nature  with  its 
cheerful  beams,  sefinis  but  to  shine  ujioii  the  weary  obstacles 
which  yet  lie  strewn  between  him  and  the  grave. 


063) 


764 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


So  thought  Nicholas,  when,  with  the  impatience  natural  to  a 
situation  like  his,  he  softiy  left  the  house,  and  feeling  as  though 
to  remain  in  bed  were  to  lose  most  precious  time,  and  to  be  up 
and  stirring  were  in  some  way  to  promote  the  end  he  had 
in  view,  he  wandered  into  London,  although  perfectly  well 
knowing  that  for  hours  to  come  he  could  not  obtain  speech  with 
Madeline,  and  could  do  nothing  but  wish  the  intervening  time 
away. 

And  even  now,  as  he  paced  the  streets  and  listlessly  looked 
round  on  the  gradually  increasing  bustle  and  preparation  for 
the  day,  every  thing  appeared  to  yield  him  some  new  occasion 
for  despondency.  Last  night  the  sacrifice  of  a  young,  affec¬ 
tionate,  and  beautiful  creature  to  such  a  wretch  and  in  such  a 
cause,  had  seemed  a  thing  too  monstrous  to  succeed,  and  the 
warmer  he  grew  the  more  confident  he  felt  that  some  interpo¬ 
sition  must  save  her  from  his  clutches.  But  now,  when  he 
thought  how  regularly  things  went  on  from  day  to  day  in  the 
same  unvarying  round — how  youth  and  beauty  died,  and  ugly 
griping  age  lived  tottering  on — how  crafty  avarice  grew  rich, 
and  manly  honest  hearts  were  poor  and  sad — how  few  they  were 
who  tenanted  the  stately  houses,  and  how  many  those  who  lay 
in  noisome  pens,  or  rose  each  day  and  laid  them  down  at  night, 
and  lived  and  died,  father  and  son,  mother  and  child,  race  upon 
race,  and  generation  upon  generation,  without  a  home  to  shelter 
them  or  the  energies  of  one  single  man  directed  to  their  aid — 
how  in  seeking,  not  a  luxurious  and  splendid  life,  but  the  bare 
means  of  a  most  wretched  and  inadequate  subsistence,  there 
were  women  and  children  in  that  one  town,  divided  into  classes, 
numbered  and  estimated  as  regularly  as  the  noble  families  and 
folks  of  great  degree,  and  reared  from  infancy  to  drive  most 
criminal  and  dreadful  trades — how  ignorance  was  punished  and 
never  taught — how  jail-doors  gaped  and  gallows  loomed  for  thou¬ 
sands  urged  towards  them  by  circumstances  darkly  curtaining 
their  very  cradles’  heads,  and  but  for  which  they  might  have 
earned  their  honest  bread  and  lived  in  peace — how  many  died  in 
soul,  and  had  no  chance  of  life — how  many  who  could  scarcely 
go  astray,  be  they  vicious  as  they  would,  turned  haughtily  from 
the  crushed  and  stricken  wretch  who  could  scarcely  do  otherwise, 
and  who  would  have  been  a  greater  wonder  had  he  or  she  done 


NICHOLAS-  NICKLEBY. 


765 


well,  than  even  they,  had  they  done  ill — how  much  injustice,  and 
misery,  and  wrong  there  was,  and  yet  how  the  world  rolled  on  from 
year  to  year,  alike  careless  and  indifferent,  and  no  man  seeking 
to  remedy  or  redress  it : — when  he  thought  of  all  this,  and 
selected  from  the  mass  the  one  slight  case  on  which  his  thoughts 
were  bent,  he  felt  indeed  that  there  was  little  ground  for  hope, 
and  little  cause  or  reason  why  it  should  not  form  an  atom  in 
the  huge  aggregate  of  distress  and  sorrow,  and  add  one  small 
and  unimportant  unit  to  swell  the  great  amount. 

But  youth  is  not  prone  to  contemplate  the  darkest  side  of  a 
picture  it  can  shift  at  will.  By  dint  of  reflecting  on  what  he 
had  to  do  and  reviving  the  train  of  thought  which  night  had  in¬ 
terrupted,  Nicholas  gradually  summoned  up  his  utmost  energy, 
and  by  the  time  the  morning  was  sufficiently  advanced  for  his 
purpose,  had  no  thought  but  that  of  using  it  to  the  best  advantage. 
A  hasty  breakfast  taken,  and  such  affair's  of  business  as  required 
prompt  attention  disposed  of,  he  directed  his  steps  to  the  resi¬ 
dence  of  Madeline  Bray,  whither  he  lost  no  time  in  arriving. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  that  very  possibly  the  young  lady 
might  be  denied,  although  to  him  she  never  had  been  ;  and  he 
was  still  pondering  u}X)n  the  surest  method  of  obtaining  access 
to  her  in  that  case,  when,  coming  to  the  door  of  the  house,  he 
found  it  had  been  left  ajar — probably  by  the  last  person  who 
had  gone  out.  The  occasion  was  not  one  upon  which  to  ob¬ 
serve  the  nicest  ceremony  ;  therefore,  availing  himself  of  this 
advantage,  Nicholas  walked  gently  up  stairs  and  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  room  into  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  be 
shown.  Receiving  permission  to  enter  from  some  person  on 
the  other  side,  he  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

Bray  and  his  daughter  were  sitting  there  alone.  It  was 
nearly  three  weeks  since  he  had  seen  her  last,  but  there  was  a 
change  in  the  lovely  girl  before  him  which  told  Nicholas,  in 
startling  terms,  what  mental  suffering  had  been  compressed  into 
that  short  time.  There  are  no  words  which  can  express,  nothing 
with  which  can  be  compared,  the  perfect  pallor,  the  clear  trans¬ 
parent  cold  ghastly  whiteness,  of  the  beautiful  face  which  turned 
towards  him  when  he  entered.  Her  hair  was  a  rich  deep  brown, 
but  shading  that  face,  and  straying  upon  a  neck  that  rivaled  it 
in  whiteness,  it  seemed  by  the  strong  contrast  raven  black 


NICHOLAS  N I C  K  L  E  B  Y 


7fi6 

Something  of  wildness  and  restlessness  there  was  in  the  dark 
eye,  but  there  was  the  same  patient  look,  the  same  expression 
of  gentle  mournfulness  w^hich  he  well  remembered,  and  no  trace 
of  a  single  tear.  Most  beautiful — more  beautiful  perhaps  in 
appearance  than  ever  — there  wms  something  in  her  face  which 
quite  unmanned  him,  and  appeared  far  more  touching  than  the 
wildest  agony  of  grief.  It  was  not  merely  calm  and  composed, 
but  fi  sed  and  rigid,  as  though  the  violent  effoi  t  which  had  sum¬ 
moned  that  composure  beneath  her  father’s  eye,  while  it 
mastered  all  other  thoughts,  had  prevented  even  the  momentary 
expression  they  had  communicated  to  the  features  from  sub¬ 
siding,  and  had  fastened  it  there  as  an  evidence  of  its  triumph. 

The  father  sat  opposite  to  her — not  looking  directly  in  her 
face,  but  glancing  at  her  as  he  talked  with  a  gay  air  which  ill 
disguised  the  anxiety  of  his  thoughts.  The  drawing  materials 
were  not  on  their  accustomed  table,  nor  were  any  of  the  other 
tokens  of  her  usual  occupations  to  be  seen.  The  little  vases 
which  he  had  always  seen  filled  with  fresh  flowers,  w'ere  empty 
or  supplied  only  with  a  few  withered  stalks  and  leaves.  The 
bird  was  silent.  The  cloth  that  covered  his  cage  at  night  was 
not  removed.  His  mistress  had  forgotten  him. 

There  are  times  when,  the  mind  being  painfully  alive  to  receive 
impressions,  a  great  deal  may  be  noted  at  a  glance.  This  wms 
one,  for  Nicholas  had  but  glanced  round  him  when  he  wms  re 
cognized  by  Mr.  Bray,  w'ho  said  impatiently, 

“Now,  Sir,  what  do  you  want?  Name  your  errand  here, 
quickly,  if  you  please,  for  my  daughter  and  I  are  busily  en¬ 
gaged  with  other  and  more  important  matters  than  those  you 
come  about.  Come,  Sir,  address  yourself  to  your  business  at 
once.” 

Nicholas  could  very  well  discern  that  the  irritability  and  im 
patience  of  this  speech  wmre  assumed,  and  that  Bray  in  his 
heart  was  rejoiced  at  any  interruption  which  promised  to  engage 
the  attention  of  his  daughter.  He  bent  his  eyes  involuntarily 
upon  the  father  as  he  spoke,  and  marked  his  uneasiness,  for  he 
colored  directly  and  turned  his  head  aw’ay. 

The  device,  however,  so  far  as  it  was  a  device  for  causing 
Madeline  to  interfere,  was  successful.  She  rose,  and  advancing 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


767 


towards  Nicholas,  paused  half  way,  and  stretched  out  her  hand 
as  expecting  a  letter. 

“Madeline,”  said  her  father,  impatiently,  “my  love,  what  are 
you  doing 

“Miss  Bray  expects  an  enclosure,  perhaps,”  said  Nicholas, 
speaking  very  distinctly,  and  with  an  emphasis  she  could  scarcely 
misunderstand.  “  My  employer  is  absent  from  England,  or  I 
should  have  brought  a  letter  with  me.  I  hope  she  will  give  me 
time — a  little  time — I  ask  a  very  little  time.” 

“  If  that  is  all  you  come  about.  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Bray,  “  you 
may  make  yourself  easy  on  that  head.  Madeline,  my  dear,  I 
didn’t  know  this  person  was  in  your  debt  ?” 

“A — a  trifle,  I  believe,”  returned  Madeline,  faintly. 

“I  suppose  you  think  now,”  said  Bray,  wheeling  his  chair 
round  and  confronting  Nicholas,  “that  but  for  such  pitiful  sums 
as  you  bring  here,  because  my  daughter  has  chosen  to  employ 
her  time  as  she  has,  we  should  starve  ?” 

“I  have  not  thought  about  it,”  returned  Nicholas, 

“You  have  not  thought  about  it  1”  sneered  the  invalid. 
“  You  know  you  have  thought  about  it,  and  have  thought  that, 
and  think  so  every  time  you  come  here.  Do  you  suppose,  young 
man,  that  I  don’t  know  what  little  purse-proud  tradesmen  are, 
wflien  through  some  fortunate  circumstances  they  get  the  upper 
hand  for  a  brief  day — or  think  they  get  the  upper  hand — of  a 
gentleman  ?” 

“My  business,”  said  Nicholas,  respectfully,  “is  with  a  lady.” 

“With  a  gentleman’s  daughter.  Sir,”  returned  the  sick  man, 
“  and  the  pettifogging  spirit  is  the  same.  But  perhaps,  you 
bi'ing  orders,  eh  ?  Have  you  any  fresh  orders  for  my  daughter, 
Sir  ?” 

Nicholas  understood  the  tone  of  triumph  and  the  sneer  in 
wfliich  this  interrogatory  was  put,  but  remembering  the  necessity 
fif  supporting  his  assumed  character,  produced  a  scrap  of  paper 
purporting  to  contain  a  list  of  some  subjects  for  drawings  which 
his  era[)loycr  desired  to  have  executed  ;  and  with  which  he  had 
prepared  himself  in  case  of  any  such  contingency. 

“  Oli  I”  said  Mr.  Bray.  “  These  are  the  orders,  are  they  ?” 

“  Since  you  insist  upon  the  terra.  Sir — yes,”  replied  Nicholas. 

“  Then  you  may  tell  your  master,”  said  Bray,  tossing  the  paper 
49 


7G8 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEHY. 


back  again  with  an  exulting  smile,  “that  my  daughter — Miss 
Madeline  Bray — condescends  to  employ  herself  no  longer  in 
such  labors  as  these  ;  that  she  is  not  at  his  beck  and  call  as  he 
supposes  her  to  be ;  that  we  don’t  live  upon  his  money  as  he 
flatters  himself  we  do;  tliat  he  may  give  whatever  he  owes  us 
to  the  first  beggar  that  passes  his  shop,  or  add  it  to  his  own 
profits  next  time  he  calculates  them  ;  and  that  he  may  go  to 
the  devil,  for  me.  That’s  mv  acknowledgment  of  his  orders. 
Sir!” 

“And  this  is  the  independence  of  a  man  who  sells  his 
daughter  as  he  has  sold  that  weeping  girl !”  thought  Nicholas, 
indignantly. 

The  father  was  too  much  absorbed  with  his  own  exultation 
to  mark  the  look  of  scorn  which  for  an  instant  Nicholas  would 
not  have  suppressed  had  he  been  upon  the  rack.  “There,”  he 
continued,  after  a  short  silence,  “  you  have  your  message  and 
can  retire — unless  you  have  any  further — ha  ! — any  further 
orders.” 

“  I  have  none,”  said  Nicholas,  sternly  ;  “neither  in  considera¬ 
tion  of  the  station  you  once  held,  have  I  used  that  or  any  other 
word  which,  however  harmless  in  itself,  could  be  supposed  to 
imply  authority  on  ray  part  or  dependence  on  yours.  I  have  no 
orders,  but  I  have  fears — fears  that  I  will  express,  chafe  as  you 
may— -fears  that  you  may  be  consigning  that  young  lady  to 
something  worse  than  supporting  you  by  the  labor  of  her  hands, 
had  she  worked  herself  dead.  These  are  my  fears,  and  these 
fears  I  found  upon  your  own  demeanor.  Your  conscience  will 
tell  you.  Sir,  whether  I  construe  it  well  or  not.” 

“For  Heaven’s  sake  !”  cried  Madeline,  interposing  in  alarm 
between  them.  “  Remember,  Sir,  he  is  ill.” 

“  Ill !”  cried  the  invalid,  gasping  and  catching  for  breath. 
“  Ill !  Ill!  I  am  bearded  and  bullied  by  a  shop-boy,  and  she 
beseeches  him  to  pity  me  and  remember  I  am  ill  !” 

He  fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  his  disorder,  so  violent  that  for  a 
few  moments  Nicholas  was  alarmed  for  his  life  ;  but  finding  that 
he  began  to  recover,  he  withdrew,  after  signifying  by  a  gesture 
to  the  young  lady  that  he  had  something  important  to  commu¬ 
nicate,  and  would  wait  for  her  outside  the  room.  lie  could 
hear  that  the  sick  man  came  gradually  but  slowly  to  himself. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


7&9 


and  thiit  without  any  reference  to  what  had  just  occurred,  aa 
though  he  had  no  distinct  recollection  of  it  as  yet,  he  requested 
to  be  left  alone. 

“Oh  I”  thought  Nicholas,  “that  this  slender  chance  might 
not  be  lost,  and  that  I  might  prevail  if  it  were  but  for  one 
week’s  time  and  reconsideration  I” 

“You  are  charged  with  some  commission  to  me.  Sir,”  said 
Madeline,  presenting  herself  in  great  agitation.  “Do  not 
press  it  now,  I  beg  and  pray  you.  The  day  after  to-morrow — 
come  here  then.” 

“  It  will  be  too  late — too  late  for  what  I  have  to  say,”  re¬ 
joined  Nicholas,  “  and  you  will  not  be  here.  Oh,  Madame,  if 
you  have  but  one  thought  of  him  who  sent  me  here,  but  one 
last  lingering  care  for  your  own  peace  of  mind  and  heart,  I  do 
for  God’s  sake  urge  you  to  give  me  a  hearing.” 

She  attempted  to  pass  him,  but  Nicholas  gently  detained 
her.  , 

“  A  hearing,”  said  Nicholas.  “  I  ask  you  but  to  hear  me — 
not  me  alone,  but  him  for  whom  I  speak,  who  is  far  away  and 
does  not  know  your  danger.  In  the  name  of  Heaven  hear  me  !” 

The  poor  attendant  with  her  eyes  swollen  and  red  with  weep¬ 
ing  stood  by,  and  to  her  Nicholas  appealed  in  such  passionate 
terms  that  she  opened  a  side  door,  and  supporting  her  mistress 
into  an  adjoining  room  beckoned  Nicholas  to  follow  them. 

“  Leave  me.  Sir,  pray,”  said  the  young  lady. 

“  I  cannot,  will  not  leave  you  thus,”  returned  Nicholas,  “  I 
have  a  duty  to  discharge,  and  either  here  or  in  the  room  from 
which  we  have  just  now  come,  at  whatever  risk  or  hazard  to 
Mr.  Bray,  I  must  beseech  you  to  contemplate  again  the  fearful 
course  to  which  you  have  been  impelled.” 

“What  course  is  this  you  speak  of,  and  impelled  by  whom, 
S’r  ?”  demanded  the  young  lady,  with  an  effort  to  speak 
proudly. 

“  I  speak  of  this  marriage,”  returned  Nicholas,  “  of  this  mar¬ 
riage,  fixed  for  to-morrow  by  one  who  never  faltered  in  a  bad 
purpose,  or  lent  his  aid  to  any  good  design  ;  of  this  marriage, 
the  history  of  which  is  known  to  me  better,  far  better,  than  it 
is  to  you.  I  know  what  web  is  wound  about  you.  I  know 
what  men  they  are  from  whoir  th.ese  schemes  have  come.  You 


770 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


are  betrayed,  and  sold  for  money — for  gold,  whose  every  coin 
is  rusted  with  tears,  if  not  red  with  the  blood  of  mined  men, 
wlio  have  fallen  desperately  by  their  own  mad  hands.” 

“  You  say  you  have  a  duty  to  discharge,”  said  Madeline, 
firmly,  “and  so  have  I.  And  with  the  help  of  Heaven  I  will 
[)erform  it.” 

“  Say  rather  with  the  help  of  devils,”  replied  Nicholas,  “with 
the  help  of  men,  one  of  them  your  destined  husband,  who 
are - ” 

“I  must  not  hear  this,”  cried  the  young  lady,  striving  to 
repress  a  shudder,  occasioned,  as  it  seemed,  even  by  this  slight 
allusion  to  Arthur  Gride.  “  This  evil,  if  evil  it  is,  has  been  of 
my  own  seeking.  I  am  impelled  to  this  course  by  no  one,  but 
follow  it  of  my  own  free  will.  You  see  I  am  not  constrained 
or  forced  by  menace  and  intimidation.  Report  this,”  said 
Madeline,  “  to  my  dear  friend  and  benefactor,  and  taking  with 
you  my  prayers  and  tli^inks,  for  him  and  for  yourself,  leave  me 
for  ever.” 

“Not  until  I  have  besought  you,  with  all  the  earnestness  and 
fervor  by  which  I  am  animated,”  cried  Nicholas,  “to  postpone 
this  marriage  for  one  short  week.  Not  until  I  have  besought 
you  to  think  more  deeply  than  you  can  have  done,  influenced 
as  you  are,  upon  the  step  you  are  about  to  take.  Although 
you  cannot  be  fully  conscious  of  the  villainy  of  this  man  to  whom 
you  are  about  to  give  your  hand,  some  of  his  deeds  you  know. 
Y'ou  have  heard  him  speak,  and  looked  upon  his  face — reflect, 
reflect  before  it  is  too  late,  on  the  mockery  of  plighting  to  him 
at  the  altar,  faith  in  which  your  heart  can  have  no  share — of 
uttering  solemn  words,  against  which  nature  and  reason  must 
rebel — of  the  degradation  of  yourself  in  your  own  esteem,  which 
must  ensue,  and  must  be  aggravated  every  day  as  his  detested 
character  opens  upon  you  more  and  more.  Shrink  from  the 
loathsome  companionship  of  this  foul  wretch  as  you  would  from 
corruption  and  disease.  Suffer,  toil  and  labor,  if  you  will,  but 
shun  him,  shun  him,  and  be  happy.  For,  believe  me,  that  I 
speak  the  truth,  the  most  abject  poverty,  the  most  wretched 
condition  of  human  life,  with  a  pure  and  ui)right  mind,  would 
be  happiness  to  that  which  you  must  undergo  as  the  wife  of 
such  a  man  as  this  I” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


771 


Long  before  Nicholas  ceased  to  speak,  the  yoiing  lady  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  gave  her  tears  free  way.  In  a  voice 
at  first  inarticulate  with  emotion,  but  gradually  recovering 
strength  as  she  proceeded,  she  answered  him. 

“  I  will  not  disguise  from  you,  Sir — though  perhaps  I  ougnt 
— that  I  have  undergone  great  pain  of  mind,  and  have  been 
nearly  broken-hearted  since  I  saw  you  last.  I  do  not  love  this 
gentleman  ;  the  difference  between  our  ages,  tastes,  and  habits, 
forbids  it.  This  he  knows,  and  knowing,  still  offers  me  his 
hand.  By  accepting  it,  and  by  that  step  alone,  I  can  release 
my  father,  who  is  dying  in  this  place,  prolong  his  life,  perhaps, 
for  many  years,  restore  him  to  comfort — I  may  almost  call  it 
affluence — and  relieve  a  generous  man  from  the  burden  of 
assisting  one  by  whom,  I  grieve  to  say,  his  noble  heart  is  little 
understood.  Do  not  think  so  poorly  of  me  as  to  believe  that 
I  feign  a  love  I  do  not  feel.  Do  not  report  so  ill  of  me,  for 
that  I  could  not  beaL  If  I  cannot  in  reason  or  in  nature  love 
the  man  vvlio  pays  this  price  for  my  poor  hand,  I  can  dischai’ge 
the  duties  of  a  wife  :  I  can  be  all  he  seeks  in  me,  and  will.  He 
is  content  to  take  me  as  I  am.  I  have  passed  my  word,  and 
should  rejoice,  not  weep,  that  it  is  so — I  do.  The  interest  you 
take  in  one  so  friendless  and  forlorn  as  I,  the  delicacy  with 
which  you  have  discharged  your  trust,  the  faith  you  have  kept 
with  me,  have  my  warmest  thanks,  and  while  I  make  this  last 
feeble  acknowledgment,  move  me  to  tears  as  you  see.  But  I 
do  not  repent,  nor  am  I  unhappy.  I  am  happy  in  the  prospect 
of  all  I  can  achieve  so  easily,  and  shall  be  more  so  when  I  look 
back  upon  it,  and  all  is  done,  I  know.” 

"  Your  tears  fall  faster  as  you  talk  of  happiness,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  and  you  shun  the  contemplation  of  that  dark  future  which 
must  come  laden  with  so  much  misery  to  you.  Defer  this  mar¬ 
riage  for  a  week — for  but  one  week.” 

“  He  was  talking,  when  you  came  upon  us  just  now,  with  such 
smiles  as  I  remember  to  have  seen  of  old,  and  have  not  seen  for 
many  and  many  a  day,  of  the  freedom  that  was  to  come  to-mor¬ 
row,”  said  Madeline,  with  momentary  firmness,  “  of  the  welcome 
change,  the  fresh  air;  all  the  new  scenes  and  objects  that  would 
bring  fresh  life  to  his  exhausted  frame.  His  eye  grew  bright, 


772 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  his  face  lightened  at  the  thought.  I  will  not  defer  it  for 
an  hour. 

“  These  are  but  tricks  and  wiles  to  urge  you  on,”  cried 
Nicholas. 

“  I’ll  hear  no  more,”  said  Madeline,  hurriedly,  “  I  have  heard 
too  much — more  than  I  should — already.  What  I  have  said  to 
you.  Sir,  I  have  said  as  to  that  dear  friend  to  whom  I  trust  in 
you  honorably  to  repeat  it.  Some  time  hence,  when  I  am  more 
composed  and  reconciled  to  my  new  mode  of  life,  if  I  should 
live  so  long,  I  will  write  to  him.  Meantime,  all  holy  angels 
shower  their  blessings  on  his  head,  and  prosper  and  preserve 
him.” 

She  was  hurrying  past  Nicholas,  when  he  threw  himself  be¬ 
fore  her,  and  implored  her  to  think  but  once  again  upon  the 
fate  to  which  she  was  precipitately  hastening. 

“  There  is  no  retreat,”  said  Nicholas,  in  an  agony  of  suppli¬ 
cation,  “  no  withdrawing ;  all  regret  will  be’unavailing,  and  deep 
and  bitter  it  must  be.  What  can  I  say  that  will  induce  you  to 
pause  at  this  last  moment  I  What  can  I  do  to  save  you  !” 

“Nothing,”  she  incoherently  replied.  “This  is  the  hardest 
trial  I  have  had.  Have  mercy  on  me.  Sir,  I  beseech,  and  do  not 
pierce  my  heart  with  such  appeals  as  these.  I — I  hear  him  call¬ 
ing;  I — I — must  not,  will  not,  remain  here  for  another  instant.” 

“  If  this  were  a  plot,”  said  Nicholas,  with  the  same  violent 
rapidity  with  which  she  spoke,  “  a  plot,  not  yet  laid  bare  by 
me,  but  which,  with  time,  I  might  unravel,  if  you  were  (not 
knowing  it)  entitled  to  fortune  of  your  own,  which  being  re¬ 
covered,  would  do  all  that  this  marriage  can  accomplish,  would 
you  not  retract  ?” 

“No,  no,  no! — it  is  impossible:  it  is  a  child’s  tale,  time 
would  bring  his  death.  He  is  calling  again.” 

“  It  may  be  the  last  time  we  shall  ever  meet  on  earth,”  said 
Nicholas,  “it  may  be  better  forme  that  we  should  never  meet 
more.” 

“  For  both — for  both,”  replied  Madeline,  not  heeding  what 
fjhe  said  “  The  time  will  come  when  to  recall  the  memory  of 
this  one  interview  might  drive  me  mad.  Be  sure  to  tell  them 
that  you  left  me  calm  and  happy.  And  God  be  with  you.  Sir, 
and  mj  grateful  heart  an  1  blessing  1” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


773 


She  was  gone,  and  Nicholas,  staggering  from  the  house, 
thought  of  the  hurried  scene  which  had  just  closed  upon  him,  as 
if  it  were  the  phantom  of  some  wild,  unquiet  dream.  The  day 
wore  on  ;  at  night,  having  been  enabled  in  some  measure  to  col¬ 
lect  his  thoughts,  he  issued  forth  again. 

That  night,  being  the  last  of  Arthur  Gride's  bachelorship, 
found  him  in  tip-top  spirits  and  great  glee.  The  bottle-green 
suit  had  been  brushed  ready  for  the  morrow.  Peg  Sliderskcw 
had  rendered  the  accounts  of  her  past  housekeeping;  the  eigh- 
teenpence  had  been  rigidly  accounted  for  (she  was  never  trusted 
with  a  larger  sum  at  once,  and  the  accounts  were  not  usually 
balanced  more  than  twice  a  day),  every  preparation  had  been 
made  for  the  coming  festival,  and  Arthur  might  have  sat  down 
and  contemplated  his  approaching  happiness,  but  that  he  pre¬ 
ferred  sitting  down  and  contemplating  the  entries  in  a  dirty  old 
vellnm-book  with  rusty  clasps. 

Well-a-day  1”  he  chuckled,  as  sinking  on  his  knees  before  a 
strong  chest  screwed  down  to  the  floor,  he  thrust  in  his  arm 
nearly  up  to  the  shoulder,  and  slowly  drew  forth  this  greasy 
volume,  “  Well-a-day  now,  this  is  all  my  library,  but  it’s  one  of  the 
most  entertaining  books  that  were  ever  written  ;  it’s  a  delightful 
book,  and  all  true  and  real — that’s  the  best  of  it — true  as  the 
Bank  of  England,  and  real  as  its  gold  and  silver.  Written  by 
Arthur  Gride — he,  he,  he  !  None  of  your  story-book  writers 
will  ever  make  as  good  a  book  as  this,  I  warrant  me.  It’s  com¬ 
posed  for  private  circulation — for  my  own  particular  reading, 
and  nobody  else’s.  He,  he  !” 

Muttering  this  soliloquy,  Arthur  carried  his  precious  volume 
to  the  table,  and  adjusting  it  upon  a  dusty  desk,  put  on  his  spec¬ 
tacles,  and  began  to  pore  among  the  leaves. 

“  It’s  a  large  sum  to  Mr.  Nicklcby,”  he  said,  in  a  dolorous 
voice.  “  Debt  to  be  paid  in  full,  nine  hundred  and  seventy-five, 
four,  three.  Additional  sum  as  per  bond  five  hundred  ])ound. 
One  thousond,  four  hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds,  four  shil¬ 
lings,  and  threepence,  to-morrow  at  twelve  o’clock.  On  the 
other  side  though,  there’s  the  per  contra  by  means  of  this  pretty 
chick.  But  again  there’s  the  question  whether  I  mightn’t  have 
In  ougnt  all  this  about  myself.  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady.’ 
Why  vvas  my  heart  so  faint?  Why  didn’t  I  boldly  open  it  to 


771 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Bray  myself,  and  save  one  thousand  four  hundred  and  seventy- 
live,  four,  three  !” 

These  reflections  depressed  the  old  usurer  so  much  as  to  wring 
a  feeble  groan  or  two  from  his  breast,  anti  cause  him  to  declare 
with  uplifted  hands  that  he  would  die  in  a  workhouse.  Remem¬ 
bering  on  further  cogitation,  however,  that  under  any  circum¬ 
stances  he  must  have  paid,  or  handsomely  compounded  for, 
Ralph’s  debt,  and  being  by  no  means  confident  that  he  would 
have  succeeded  had  he  undertaken  his  enterprise  alone,  he  re¬ 
gained  his  equanimity,  and  chattered  and  mowed  over  more 
satisfactory  items  until  the  entrance  of  Peg  Sliderskew  inter¬ 
rupted  him. 

"  Aha,  Peg  !”  said  Arthur,  “  what  is  it  ?  What  is  it  now, 
]’eg  ?” 

“It’s  the  fowl,”  replied  Peg,  holding  up  a  plate  containing  a 
little — a  very  little  one — quite  a  phenomenon  of  a  fowl — so  very 
small  and  skinny. 

“A  beautiful  bird!”  said  Arthur,  after  inquiring  the  price, 
and  finding  it  proportionate  to  the  size.  “  With  a  rasher  of 
ham,  and  an  egg  made  into  sauce,  and  potatoes,  and  greens, 
and  an  apple-pudding.  Peg,  and  a  little  bit  of  cheese,  we  shall 
have  a  dinner  for  an  emperor.  There’ll  only  be  she  and  me — 
and  you.  Peg,  when  we’ve  done — nobody  else.” 

“Don’t  you  complain  of  the  expense  afterwards,”  said  Mrs. 
Sliderskew,  sulkilv. 

“  I’m  afraid  we  must  live  expensively  for  the  first  week,”  le- 
tiirned  Arthur,  with  a  groan,  “and  then  we  must  make  up  for  it. 
I  won’t  eat  more  than  I  can  help,  and  I  know  you  love  your 
old  master  too  much  to  eat  more  than  you  can  help,  don’"^  you, 
Peg  ?” 

“  Don’t  I  what  ?”  said  Peg. 

“  Love  your  old  master  too  much — ” 

“  No,  not  a  bit  too  much,”  said  Peg. 

“Oh  dear,  I  wish  the  devil  had  this  woman  !”  cried  Arthur — 
“  love  him  too  much  to  eat  more  than  you  can  help  at  his 
expense.” 

“  At  his  what  ?”  said  Peg. 

“  Oh  dear  1  she  can  never  hear  the  most  important  word,  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


775 


hoars  all  the  others  1”  whined  Gride.  “At  his  expense — you 
catamaran.” 

The  last  mentioned  tribute  to  the  charms  of  Mrs.  Sliderskew 
being  uttered  in  a  whisper,  that  lady  assented  to  the  general 
proposition  by  a  harsh  growl,  which  was  accompanied  by  a  ring 
at  the  street-door. 

“  Tliere’s  the  bell,”  said  Arthur. 

“  Ay,  ay ;  I  know  that,”  rejoined  Peg. 

“Tlien  why  don’t  you  go  ?”  bawled  Arthur. 

“  Go  where?”  retorted  Peg.  I  ain’t  doing  any  harm  here, 
am  1  ?” 

Arthur  Gride  in  reply  repeated  the  word  “bell”  as  loud  as  ho 
could  roar,  and  his  meaning  being  rendered  further  intelligible 
to  Mrs.  Sliderskew’s  dull  sense  of  hearing  by  pantomime  expres¬ 
sive  of  ringing  at  a  street-door.  Peg  hobbled  out,  after  sharply 
demanding  why  he  hadn’t  said  there  was  a  ring  before,  instead 
of  talking  about  all  manner  of  things  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  and  keeping  her  half  pint  of  beer  waiting  on  the  steps 

“There’s  a  change  come  over  you,  Mrs.  Peg,”  said  Arthur, 
following  her  out  with  his  eyes.  “What  it  means  I  don’t  quite 
know,  but  if  it  lasts  we  shan’t  agree  together  long,  I  see.  You 
are  turning  crazy,  I  think,  and  if  you  are  you  must  take  yourself 
off,  Mrs.  l*eg — or  be  taken  off.  All’s  one  to  me.”  Turning 
over  the  leaves  of  his  book  as  he  muttered  this,  he  soon  lighted 
upon  something  which  attracted  his  attention,  and  forgot  Peg 
Sliderskew  and  every  thing  else  in  the  engrossing  interest  of  its 
pages. 

The  room  h-ad  no  other  light  than  that  which  it  derived  from 
a  dim  and  dirt-clogged  lamp,  whose  lazy  wick,  being  still  further 
obscured  by  a  dark  shade,  cast  its  feeble  rays  over  a  very  little 
space  and  left  all  beyond  in  heavy  shadow.  This  the  money¬ 
lender  had  drawn  so  close  to  him,  that  there  was  only  room  be 
tween  it  and  himself  for  the  book  over  which  he  bent ;  and  as 
he  sat  with  his  elbows  on  the  desk,  and  his  sharp  cheek-bones 
resting  on  his  hands,  it  only  served  to  bring  out  his  hideous  fea¬ 
tures  in  strong  relief,  together  with  the  little  table  at  which  he 
sat,  and  to  shroud  all  the  rest  of  the  chamber  in  a  deep  sullen 
gloom  Pvaising  his  eyes  and  looking  vacantly  into  this  gloom 


i76 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


as  he  made  some  mental  calculation,  Arthur  Gride  suddenly  met 
the  fixed  gaze  of  a  man. 

“  Thieves !  thieves  !”  shrieked  the  usurer,  starting  up,  and 
folding  his  book  to  his  breast,  “  robbers  !  murder  I” 

“  What  is  the  matter  said  the  form,  advancing. 

“  Keep  off !”  cried  the  trembling  wretch.  “  Is  it  a  man  or 
a — a — ” 

“  For  what  do  you  take  me,  if  not  for  a  man  ?”  was  the  dis¬ 
dainful  inquiry. 

“Yes,  yes,”  cried  Arthur  Gride,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  “it  is  a  man,  and  not  a  spirit.  It  is  a  man.  Robbers  1 
robbers !” 

“  For  what  are  these  cries  raised — unless  indeed  you  know 
me,  and  have  some  purpose  in  your  brain  said  the  stranger, 
coming  close  up  to  him.  “I  am  no  thief,  fellow.” 

“  AVhat  then,  and  how  came  you  here  ?”  cried  Gride,  some¬ 
what  reassured,  but  still  retreating  from  his  visitor,  “  what  is 
your  name,  and  what  do  you  want  ?” 

“  My  name  you  need  not  know,”  was  the  reply.  “  I  came 
here  because  I  was  shown  the  way  by  your  servant.  I  have  ad¬ 
dressed  you  twice  or  thrice,  but  you  were  too  profoundly 
engaged  with  your  book  to  hear  me,  and  I  have  been  silently 
waiting  until  you  should  be  less  abstracted.  What  I  want  I 
will  tell  you,  when  you  can  summon  up  courage  enough  to  hear 
and  understand  me.” 

Arthur  Gride  venturing  to  regard  his  visitor  more  attentively, 
and  perceiving  that  he  was  a  young  man  of' good  mien  and 
bearing,  returned  to  his  seat,  and  muttering  that  there  were  bad 
characters  about,  and  that  this,  with  former  attempts  upon  his 
house,  had  made  him  nervous,  requested  his  visitor  to  sit  down. 
This  however  he  declined. 

“  Good  God  1  I  don’t  stand  up  to  have  you  at  an  advantage,” 
said  Nicholas  (for  Nicholas  it  was),  as  he  observed  a  gesture  of 
alarm  on  the  part  of  Gride.  “  Listen  to  me.  You  are  to  be 
married  to-morrow  morning.” 

“  N — n — no,”  rejoined  Gride.  “  Who  said  I  was  ?  How  do 
von  know  that  ?” 

“No  matter  how,”  replied  Nicholas,  “  I  know  it.  The  young 
lady  who  is  to  give  you  her  hand  hates  and  despises  you. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


777 


Her  blood  runs  eold  at  the  mention  of  your  name — the  vulture 
and  the  lamb,  the  rat  and  the  dove  could  not  be  worse  matched 
than  you  and  she.  You  see  I  know  her.” 

Gride  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  petrified  with  astonishment, 
but  did  not  speak,  perhaps  lacking  the  power. 

“You  and  another  man,  Ralph  .Nickleby  by  name,  have 
hatched  this  plot  between  you,”  pursued  Nicholas,  “you  pay 
him  for  his  share  in  bringing  about  this  sale  of  Madeline  Bray. 
A  lie  is  trembling  on  your  lips,  I  see.” 

He  paused,  but  Arthur  making  no  reply,  resumed  again. 

“You  pay  yourself  by  defrauding  her.  How  or  by  what 
means — for  I  scorn  to  sully  her  cause  by  falsehood  or  deceit — I 
do  not  know;  at  present  I  do  not  know,  but  I  am  not  alone  or 
single-handed  in  this  business.  If  the  energy  of  man  can 
compass  the  discovery  of  your  fraud  and  treachery  before  your 
death — if  wealth,  revenge,  and  just  hatred  can  hunt  and  track 
you  through  your  windings — you  will  yet  be  called  to  a  dear 
account  for  this.  We  are  on  the  scent  already — judge  you,  that 
know  what  we  do  not,  when  we  shall  have  you  down.” 

He  paused  again,  and  still  Arthur  Gride  glared  upon  him  in 
silence. 

“  If  you  were  a  man  to  whom  I  could  appeal  with  any  hope 
of  touching  his  compassion  or  humanity,”  said  Nicholas,  “  I 
would  urge  upon  you  to  remember  the  helplessness,  the  inno¬ 
cence,  the  youth  of  this  lady,  her  worth  and  beauty,  her  filial 
excellence,  and  last,  and  more  than  all  as  concerning  you  more 
nearly,  the  appeal  she  has  made  to  your  mercy  and  your  manly 
feeling.  But  I  take  the  only  ground  that  can  be  taken  with 
men  like  you,  and  ask  what  money  will  buy  you  off.  Remember 
the  danger  to  which  you  ai*e  exposed.  You  see  I  know  enough 
to  know  much  more  with  very  little  help.  Bate  some  expected 
gain,  for  the  risk  you  save,  and  say  what  is  your  price.” 

Old  Arthur  Gride  moved  his  lips,  but  they  only  formed  an 
ugly  smile  and  were  motionless  again. 

“You  think,”  said  Nicholas,  “that  the  price  would  not  be 
paid.  Miss  Bray  has  wealthy  friends  who  would  coin  their 
hearts  to  save  her  in  such  a  strait  as  this.  Name  your  price, 
defer  these  nuptials  for  but  a  few  days,  and  see  whether  those  I 
speak  of  shrink  from  the  payment.  Do  you  hear  me  ?” 


778 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


When  Nicholas  began,  Arthur  Gride’s  impression  was  that 
Kalph  Nickleby  had  betrayed  him  ;  but  as  he  proceeded  he  felt 
convinced  that  however  he  had  come  by  the  knowledge  he  pos¬ 
sessed,  the  part  he  acted  was  a  genuine  one,  and  that  with 
Ilalph  he  had  uo  concern.  All  he  seemed  to  know  for  certain 
was,  that  he.  Gride,  paid  Ralph’s  debt,  but  that,  to  any  body 
who  knew  the  circumstances  of  Bray’s  detention — even  to  Bray 
liimself  on  Ralph’s  own  statement — must  be  perfectly  notorious. 
As  to  the  fraud  on  Madeline  herself,  his  visitor  knew  so  little 
about  its  nature  or  extent,  that  it  might  be  a  lucky  guess  or  a 
hap-hazard  accusation,  and  whether  or  no,  he  had  clearly  no 
key  to  the  mystery,  and  could  not  hurt  him  who  kept  it  close 
within  his  own  breast.  The  allusion  to  friends  and  the  offer  of 
money  Gride  held  to  be  mere  empty  vaporing  for  the  purposes 
of  delay.  “And  even  if  money  wei’e  to  be  had,”  thought 
Arthur  Gride,  as  he  glanced  at  Nicholas,  and  trembled  with 
passion  at  his  boldness  and  audacity,  “  I’d  have  that  dainty 
chick  for  my  wife,  and  cheat  you  of  her,  young  smooth-face.” 

Long  habit  of  weighing  and  noting  well  what  clients  said, 
and  nicely  balancing  chances  in  his  mind  and  calculating  odds 
to  their  faces,  without  the  least  appearance  of  being  so  engaged, 
had  rendered  Gride  quick  in  forming  conclusions  and  arriving, 
from  puzzling,  intricate,  and  often  contradictory  premises,  at 
very  cunning  deductions.  Hence  it  was  that  as  Nicholas  went 
on  he  followed  him  closely  with  his  own  constructions,  and  when 
he  ceased  to  speak  was  as  well  prepared  as  if  he  had  deliberated 
for  a  fortnight. 

“  I  hear  you,”  he  cried,  starting  from  his  seat,  casting  back 
the  fastenings  of  the  window-shutters,  and  throwing  up  the 
sasli.  “Help  here!  Help!  Help!” 

“  AVhat  are  you  doing !”  said  Nicholas,  seizing  him  by  the 
arm. 

“  I’ll  cry  robbers,  thieves,  murder,  alarm  the  neighborhood, 
struggle  with  you,  let  loose  some  blood,  and  swear  you  came  to 
rob  me  if  you  don’t  quit  my  house,”  replied  Gride,  drawing  in 
his  head  with  a  frightful  grin,  “I  will.” 

“Wretch  !”  cried  Nicholas. 

“  YuuHl  bring  your  threats  here,  will  you  V'  said  Gride,  whom 
jealousy  of  Nicholas  and  a  sense  of  his  own  triumph  had  con* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


779 


verted  into  a  perfect  fiend.  “You,  the  disappointed  lover — oh 
dear  1  He !  he  !  he  I — but  you  shan’t  have  her,  nor  she  you. 
She’s  my  wife,  my  fond  doting  little  wife.  Do  you  think  she’ll 
miss  you  ?  Do  you  think  she’ll  weep  ?  I  shall  like  to  see  her 
weep — I  shan’t  mind  it.  She  looks  prettier  in  tears.” 

“Villain  !”  said  Nicholas,  choking  with  rage. 

“  One  minute  more,”  cried  Arthur  Gride,  “  and  I’ll  rouse  the 
street  with  such  screams  as,  if  they  were  raised  by  any  body 
else,  should  \vake  me  even  in  the  arras  of  pretty  Madeline.” 

‘  Vou  base  hound  1”  said  Nicholas,  “if  you  were  but  a 
younger  man - ” 

“  Oh  yes  !”  sneered  Arthur  Gride,  “  if  I  was  but  a  younger 
man  it  wouldn’t  be  so  bad,  but  for  me,  so  old  and  ugly — to  be 
jilted  by  little  Madeline  for  me  !” 

“Hear  me,”  said  Nicholas,  “and  be  thankful  I  have  enough 
command  over  myself  not  to  fling  you  into  the  street,  wdiich  no 
aid  could  prevent  my  doing  if  I  once  grappled  with  you.  I 
have  been  no  lover  of  this  lady’s.  No  contract  or  engagement, 
no  word  of  love,  has  ever  passed  between  us.  She  does  not 
even  know  my  name.” 

“I’ll  ask  it  for  all  that — I’ll  beg  it  of  her  wdth  kisses,”  said 
Arthur  Gride.  “  Yes,  and  she’ll  tell  me,  and  pay  them  back, 
and  w'e’ll  laugh  together,  and  hug  ourselves — and  be  very  merry 
— when  we  think  of  the  poor  youth  that  wanted  to  have  her, 
but  couldn’t,  because  she  was  bespoke  by  me.” 

This  taunt  brought  such  an  expression  into  the  face  of 
Nicholas,  that  Arthur  Gride  plainly  apprehended  it  to  be  the 
forerunner  of  his  putting  his  threat  of  throwing  him  into  the 
street  in  immediate  execution,  for  he  thrust  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  and  holding  tight  on  with  both  hands,  raised  a  pretty 
brisk  alarm.  Not  thinking  it  necessary  to  abide  the  issue  of 
the  noise,  Nicholas  gave  vent  to  an  indignant  defiance,  and 
stalked  from  the  room  and  from  the  house.  Arthur  Gride 
watched  him  across  the  street,  and  then  drawing  in  his  head, 
fastened  the  window  as  before,  and  sat  down  to  take  breath. 

“  If  she  ever  turns  pettish  or  ill-hmnored.  I’ll  taunt  her  with 
that  spark,”  he  said,  when  he  had  recovered.  “She’ll  little 
think  I  know  about  him,  and  if  I  manage  it  well,  I  can  break 
her  spirit  by  thii  means  and  have  her  under  my  thumb.  I’m 


780 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


p^!ad  nobody  camo.  I  didn’t  call  too  loud.  The  audacity  to 
enter  my  house,  and  open  upon  me  ! — But  I  ghall  have  a  very 
good  triumph  to-morrow,  and  he’ll  be  gnawing  his  fingers  off, 
perhaps  drown  himself,  or  cut  his  throat  I  I  shouldn’t  wonder  1 
That  would  make  it  quite  complete,  that  would- — quite.” 

When  he  had  become  restored  to  his  usual  condition  by  these 
and  other  comments  on  his  approaching  triumph,  Arthur  Gride 
put  away  his  book,  and  having  locked  up  the  chest  with  great 
caution,  descended  into  the  kitchen  to  warn  Peg  Sliderskew  to 
bed,  and  to  scold  her  for  having  afforded  such  ready  admission 
to  a  stranger. 

The  unconscious  Peg,  however,  not  being  able  to  comprehend 
the  offence  of  which  she  had  been  guilty,  he  summoned  her  to 
hold  the  light  while  he  made  a  tour  of  the  fastenings,  and 
secured  the  street-door  with  his  own  hands. 

“  Top  bolt,”  muttered  Arthur,  fastening  as  he  spoke,  “bottom 
bolt — chain — bar — double-lock — and  key  out  to  put  under  ray 
pillow — so  if  any  more  rejected  admirers  come,  they  may  come 
through  the  keyhole.  And  now  I’ll  go  to  sleep  till  half-past 
five,  when  I  must  get  up  to  be  married.  Peg.” 

With  that,  he  jocularly  tapped  Mrs.  Sliderskew  under  the 
chin,  and  appeared,  for  the  moment,  inclined  to  celebrate  the 
close  of  his  bachelor  days  by  imprinting  a  kiss  on  her  shriveled 
lips.  Thinking  better  of  it,  however,  he  gave  her  chin  another 
tap  in  lieu  of  that  warmer  familiarity,  and  stole  away  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


THE  CRISIS  OF  THE  PROJECT  AND  ITS  RESULT. 

There  are  not  many  men  who  lie  abed  too  late  or  oversleep 
tliemselves  on  their  weddinor  morninsr.  A  legend  tliere  is  of 
somebody  remarkable  for  absence  of  mind,  who  opened  his  eyes 
upon  the  day  which  was  to  give  him  a  young  wife,  and  for-get¬ 
ting  all  about  the  matter,  rated  his  servants  for  providing  him 
with  such  fine  clothes  as  had  been  pi-epared  for  the  festival. 
There  is  also  a  legend  of  a  young  gentleman  who,  not  having 
before  his  eyes  the  fear  of  the  canons  of  the  church  for  sucli 
cases  made  and  provided,  conceived  a  passion  for  his  giand- 
mamma.  Both  cases  ai-e  of  a  singular  and  special  kind,  and  it  is 
very  doubtful  whether  either  can  be  considered  as  a  precedent 
likely  to  be  extensively  followed  by  succeeding  generations. 

Arthur  Gride  had  enrobed  himself  in  his  marriage  "arments 
of  bottle-gi-een,  a  full  hour  befoi-e  Mrs,  Sliderskew,  shaking  olf 
her  more  heavy  slumbers,  knocked  at  his  chamber  door  ;  and  he 
had  hobbled  down  stairs  in  full  array  and  smacked  his  lips  over 
a  scanty  taste  of  his  favorite  cordial,  ere  that  delicate  piece  of 
antiquity  enlightened  the  kitchen  with  her  presence. 

“  Faugh  !”  said  Peg,  grubbing,  in  the  discharge  of  her  do¬ 
mestic  functions,  among  a  scanty  heap  of  ashes  in  the  rusty  g.^ate^ 
“Wedding  indeed  I  A  precious  wedding!  He  wants  seme- 
body  better  than  his  old  Peg  to  take  care  of  him,  does  he  ? 
And  what  has  he  said  to  me  many  and  many  a  time  to  keej)  me 
content  with  short  food,  small  wages,  and  little  fire  ?  ‘  My 

will.  Peg  !  my  will !’  says  he,  ‘  Pm  a  bachelor — no  friends — no 
relations.  Peg.’  Lies!  And  now  he’s  to  bring  home  a  new 
mistress,  a  baby-faced  chit  of  a  girl — if  he  w-anted  a  wife,  the 
fool,  why  couldn’t  he  have  one  suitable  to  his  age  and  that  knew 
his  ways  ?  She  won’t  come  in  my  way,  he  says.  Xo,  that  she 
won’t,  but  you  little  think  why,  Arthur,  boy,” 

While  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  influenced  possibly  by  some  lingering 

G81) 


782 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


feelings  of  disappointment  and  personal  slight  occasioned  by 
her  old  master’s  preference  for  another,  was  giving  loose  to 
these  grumblings  below  stairs.  Arthur  Gride  was  cogitating  in 
the  parlor  upon  what  had  taken  place  last  night. 

“I  can’t  think  how  he  can  have  picked  up  what  he  knows,” 
said  Arthur,  “unless  I  have  committed  myself — let  something 
drop  at  Bray’s,  for  instance,  which  has  been  overheard.  Per¬ 
haps  I  may.  I  shouldn’t  be  surprised  if  that  was  it.  Mr. 
Nickleby  was  often  angry  at  my  talking  to  him  before  we  got 
outside  the  door.  I  mustn’t  tell  him  that  part  of  the  business, 
or  he’ll  put  me  out  of  sorts  and  make  me  nervous  for  the  day.” 

Ralph  was  universally  looked  up  to  and  recognized  among 
his  fellows  as  a  superior  genius,  but  upon  Arthur  Gride  his  stern 
unyielding  character  and  consummate  art  had  made  so  deep  an 
impression,  that  he  was  actually  afraid  of  him.  Cringing  and 
cowardly  to  the  core  by  nature,  Arthur  Gride  humbled  himself 
in  the  dust  before  Ralph  Nickleby,  and  even  when  they  had  not 
this  stake  in  common,  would  have  licked  his  shoes  and  crawled 
upon  the  ground  before  him  rather  than  venture  to  return  him 
word  for  word,  or  retort  upon  him  in  any  other  spirit  than  that 
of  the  most  slavish  and  abject  sycophancy. 

To  Ralph  Nickleby’s,  Arthur  Gride  now  betook  himself  ac¬ 
cording  to  appointment,  and  to  Ralph  Nickleby  he  related  how 
that  last  night  some  young  blustering  blade,  whom  he  had  never 
seen,  forced  his  way  into  his  house  and  tried  to  frighten  him 
from  the  proposed  nuptials  :■ — told,  in  short,  what  Nicholas  had 
said  and  done,  with  the  slight  reservation  upon  which  he  had 
determined. 

“  Well,  and  what  then  said  Ralph. 

“  Oh  !  nothing  more,”  rejoined  Gride. 

“lie  tried  to  frighten  you?”  said  Ralph,  disdainfully,  “and 
you  were  frightened,  I  suppose,  is  that  it  ?” 

“I  frightened  him  by  crying  thieves  and  murder,”  replied 
Gride.  “  Once  I  was  in  earnest,  I  tell  you  that,  for  I  had  more 
than  half  a  mind  to  swear  he  uttered  threats  and  demanded  my 
life  or  ray  money.” 

“  Oho  !”  said  Ralph,  eyeing  him  askew.  “  Jealous  too  !” 

“Dear,  now,  see  that !”  cried  Arthur,  rubbing  his  hands  and 
atfecting  lo  laugh. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


783 


“  Why  do  you  make  those  grimaces,  man  ?”  said  Ra];*;h, 
harshly,  “you  are  jealous — and  with  good  cause,  I  think.” 

“No,  no,  no, — not  with  good  cause,  hey  ?  You  don’t  think 
with  good  cause,  do  you  ?”  cried  Arthur,  faltering.  “  Do  you 
though — hey  ?” 

“Why,  how  stands  the  fact  ?”  returned  Ralph.  “  Here  is  an 
old  man  about  to  be  forced  in  marriage  upon  a  girl,  and  to  this 
old  man  there  comes  a  handsome  young  fellow — you  said  he 
was  handsome,  didn’t  you  ?” 

“  No  1”  snarled  Arthur  Gride. 

“ Oh  1”  rejoined  Ralph,  “I  thought  you  did.  Well,  hand¬ 
some  or  not  handsome,  to  this  old  man  there  comes  a  young  fel¬ 
low  who  casts  all  manner  of  fierce  defiance  in  his  teeth — gums 
I  should  rather  say — and  tells  him  in  plain  terms  that  his  mis¬ 
tress  hates  him.  What  does  he  do  that  for  ?  Philanthropy’s 
sake  ?” 

“Not for  love  of  the  lady,”  replied  Gride,  “for  he  said  that 
no  word  of  love — his  very  words — had  ever  passed  between 
’em.” 

“ He  said  !”  repeated  Ralph,  contemptuously.  “But  I  like 
him  for  one  thing,  and  that  is  his  giving  you  this  fair  warning 
to  keep  your — what  is  it  ?  Tit-tit,  or  dainty  chick — which  ? — 
under  lock  and  key.  Be  careful.  Gride,  be  careful.  It’s  a  tri¬ 
umph  too  to  tear  her  away  from  a  gallant  young  rival;  a  great 
triumph  for  an  old  man.  It  only  remains  to  keep  her  safe 
when  you  have  her — that’s  all.” 

“What  a  man  it  is!”  cried  Arthur  Gride,  affecting  in  the  ex¬ 
tremity  of  his  torture  to  be  highly  amused.  And  then  he  added, 
anxiously,  “Yes  ;  to  keep  her  safe,  that’s  all.  And  that  isn’t 
much,  is  it  ?” 

“  Much  !”  said  Ralph,  with  a  sneer.  “  Why,  every  body 
knows  what  easy  things,  to  understand  and  to  control,  women 
ai’e.  But  come,  it’s  very  nearly  time  for  you  to  be  made  happy. 
You’ll  pay  the  bond  now,  I  suppose,  to  save  us  trouble  after¬ 
wards.” 

“  Oh,  what  a  man  you  are  !”  croaked  Arthur. 

“Why  not  ?”  said  Ralph.  “Nobody  will  pay  you  interest 
for  the  money,  I  suppose,  between  this  and  twelve  o’clock,  will 
they  ?” 


50 


784 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  But  nobody  would  pay  you  interest  for  it  either,  you  kncw,“ 
returned  Arthur,  leering  at  Ralph  with  all  the  cunning  and  sly* 
ness  he  could  throw  into  his  face. 

“  Besides  which,”  said  Ralph,  suffering  his  lip  to  curl  into  a 
smile,  “you  haven’t  the  money  about  you,  and  you  weren’t  pre¬ 
pared  for  this  or  you’d  have  brought  it  with  you,  and  there’s 
nobody  you’d  so  much  like  to  accommodate  as  me.  I  see. 
We  trust  each  other  in  about  an  equal  degree.  Are  you 
ready  ?” 

Gride,  who  had  done  nothing  but  grin,  and  nod,  and  chatter, 
during  tins  last  speech  of  Ralph’s,  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
and  producing  from  bis  hat  a  couple  of  large  white  favors, 
pinned  one  on  his  breast,  and  with  considerable  difficulty  induced 
his  friend  to  do  the  like.  Thus  accoutred  they  got  into  a  hired 
coach  which  Ralph  had  in  waiting,  and  drove  to  the  residence 
of  the  fair  and  most  wretched  bride. 

Gride,  whose  spirits  and  courage  gradually  failed  him  more 
and  more  as  they  approached  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  house, 
was  utterly  dismayed  and  cowed  by  the  mournful  silence  which 
pervaded  it.  The  face  of  the  poor  servant-girl,  the  only 
person  they  saw,  was  disfigured  with  tears  and  want  of  sleep. 
There  was  nobody  to  receive  or  welcome  them ;  and  they  stole 
up  stairs  into  the  usual  sitting-room  more  like  two  burglars  than 
the  bridegroom  and  his  friend. 

“  One  would  think,”  said  Ralph,  speaking,  in  spite  of  himself, 
in  a  low  and  subdued  voice,  “that  there  was  a  funeral  going  on 
here,  and  not  a  wedding.” 

“He,  he !”  tittered  his  friend,  “you  are  so — so  very  funny  I” 

“I  need  be,”  remarked  Ralph,  drily,  “for  this  is  rather  dull 
and  chilling.  Look  a  little  brisker,  man,  and  not  so  hang-dog 
like.” 

“  Yes,  yes,  I  will,”  said  Gride.  “  But — but — you  don't  think 
she’s  coming  just  yet,  do  you  ?” 

“  Why,  I  suppose  she’ll  not  come  till  she  is  obliged,”  returned 
Ralph,  looking  at  his  watch,  “and  she  has  a  good  half  hour  to 
spare  yet.  Curb  your  impatience.” 

“  I — T — am  not  impatient,”  stammered  Arthur.  “  I  wouldn’t 
be  hard  with  her  for  the  world.  Oh  dear,  dear,  not  on  any  ac* 


NICHOLAS  NIC  KLEE  Y. 


785 


count.  Let  her  take  her  time — her  own  time.  Her  time  shall 
be  ours  by  all  means.” 

While  Ralph  bent  upon  his  trembling  friend  a  keen  look, 
which  showed  that  he  perfectly  understood  the  reason  of  this 
great  consideration  and  regard,  a  footstep  was  heard  upon  the 
stairs,  and  Bray  himself  came  into  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and  hold¬ 
ing  up  his  hand  with  a  cautious  gesture,  as  if  there  were  some 
sick  person  near  who  must  not  be  disturbed. 

“ Hush  1”  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  “She  was  very  ill  last 
night.  I  thought  she  would  have  broken  her  heart.  She  is 
dressed,  and  crying  bitterly  in  her  own  room  ;  but  she’s  better, 
and  quite  quiet — that’s  everything.” 

“  She  is  ready,  is  she  ?”  said  Ralph. 

“  Quite  ready,”  returned  the  father. 

“  And  not  likely  to  delay  us  by  any  young-lady  weaknesses 
— fainting,  or  so  forth  ?”  said  Ralph. 

“  She  may  be  safely  trusted  now,”  returned  Bray.  “I  have 
been  talking  to  her  this  morning.  Here — come  a  little  this 
way.” 

He  drew  Ralph  Nickleby  to  the  further  end  of  the  room,  and 
pointed  towards  Gride,  who  sat  huddled  together  in  a  corner, 
fumbling  nervously  with  the  buttons  of  his  coat,  and  exhibiting 
a  face  of  which  every  skulking  and  base  expresssion  was  sharp¬ 
ened  and  aggravated  to  the  utmost  by  his  anxiety  and  trepida¬ 
tion. 

“  Look  at  tliat  man,”  whispered  Bray,  emphatically.  “  This 
seems  a  cruel  thing  after  all.” 

“  What  seems  a  cruel  thing  ?”  inquired  Ralph,  with  as  much 
stolidity  of  face  as  if  he  really  were  in  utter  ignorance  of  the 
other’s  meaning. 

“  This  marriage,”  answered  Bray.  “  Don’t  ask  me  what. 
You  know  quite  as  wmll  as  I  do.” 

Ralph  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  silent  deprecation  of  Bray’s 
impatience,  and  elevated  his  eyebrows,  and  pursed  his  lips  as 
men  do  when  they  are  prepared  with  a  sufficient  answer  to  some 
remark,  but  wait  for  a  more  favorable  opportunity  of  advancing 
it,  or  think  it  soarcely  worth  while  to  answer  their  adversary  at 
all. 

“  Look  at  him.  Does  it  not  seem  cruel  ?”  said  Bray. 


786 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“No  1”  replied  Ralph,  boldly. 

“  I  say  it  does,”  retorted  Bray,  with  a  show  of  much  irritation. 
“It  is  a  cruel  thing,  by  all  that’s  bad  and  treacherous !” 

When  men  are  about  to  commit  or  to  sanction  the  commission 
of  some  injustice,  it  is  not  at  all  uncommon  for  them  to  express 
pity  for  the  object  either  of  that  or  some  parallel  proceeding, 
and  to  feel  themselves  at  the  time  quite  virtuous  and  moral,  and 
immensely  superior  to  those  who  express  no  pity  at  all.  This 
is  a  kind  of  upholding  of  faith  above  works,  and  is  very  com¬ 
fortable.  To  do  Ralph  Nickleby  justice,  he  seldom  practiced 
this  sort  of  dissimulation  ;  but  he  understood  those  who  did,  and 
therefore  suffered  Bray  to  say  again  and  again,  with  great  vehe¬ 
mence,  that  they  were  jointly  doing  a  very  cruel  thing,  before  he 
again  offered  to  interpose  a  word. 

“You  see  what  a  dry,  shriveled,  withered  old  chip  it  is,” 
returned  Ralph,  when  the  other  was  at  length  silent.  “  If  he 
were  younger,  it  might  be  cruel,  but  as  it  is — hark’ee,  Mr.  Bray, 
he’ll  die  soon,  and  leave  her  a  rich  young  widow.  Miss  Madeline 
consults  your  taste  this  time  ;  let  her  consult  her  own  next.” 

“  True,  true,”  said  Bray,  biting  his  nails,  and  plainly  very  ill 
at  ease.  “  I  couldn’t  do  any  thing  better  for  her  than  advise  her 
to  accept  these  proposals,  could  I  ?  Now,  I  ask  you,  Nickleby, 
as  a  man  of  the  world — could  I  ?” 

“  Surely  not,”  answered  Ralph.  “  I  will  tell  you  what.  Sir ; 
■ — there  are  a  hundred  fathers  within  a  circuit  of  five  miles  from 
this  place,  well  off,  good  rich  substantial  men,  who  would  gladly 
give  their  daughters  and  their  own  ears  with  them,  to  that  very 
man  yonder,  ape  and  mummy  as  he  looks.” 

“  So  there  are  !”  exclaimed  Bray,  eagerly  catching  at  any 
thing  which  seemed  a  justification  of  himself.  “  And  so  I  told 
her,  both  last  night  and  to-day.” 

“You  told  her  truth,”  said  Ralph,  “and  did  well  to  do  so; 
though  I  must  say,  at  the  same,  time,  that  if  I  had  a  daughter, 
and  my  freedom,  pleasure,  nay,  my  very  health  and  life,  depended 
on  her  taking  a  husband  whom  I  pointed  out,  I  should  hope  it 
would  not  be  necessary  to  advance  any  other  arguments  to 
induce  her  to  consent  to  my  wishes.” 

Bray  looked  at  Ralph  as  if  to  see  whether  he  spoke  in  earnest, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


787 


and  having  nodded  twice  or  thrice  in  unqualified  absent  to  what 
had  fallen  from  him,  said, 

“I  must  go  up  stairs  for  a  few  minutes  to  finish  dressing,  and 
when  I  come  down.  I’ll  bring  Madeline  with  me.  Do  you  know 
I  had  a  very  strange  dream  last  night,  which  I  have  not  remem¬ 
bered  till  this  instant.  I  dreamt  that  it  was  this  morning,  and 
you  and  I  had  been  talking,  as  we  have  been  this  minute  ;  that  I 
went  up  stairs,  for  the  very  purpose  for  which  I  am  going  now, 
and  that  as  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to  take  Madeline’s,  and 
lead  her  down,  the  floor  sunk  with  me,  and  after  falling  from 
such  an  indescribable  and  tremendous  height  as  the  imagination 
scarcely  conceives  except  in  dreams,  I  alighted  in  a  grave.” 

“  And  you  awoke,  and  found  you  were  lying  on  your  back, 
or  wdth  your  head  hanging  over  the  bedside,  or  suftering  some 
pain  from  indigestion  ?”  said  Ralph.  “  Pshaw,  Mr.  Bray,  do 
as  I  do  (you  will  have  the  opportunity  now  that  a  constant 
round  of  pleasure  and  enjoyment  opens  upon  you)  and  occupy¬ 
ing  yourself  a  little  more  by  day,  have  no  time  to  think  of  what 
you  dream  by  night.” 

Ralph  followed  him  with  a  steady  look  to  the  door,  and  turn¬ 
ing  to  the  bridegroom,  when  they  were  again  alone,  said, 

“  Mark  my  words,  Gride,  you  won’t  have  to  pay  his  annuity 
very  long.  You  have  the  devil’s  luck  in  bargains  always.  If 
he  is  not  booked  to  make  the  long  voyage  before  many  months 
are  past  and  gone,  I  wear  an  orange  for  a  head.” 

To  this  pro})hecy,  so  agreeable  to  his  ears,  Arthur  returned 
no  answer,  than  a  cackle  of  great  delight,  and  Ralph  throw¬ 
ing  himself  into  a  chair,  they  both  sat  waiting  in  profound 
silence.  Ralph  was  thinking  with  a  sneer  upon  his  lips  on  the 
altered  manner  of  Bray  that  day,  and  how  soon  their  fellowship 
in  a  bad  design  had  lowered  his  pride  and  established  a  familiarity 
between  them,  when  his  attentive  ear  caught  the  rustluig  of  a 
female  dress  upon  the  stairs,  and  the  footstep  of  a  man. 

“  Wake  up,”  he  said,  stamping  his  foot  impatiently  upon  the 
ground,  “  and  be  something  like  life,  man,  will  you  ?  They  are 
liere.  Urge  those  dry  old  bones  of  yours  this  wmy — quick,  man, 
quick.” 

Gride  sbamblcd  forward,  and  stood  leering  and  bowing  close 
by  Ralph's  side,  when  the  door  opened  and  there  entered  iu 


788 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


haste — not  Bray  and  his  daughter,  but  Nicholas  and  his  sister 
Kate. 

If  some  tremendous  apparition  from  the  world  of  shadows 
had  suddenly  presented  itself  before  him,  Ralph  Nickleby  could 
not  have  been  more  thunder-stricken  tlian  he  was  by  this  sur¬ 
prise.  His  hands  fell  powerless  by  his  side,  he  staggered  back, 
and  with  open  mouth,  and  a  face  of  ashy  paleness,  stood  gazing 
at  them  in  speechless  rage ;  his  eyes  so  prominent,  and  his  face 
so  convulsed  and  changed  by  the  passions  which  raged  within 
him,  that  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  recognize  in  him  the 
same  stern,  composed,  hard-featured  man  he  had  been  not  a 
minute  ago. 

“  The  man  that  came  to  me  last  night,”  whispered  Gride, 
plucking  at  his  elbow.  “  The  man  that  came  to  me  last  night.” 

“  I  see,”  muttered  Ralph,  “  I  know.  I  might  have  guessed 
as  much  before.  Across  my  every  path,  at  every  turn,  go  where 
I  will,  do  what  I  may,  he  comes.” 

The  absence  of  all  color  from  the  face,  the  dilated  nostril,  the 
quivering  of  the  lips  which  though  set  firmly  against  each  other 
would  not  be  still,  showed  what  fierce  emotions  were  struggling 
for  the  mastery  with  Nicholas.  But  he  kept  them  down,  and 
gently  pressing  Kate’s  arm  to  reassure  her,  stood  erect  and 
undaunted,  front  to  front  with  his  unworthy  relative. 

As  the  brother  and  sister  stood  side  by  side  with  a  gallant 
bearing  which  became  them  well,  a  close  likeness  between  them 
was  apparent,  which  many,  had  they  only  seen  them  apart, 
might  have  failed  to  remark.  The  air,  carriage,  and  very  look 
and  expression  of  the  brother  were  all  reflected  in  the  sister,  but 
softened  and  refined  to  the  nicest  limit  of  feminine  delicacy  and 
attraction.  More  stinking  still  was  some  indefinable  resemblance 
in  the  face  of  Ralph  to  both.  While  they  had  never  looked 
more  handsome,  nor  he  more  ugly,  while  they  had  never  held 
themselves  more  proudly,  nor  he  shrunk  half  so  low,  there  never 
had  been  a  time  when  this  resemblance  was  so  perceptible,  or 
when  all  the  worst  characteristics  of  a  face  rendered  coarse  and 
harsh  by  evil  thoughts  were  half  so  manifest  as  now. 

“Away!”  was  the  first  word  he  could  utter  as  he  literally 
gnashed  his  teeth.  “  Away  !  What  brings  you  here — liar — • 
scoundrel — dastard — thief.  ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


789 


“I  come  here/’  said  Nicholas,  in  a  low  deep  voice,  “to  save 
✓our  victim  if  I  can.  Liar  and  scoundrel  you  are  in  every  action 
of  your  life,  theft  is  your  trade,  and  double  dastard  you  must  be 
or  you  were  not  here  to-day.  Hard  words  will  not  move  me, 
nor  would  hard  blows.  Here  I  stand  and  will  till  I  have  done 
my  errand. 

“Girl  1”  said  Ralph,  “retire.  We  can  use  force  to  him,  but 
I  would  not  hurt  you  if  I  could  help  it.  Retire,  you  weak  and 
silly  wench,  and  leave  this  dog  to  be  dealt  with  as  he  deserves. 

“I  will  not  retire,”  cried  Kate,  with  flashing  eyes  and  the 

red  blood  mantling  in  her  cheeks.  “  You  will  do  him  no  hurt 

that  he  will  not  repay.  You  may  use  force  with  me;  I  think 
you  will,  for  I  am  a  girl,  and  that  would  well  become  you.  But 
if  I  have  a  girl’s  weakness,  I  have  a  woman’s  heart,  and  it  is 
not  you  who  in  a  cause  like  this  can  turn  that  from  its  purpose.” 

“  And  what  may  your  purpose  be,  most  lofty  lady  ?”  said 
Ralph. 

“  To  offer  to  the  unhappy  subject  of  your  treachery  at  this 
last  moment,”  replied  Nicholas,  “  a  refuge  and  a  home.  If  the 
near  prospect  of  such  a  husband  as  you  have  provided  will  not 
prevail  upon  her,  I  hope  she  may  be  moved  by  the  prayers  and 
entreaties  of  one  of  her  own  sex.  At  all  events  they  shall  be 

tried,  and  I  myself,  avowing  to  her  father  from  whom  I  come 

and  by  whom  I  am  commissioned,  will  render  it  an  act  of  greater 
baseness,  meanness,  and  cruelty  in  him  if  he  still  dares  to  force 
this  marriage  on.  Here  I  wait  to  see  him  and  his  daughter. 
For  this  I  came  and  brought  my  sister  even  into  your  vile  pres¬ 
ence.  Our  purpose  is  not  to  see  or  speak  with  you  ;  therefore 
to  yon,  we  stoop  to  say  no  more.” 

“  Indeed  1”  said  Ralph.  “You  persist  in  remaining  here, 
Ma’am,  do  you  ?” 

His  niece’s  bosom  heaved  with  the  indignant  excitement  into 
which  he  had  lashed  her,  but  she  gave  him  no  reply. 

“  Now,  Gride,  see  here,”  said  Ralph.  “  This  fellow — I  grieve 
to  sayj  iny  brother’s  son;  a  reprobate  and  profligate,  stained 
with  every  mean  and  selfish  crime — this  fellow  coming  here  to¬ 
day  to  disturb  a  solemn  ceremony,  and  knowing  that  the  conse¬ 
quence  of  his  presenting  himself  in  another  man’s  house  at  such 
a  time,  cud  persistiug  in  remaining  there,  must  be  his  being 


790 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


kicked  into  the  streets  and  dragged  through  them  like  the  vaga¬ 
bond  he  is — this  fellow,  mark  you,  brings  with  him  his  sister  as 
a  protection,  thinking  we  would  not  expose  a  silly  girl  to  the 
degradation  and  indignity  which  is  no  novelty  to  him  ;  and  even 
after  I  have  warned  her  of  what  must  ensue,  he  still  keeps  her 
by  him  as  you  see,  and  clings  to  her  apron-strings  like  a 
cowardly  boy  to  his  mother’s.  Is  this  a  pretty  fellow  to  talk 
as  big  as  you  have  heard  him  now  I” 

“  nd  as  I  heard  him  last  night,”  said  Arthur  Gride,  “  as  I 
heard  him  last  night  when  he  sneaked  into  my  house,  and — he  1 
he  1  he  ! — very  soon  sneaked  out  again,  when  I  nearly  frightened 
him  to  death.  And  he  wanting  to  marry  Miss  Madeline  too  1 
Oh  dear  1  Is  there  any  thing  else  he’d  like' — any  thing  else 
we  can  do  for  him,  besides  giving  her  up  ?  Would  he  like  his 
debts  paid  and  his  house  furnished,  and  a  few  bank  notes  for 
shaving  paper  if  he  shaves  at  all !  He  1  he  I  he  !” 

“You  will  remain,  girl,  will  you  ?”  said  Ilalph,  turning  upon 
Kate  again,  “to  be  hauled  down  stairs  like  a  drunken  drab — as 
I  swear  you  shall  if  you  stop  here?  No  answer  1  Thank  your 
brother  for  wdrat  follows.  Gride,  call  down  Bray — and  not  his 
daughter.  Let  them  keep  her  above.” 

“  If  you  value  your  head,”  said  Nicholas,  taking  up  a  posi¬ 
tion  before  the  door,  and  speaking  in  the  samm  low  voice  in 
w'hich  he  had  spoken  before,  and  with  no  more  outward  passion 
than  he  had  before  displayed,  “stay  where  you  are,” 

“  Mind  me  and  not  him,  and  call  down  Bray,”  said  Ilalph. 

“  Mind  yourself  rather  than  either  of  us,  and  stay  where  you 
are,”  said  Nicholas. 

“Will  you  call  down  Bray  ?”  cried  Ealph,  passionately. 

“Eemember  that  you  come  near  me  at  your  peril,”  said 
Nicholas. 

Gride  hesitated:  Ralph,  being  by  this  time  as  furious  as  a 
baffled  tiger,  made  for  the  door,  and  attempting  to  pass  Kate, 
clasped  her  arm  roughly  with  his  hand.  Nicholas,  with  his  eyes 
darting  lire,  seized  him  by  the  collar.  At  that  moment  a 
heavy  body  fell  with  great  violence  on  the  floor  above,  and  an 
instant  afterwards  was  heard  a  most  appalling  and  terrific 
scream. 

They  all  stood  still  and  gazed  upon  each  other.  Scream 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


791 


succeeded  scream ;  a  heavy  pattering  of  feet  succeeded ;  and 
many  shrill  voices  clamoring  together  were  heard  to  cry,  “Ho 
is  dead  I” 

“Stand  olF!”  cried  Nicholas,  letting  loose  all  the  violent 
passion  he  had  restrained  till  now,  “  if  this  is  what  I  scarcely 
dare  to  hope  it  is,  you  are  caught,  villains,  in  your  own  toils.” 

He  burst  from  the  room,  and  darting  up  stairs  to  the  quarter 
from  whence  the  noise  proceeded,  forced  his  way  through  a 
crowd  of  persons  who  quite  filled  a  small  bedchamber,  and  found 
Bray  lying  on  the  floor  quite  dead,  and  his  daughter  clinging  to 
the  body. 

“  How  did  this  happen  he  cried,  looking  wildly  about  him. 

Several  voices  answered  together  that  he  had  been  observed 
through  the  half-opened  door  reclining  in  a  strange  and  uneasy 
position  upon  a  chair ;  that  he  had  been  spoken  to  several  times, 
and  not  answering,  was  supposed  to  be  asleep,  until  some  per¬ 
son  going  in  and  shaking  him  by  the  arm,  he  fell  heavily  to  the 
ground  and  was  discovered  to  be  dead. 

“  Who  is  the  owner  of  this  house  ?”  said  Nicholas,  hastily. 

An  elderly  woman  was  pointed  out  to  him ;  and  to  her  he 
said,  as  he  knelt  down  and  gently  unwound  Madeline’s  arms  from 
the  lifeless  mass  round  which  they  were  entwined  :  “  I  represent 
this  lady’s  nearest  friends,  as  her  servant  here  knows,  and  must 
remove  her  from  this  dreadful  scene.  This  is  my  sister  to  whose 
charge  you  confide  her.  My  name  and  address  are  upon  that 
card,  and  you  shall  receive  from  me  all  necessary  directions  for 
the  arrangements  that  must  be  made.  Stand  aside,  every  one 
of  you,  and  give  me  room  and  air  for  Grod’s  sake. 

The  people  fell  back,  scarce  wondering  more  at  what  had  just 
occurred,  than  at  the  excitement  and  impetuosity  of  him  who 
spoke,  and  Nicholas,  taking  the  insensible  girl  in  his  arms,  bore 
her  from  the  chamber  and  down  stairs  into  the  room  he  had  just 
ouitted,  followed  by  his  sister  and  the  faithful  servant,  whom  ho 
charged  to  procure  a  coach  directly,  while  he  and  Kate  bent 
over  their  beautiful  charge  and  endeavored,  but  in  vain,  to  re¬ 
store  her  to  animation.  The  girl  performed  her  office  with  such 
expedition,  that  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  coach  was  ready. 

Balph  Nickleby  and  Gride,  stunned  and  paralyzed  by  the 
awful  event  which  had  so  suddenly  overthrown  their  schemes 


702 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


(it  would  not  otherwise,  perhaps,  have  made  much  impression 
on  them),  and  carried  away  by  the  extraordinary  energy  and  pre¬ 
cipitation  of  Nicholas,  which  bore  down  all  before  them,  looked 
on  at  these  proceedings  like  men  in  a  dream  or  trance.  It  was 
not  until  every  preparation  was  made  for  Madeline’s  immediate 
removal  that  Ralph  broke  silence  by  declaring  she  should  not 
be  taken  away. 

“  Who  says  that  ?”  cried  Nicholas,  starting  from  his  knee  and 
confronting  them,  but  still  retaining  Madeline’s  lifeless  hand 
in  his. 

“  I  !”  answered  Ralph,  hoarsely. 

“  Hush,  hush  1”  cried  the  terrified  Gride,  catching  him  by  the 
arm  again.  “  Hear  what  he  says.” 

“  Aye  1”  said  Nicholas,  extending  his  disengaged  hand  in  the 
air,  “  hear  what  he  says.  That  both  your  debts  are  paid  in  the 
one  great  debt  of  nature — that  the  bond  due  to-day  at  twelve  is 
now  waste  paper — that  your  contemplated  fraud  shall  be  dis¬ 
covered  yet — that  your  schemes  are  known  to  man,  and  over¬ 
thrown  by  Heaven — wretches,  that  he  defies  you  both  to  do  your 
worst.” 

“  This  man,”  said  Ralph,  in  a  voice  scarcely  intelligible,  “this 
man  claims  his  wife,  and  he  shall  have  her,” 

“  That  that  man  claims  what  is  not  his,  and  he  should  not 
have  her  if  he  were  fifty  men,  with  fifty  more  to  back  him,”  said 
Nicholas. 

“  Who  shall  prevent  him  ?” 

“I  will.” 

“  By  what  right,  I  should  like  to  know,”  cried  Ralph.  “  By 
what  right,  I  ask  ?” 

“  By  this  right — that,  knowing  what  I  do,  you  dare  not  tempt 
me  further,”  said  Nicholas,  “  and  by  this  better  right,  that  those 
I  serve,  and  with  whom  you  would  have  done  me  base  wrong 
and  injury,  are  her  nearest  and  her  dearest  friends.  In  their 
name  I  bear  her  hence.  Give  way  1” 

“  One  word  1”  cried  Ralph,  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

“  Not  one,”  replied  Nicholas,  “  I  will  not  hear  of  one — save 
this.  Look  to  yourself,  and  heed  this  warning  that  I  give  yoiL 
Your  day  is  past,  and  night  is  coming  on — ” 

“My  curse,  my  bik  •'r  deadly  curse,  upon  you,  boy!” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


793 


Whence  will  curses  come  at  your  command  ?  or  what  avails 
a  curse  or  blessing  from  a  man  like  you  ?  I  warn  you,  that 
misfortune  and  discovery  are  thickening  about  your  head ;  that 
the  structures  you  have  raised  through  all  your  ill-spent  life 
are  criunbliiig  into  dust ;  that  your  path  is  beset  with  spies ; 
that  this  very  day,  ten  thousand  pounds  of  your  hoarded  wealth 
hr.ve  gone  in  one  great  crash  !” 

“  ’Tis  false  !”  cried  Ralph,  shrinking  back. 

“  ’Tis  true,  and  you  shall  find  it  so.  I  have  no  more  words 
to  waste.  Stand  from  the  door.  Kate,  do  you  go  first.  Lay 
not  a  hand  on  her,  or  on  that  woman,  or  on  me,  or  so  much  as 
brush  their  garments  as  they  pass  you  by  I — You  let  them  pass 
and  he  blocks  the  door  again  !” 

Arthur  Gride  happened  to  be  in  the  doorway,  but  whether 
intentionally  or  from  confusion  was  not  quite  apparent.  Nich¬ 
olas  swung  him  away  with  such  violence  as  to  cause  him  to  spin 
round  the  room  until  he  was  caught  by  a  shaiq)  angle  of  the 
wall  and  there  knocked  down  ;  and  then  taking  his  beautiful 
burden  in  his  arms  rushed  violently  out.  No  one  cared  to  stop 
him,  if  any  were  so  disposed.  Making  his  way  through  a  mob 
of  people,  whom  a  report  of  the  circumstances  had  attracted 
round  the  house,  and  carrying  Madeline  in  his  great  excitement 
as  easily  as  if  she  were  an  infant,  he  reached  the  coach  in  which 
Kate  and  the  girl  were  already  waiting,  and  confiding  his  charge 
to  them,  jumped  up  beside  the  coachman  and  bade  him  drive 
away. 


CHAPTER  LV. 


OF  FAMILY  MATTERS,  CARES,  HOPES,  DISAPPOINTMENTS,  AND 

SORROM’S. 

Although  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  been  made  acquainted  by  her 
son  and  daughter  with  every  circumstance  of  Madeline  Bray’s 
history  which  was  known  to  them ;  although  the  responsible 
situation  in  which  Nicholas  stood  had  been  carefully  explained 
to  her,  and  she  had  been  prepared  even  for  the  possible  contin¬ 
gency  of  having  to  receive  the  young  lady  in  her  own  house — ■ 
improbable  as  such  a  result  had  appeared  only  a  few  minutes 
before  it  came  about — still,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  from  the  moment 
when  this  confidence  was  first  reposed  in  her  late  on  the  pre¬ 
vious  evening,  had  remained  in  an  unsatisfactory  and  profoundly 
mystified  state,  from  which  no  explanations  or  arguments  could 
relieve  her,  and  which  every  fresh  soliloquy  and  reflection  only 
aggravated  more  and  more.” 

“Bless  my  heart,  Kate,”  so  the  good  lady  argued,  “if  the 
Mr.  Cheerybles  don’t  want  this  young  lady  to  be  married,  v'hy 
don’t  they  file  a  bill  against  the  Lord  Chancellor,  make  her  a 
chancery  ward,  and  shut  her  up  iu  the  Fleet  prison  for  safety — 
I  have  read  of  such  things  in  the  newspapers  a  hundred  times  ; 
or,  if  they  are  so  very  fond  of  her  as  Nicholas  says  they  are, 
why  don’t  they  marry  her  themselves — one  of  them  I  mean. 
And  even  supposing  they  don’t  want  her  to  be  married,  and 
don’t  want  to  marry  her  themselves,  why  in  the  name  of  won¬ 
der  should  Nicholas  go  about  the  world  forbidding  people’s 
banns?” 

“  I  don’t  think  you  quite  understand,’-’  said  Kate,  gently. 

‘AVell  I  am  sure,  Kate,  my  dear,  you’re  very  polite,”  replied. 
JNIrs.  Nickleby.  “I  have  been  married  myself  I  hope,  and  I 
have  seen  other  people  married.  Not  understand,  indeed  1” 

“  I  know  you  have  had  great  experience,  dear  mamma,”  said 
Kate  ;  “I  mean  that  perhaps  you  don’t  quite  understand  all  the 
(794) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


796 


circumstances  in  this  instance.  We  have  stated  them  awkwardly 

I  dare  say.” 

“That  I  dare  say  you  have,”  retorted  her  mother,  briskly. 

“  That’s  very  likely.  I  am  not  to  be  held  accountable  for  that ; 
though  at  the  same  time,  as  the  circumstances  speak  for  them¬ 
selves,  I  shall  take  the  liberty,  my  love,  of  saying  that  I  do  un¬ 
derstand  them,  and  jierfectly  well  too,  whatever  you  and  Nicho¬ 
las  may  choose  to  think  to  the  contrary.  Why  is  such  a  great 
fuss  made  because  this  Miss  Magdaku  is  going  to  marry  some- 
l)ody  who  is  older  than  herself?  Your  poor  papa  was  older 
than  I  was — four  years  and  a  half  older.  Jane  Dibabs — the 
Dibabses  lived  in  the  beautiful  little  thatched  white  house  one- 
story  high,  covered  all  over  with  ivy  and  creeping  plants,  with 
an  exquisite  little  porch  with  twining  honeysuckles  and  all  sorts 
of  things,  where  the  earwigs  used  to  fall  into  one’s  tea  on  a 
summer  evening,  and  always  fell  upon  their  backs  and  kicked 
dreadfully,  and  where  the  frogs  used  to  get  into  the  rushlight 
shades  when  one  stopped  all  night,  and  sit  up  and  look  through 
the  little  holes  like  Christians — Jane  Dibabs,  she  married  a  man 
who  was  a  great  deal  older  than  herself,  and  would  marry  him 
notwithstanding  all  that  could  be  said  to  the  contrary,  and  she 
was  so  fond  of  him  that  nothing  was  ever  equal  to  it.  There 
was  no  fuss  made  about  Jane  Dibabs,  and  her  husband  was  a 
most  honorable  and  excellent  man,  and  every  body  spoke  well 
of  him.  Then  why  should  there  be  any  fuss  about  this  Mag¬ 
dalen  ?” 

“  Her  husband  is  much  older  ;  he  is  not  her  own  choice,  his 
character  is  the  very  reverse  of  that  which  you  have  just  de¬ 
scribed.  Don’t  you  see  a  broad  distinction  between  the  two 
cases  ?”  said  Kate. 

To  this  Mrs.  Nickleby  only  replied  that  she  durst  say  she 
was  very  stu})id,  indeed  she  had  no  doubt  she  was,  for  her  own 
children  almost  as  much  as  told  her  so  every  day  of  her  life ; 
to  be  sure  she  was  a  little  older  than  they,  and  perhaps  some 
foolish  people  might  think  she  ought  reasonably  to  know  best. 

II  owever,  no  doubt  she  was  wrong,  of  course  she  was — she 
always  was — she  couldn’t  be  right,  indeed — couldn’t  be  ex¬ 
pected  to  be — so  she  had  better  not  expose  herself  a)iy  more ; 
and  to  all  K  ite’s  conciliations  and  concessions  for  an  hour  en- 


796 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


suing,  Ine  good  lady  gave  no  other  replies  than — Oh,  certainly 
— why  did  they  ask  her — her  opinion  was  of  no  consequence— 
it  didn’t  matter  what  she  said — with  many  other  rejoinders  of 
the  same  class. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  (expressed,  when  she  had  become  too 
resigned  for  speech,  by  nods  of  the  head,  upliftings  of  the  eyes, 
and  little  beginnings  of  groans,  converted  as  they  attracted  at¬ 
tention  into  short  coughs),  Mrs.  Nickleby  remained  until 
Nicholas  and  Kate  returned  with  the  object  of  their  solicitude ; 
when,  having  by  this  time  asserted  her  own  importance,  and 
becoming  besides  interested  in  the  trials  of  one  so  young  and 
beautiful,  she  not  only  displayed  the  utmost  zeal  and  solicitude, 
but  took  great  credit  to  herself  for  recommending  the  course 
of  procedure  which  her  son  had  adopted ;  frequently  declaring 
with  an  expressive  look,  that  it  was  very  fortunate  things  w^ere 
as  they  were,  and  hinting,  that  but  for  great  encouragement 
and  wisdom  on  her  own  part,  they  never  could  have  been 
brought  to  that  pass. 

Not  to  strain  the  question  whether  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  or 
had  not  any  great  hand  in  bringing  matters  about,  it  is  un¬ 
questionable  that  she  had  strong  ground  for  exultation.  The 
brothers,  upon  their  return,  bestowed  such  commendations 
upon  Nicholas  for  the  part  he  had  taken,  and  evinced  so 
much  joy  at  the  altered  state  of  events  and  the  recovery  of 
their  young  friend  from  trials  so  great  and  dangers  so  threat¬ 
ening,  that,  as  she  more  than  once  informed  her  daughter,  she 
now  considered  the  fortunes  of  the  family  “as  good  as”  made. 
Mr.  Charles  Cheeryble,  indeed,  Mrs.  Nickleby  positively  asserted 
had,  in  the  first  transports  of  his  surprise  and  delight,  “as  good 
as”  said  so,  and  without  precisely  explaining  what  this  qualifi¬ 
cation  meant,  she  subsided,  whenever  she  mentioned  the  subject, 
into  such  a  mysterious  and  important  state,  and  had  such  visions 
of  wealth  and  dignity  in  perspective,  that  (vague  and  clouded 
though  they  were)  she  was  at  such  times  almost  as  happy  as  if 
she  had  really  been  permanently  provided  for  on  a  scale  of  great 
6j)lendor,  and  all  her  cares  were  over. 

The  sudden  and  terrible  shock  she  had  received,  combined 
with  tlie  great  affliction  and  anxiety  of  mind  which  she  had  for 
a  long  time  endured,  proved  too  much  for  Madeline’s  strength. 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


797 


Recovering  from  the  state  of  stupefaction  into  which  the  sud¬ 
den  death  of  her  father  happily  plunged  her,  she  only  exchanged 
that  condition  for  one  of  dangerous  and  active  illness.  When 
the  delicate  physical  powers  which  have  been  sustained  by  an 
unnatural  strain  upon  the  mental  energies  and  a  resolute  deter¬ 
mination  not  to  yield,  at  last  give  way,  their  degree  of  prostra¬ 
tion  is  usually  proportionate  to  the  strength  of  the  effort  which 
has  previously  upheld  them.  Thus  it  was  that  the  illness  which 
fell  on  Madeline  was  of  no  slight  or  temporary  nature,  but  one 
which  for  a  time  threatened  her  reason,  and — scarcely  worse — ■ 
her  life  itself. 

Who,  slowly  recovei’ing  from  a  disorder  so  severe  and  dan¬ 
gerous,  could  be  insensible  to  the  unremitting  attentions  of  such 
a  nurse  as  gentle,  tender,  earnest  Kate  ?  On  whom  could  the 
sweet  soft  voice,  the  light,  step,  the  delicate  hand,  the  quiet, 
cheerful,  noiseless  discharge  of  those  thousand  little  offices  of 
kindness  and  relief  which  we  feel  so  deeply  when  we  are  ill,  and 
forget  so  lightly  when  we  are  well — on  whom  could  they  make 
BO  deep  an  impression  as  on  a  young  heart  stored  with  every 
pure  and  true  affection  that  women  cherish  ;  almost  a  stranger 
to  the  endearments  and  devotion  of  its  own  sex,  save  as  it  learnt 
them  from  itself ;  and  rendered  by  calamity  and  suffering  keenly 
susceptible  of  the  sympathy  so  long  unknown  and  so  long  sought 
in  vain  ?  What  wonder  that  days  became  as  years  in  knitting 
them  together  ?  What  wonder,  if  Avith  every  hour  of  returning 
health,  there  came  some  stronger  and  sweeter  recognition  of  the 
praises  which  Kate,  Avhen  they  recalled  old  scenes — they  seemed 
old  now,  and  to  have  been  acted  years  ago — would  lavish  on 
her  brother ;  where  would  have  been  the  wonder  even  if  those 
praises  had  found  a  quick  response  in  the  breast  of  Madeline, 
and  if,  with  the  image  of  Nicholas  so  constantly  recurring  in 
the  features  of  his  sister  that  she  could  scarcely  separate  the  two, 
she  had  sometimes  found  it  equally  difficult  to  assign  to  each 
the  feelings  they  had  lirst  inspired,  and  had  imperceptibly  min¬ 
gled  with  her  gratitude  to  Nicholas,  some  of  that  warmer  feeling 
which  she  had  assigned  to  Kate  ? 

“  My  dear,”  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  say,  coming  into  the  room 
with  an  elaborate  caution,  .ialculated  to  discompose  the  nerves 
of  an  invalid  rather  more  than  the  entry  of  a  horse-soldier  at 


798 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


full  gallop;  “how  do  you  find  yourself  to-night.  I  hope  you 
are  better  ?” 

“  Almost  well,  mamma,”  Kate  would  reply,  laying  down  her 
work,  and  taking  Madeline’s  hand  in  hers. 

“  Kate  !”  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  say,  reprovingly,  “  don’t  talk 
so  loud,”  (the  worthy  lady  herself  talking  in  a  whisper  that 
would  have  made  the  blood  of  the  stoutest  man  run  cold  in  his 
veins.) 

Kate  would  take  this  reproof  very  quietly,  and  Mrs.  Nick¬ 
leby,  making  every  board  creak,  and  every  thread  rustle  as  she 
moved  stealthily  about,  would  add — 

“My  son  Nicholas  has  just  come  home,  and  I  have  come, 
according  to  custom,  my  dear,  to  know  from  your  own  lips 
exactly  how  you  are,  for  he  won’t  take  my  account,  and  never 
will.” 

“  He  is  later  than  usual  to-night,”  perhaps  Madeline  would 
reply.  “Nearly  half  an  hour.” 

“Well,  I  never  saw  such  people  in  all  my  life  as  you  are  for 
time  up  here  1”  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  exclaim  in  great  astonish¬ 
ment  ;  “  I  declare  I  never  did  1  I  had  not  the  least  idea  that 
Nicholas  was  after  his  time — not  the  smallest.  Mr.  Nickleby 
used  to  say — your  poor  papa  I  am  speaking  of,  Kate,  my  dear — 
used  to  say  that  appetite  was  the  best  clock  in  the  world,  but 
you  have  no  appetite,  my  dear  Miss  Bray;  I  wish  you  had,  and 
upon  my  word  I  really  think  you  ought  to  take  something  that 
would  give  you  one ;  I  am  sure  I  don’t  know,  but  I  have  heard 
that  two  or  three  dozen  native  lobsters  give  an  appetite,  though 
that  comes  to  the  same  thing  after  all,  for  I  suppose  you  must 
have  an  appetite  before  you  can  take  ’em.  If  I  said  lobsters,  I 
meant  oysters,  but  of  course  it’s  all  the  same,  though  really 
how  you  came  to  know  about  Nicholas - ” 

“Wo  happened  to  be  just  talking  about  him,  mamma  ;  that 
was  it.” 

“  You  never  seem  to  me  to  be  talking  about  au}^  thing  else, 
Kate,  and  up)n  my  word  I  am  quite  surprised  at  your  being  so 
very  thoughtless.  Yon  can  find  subjects  enough  to  talk  about 
sometimes,  and  when  you  know  how  important  it  is  to  keep  up 
Miss  Bray’s  spirits,  and  interest  her  and  all  that,  it  really  is 
quite  extraordinary  to  me  what  can  induce  you  to  keep  on 


prose,  prose,  prose,  din,  din,  din,  everlastingly  upon  the  same 
theme.  You  are  a  very  kind  nurse,  Kate,  and  a  very  good  one, 
and  I  know  you  mean  very  well ;  but  I  will  say  this— that  if  it 
wasn’t  for  me,  I  really  don’t  know  what  would  become  of  Miss 
Bray’s  spirits,  and  so  I  tell  the  doctor  every  day.  He  says 
he  wonders  how  I  sustain  ray  own,  and  1  am  sure  I  very  often 
wonder  myself  how  I  can  contrive  to  keep  up  as  I  do.  Of 
course  it’s  an  exertion,  but  still,  when  I  know  how  much  depends 
upon  me  in  this  house,  I  am  obliged  to  make  it.  There’s  nothing 
praiseworthy  in  that,  but  it’s  necessary,  and  I  do  it.” 

With  that,  Mrs.  Kicklcby  would  draw  up  a  chair,  and  for 
some  three  quarters  of  an  hour  run  through  a  great  variety  of 
distracting  topics  in  the  most  distracting  manner  possible  ;  tear¬ 
ing  herself  away  at  length  on  the  plea  that  she  must  now  go 
and  amuse  Nicholas  while  he  took  his  supper.  After  a  prelimi¬ 
nary  raising  of  his  spirits  with  the  information  that  she  con¬ 
sidered  the  patient  decidedly  worse,  she  would  further  cheer  him 
up  by  relating  how  dull,  listless,  and  low-spirited  Miss  Bray 
was,  because  Kate  foolishly  talked  about  nothing  else  but  him 
and  family  matters.  When  she  had  made  Nicholas  thoroughly 
comfortable  with  these  and  other  inspiriting  remarks,  she  would 
discourse  at  length  on  the  arduous  duties  she  had  performed 
that  day,  and  sometimes  be  moved  to  tears  in  wondering  how, 
if  any  thing  were  to  happen  to  herself,  the  family  would  ever 
get  on  without  her. 

At  other  times,  when  Nicholas  came  home  at  night,  he  would 
be  accompanied  by  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble,  who  was  commis¬ 
sioned  by  the  brothers  to  inquire  how  Madeline  was  that  even' 
ing.  On  such  occasions  (and  they  were  of  very  frequent  occur¬ 
rence),  Mrs.  Nickleby  deemed  it  of  particular  importance  that 
she  should  have  her  wits  about  her ;  for  from  certain  signs  and 
tokens  which  had  attracted  her  attention,  she  shrewdly  suspected 
that  Mr.  Frank,  Interested  as  his  uncles  were  in  INIadeline,  came 
quite  as  much  to  see  Kate  as  to  inquire  after  her  ;  the  more 
especially  as  the  brothers  were  in  constant  communication  with 
the  medical  man,  came  backwards  and  forwards  very  frecpiently 
themselves,  and  received  a  full  report  from  Nicholas  every  morn¬ 
ing.  These  were  proud  times  for  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  never  was 
any  body  half  so  discreet  and  sage  as  she,  or  half  so  mysterious 
51 


BOO 


NICHOLAS  NICKIEBY. 


p^ithal ;  and  never  was  there  such  cunning  generalsliip,  or  such 
unfalhoaiable  designs,  as  she  brought  to  bear  upon  Mr.  Frank, 
witii  the  view  of  ascertaining  whether  her  suspicions  were  well 
founded,  and  if  so,  of  tantalizing  him  into  taking  her  into  his 
conlidence  and  throwing  himself  upon  her  merciful  considera¬ 
tion.  Extensive  was  the  artillerj'’,  heavy  and  light,  which  Mrs. 
Nickleby  brought  into  play  for  the  furtherance  of  these  great 
schemes,  and  various  and  opposite  the  means  which  she  employed 
to  bring  about  the  end  she  had  in  view.  At  one  time  she  was 
all  cordiality  and  ease,  at  another,  all  stiffness  and  frigidity. 
Now  she  would  seem  to  open  her  whole  heart  to  her  unhappy 
victim,  and  the  next  time  they  met  receive  him  with  the  most 
distant  and  studious  reserve,  as  if  a  new  light  had  broken  in 
upon  her,  and  guessing  his  intentions,  she  had  resolved  to  check 
them  in  the  bud  ;  as  if  she  felt  it  her  bounden  duty  to  act  with 
Spartan  firmness,  and  at  once  and  for  ever  to  discourage  hopes 
which  never  could  be  realized.  At  other  times,  when  Nicholas 
was  not  there  to  overhear,  and  Kate  was  up  stairs  busily  tend¬ 
ing  her  sick  friend,  the  worthy  lady  would  throw  out  dark  hints 
of  an  intention  to  send  her  to  France  for  three  or  four  years,  or 
to  Scotland  for  the  improvement  of  her  health,  impaired  by  her 
late  fatigues,  or  to  America  on  a  visit,  or  any  where  that  threat¬ 
ened  a  long  and  tedious  separation.  Nay,  she  even  went  so 
far  as  to  hint  obscurely  at  an  attachment  entertained  for  her 
daughter  by  the  son  of  an  old  neighbor  of  theirs,  one  Horatio 
Peltirogus  (a  young  gentleman  who  might  have  been  at  that 
time  four  years  old,  or  thereabouts),  and  to  represent  it  indeed 
as  almost  a  settled  thing  between  the  families — only  waiting  for 
her  daughter’s  final  decision  to  come  off  with  the  sanction  of  the 
church,  and  to  the  unspeakable  happiness  and  content  of  all 
parties. 

It  was  in  the  full  pride  and  glory  of  having  sprung  this  last 
mine  one  night  with  extraordinary  success,  that  Mrs.  Nickleby 
took  the  opportunity  of  being  left  alone  with  her  son  before  retir¬ 
ing  to  rest,  to  sound  him  upon  the  subject  which  so  occupied  her 
thoughts :  not  doubting  that  they  could  have  but  one  opinion 
respecting  it.  To  this  end,  she  approached  the  question  vyith 
divers  laudatory  and  appropriate  remarks  touching  the  general 
amiability  of  Mr.  Frank  Cher.ryble. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


801 


“You  are  quite  right,  mother,”  said  Nicholas,  “  quite  right, 
lie  is  a  hue  fellow.” 

“Good-looking,  too,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby 

“Decidedly  good-looking,”  answered  Nicholas 

“  What  may  you  call  his  nose,  now,  my  dear  ?”  pursued  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  wishing  to  interest  Nicholas  in  the  subject  to  the 
utmost. 

“  Call  it?”  repeated  Nicholas. 

“Ah!”  returned  his  mother,  “what  style  of  nose — what  order 
of  architecture,  if  one  may  say  so.  I  am  not  very  learned  in 
noses.  Do  you  call  it  a  Roman  or  a  Grecian  ?” 

“Upon  my  word,  mother,”  said  Nicholas,  laughing,  “as  well 
as  I  remember,  I  should  call  it  a  kind  of  Composite,  or  mixed 
nose.  But  I  have  no  very  strong  recollection  upon  the  subject, 
and  if  it  will  afford  you  any  gratification.  I’ll  observe  it  more 
closely,  and  let  you  know.” 

“  I  wish  you  would,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  an 
earnest  look. 

“Very  well,”  returned  Nicholas.  “I  will.” 

Nicholas  returned  to  the  perusal  of  the  book  he  had  been 
reading,  when  the  dialogue  had  gone  thus  far.  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
after  stopping  a  little  for  consideration,  resumed. 

“He  is  very  much  attached  to  you,  Nicholas,  my  dear.” 

“Nicholas  laughingly  said,  as  he  closed  his  book,  that  he 
was  glad  to  hear  it,  and  observed  that  his  mother  seemed  deep 
in  their  new  friend’s  confidence  already. 

“  Hem  I”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  “  I  don’t  know  about  that,  my 
dear,  but  I  think  it  is  very  necessary  that  somebody  should  be 
in  his  confidence — highly  necessary.” 

Elated  by  a  look  of  curiosity  from  her  son,  and  the  conscioua- 
ness  of  possessing  a  great  secret  all  to  herself,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
went  on  with  great  animation  : 

“I  am  sure,  my  dear  Nicholas,  how  you  can  have  failed  to 
notice  it  is  to  me  quite  extraordinary  ;  though  I  don’t  know 
why  I  should  say  that  either,  because  of  course,  as  far  as  it  goes, 
and  to  a  certain  extent,  there  is  a  great  deal  in  this  sort  of 
thing,  especially  in  this  early  stage,  which  however  clear  it  may 
be  to  females  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  be  so  evident  to  men 
1  don’t  say  that  I  have  any  particular  ponetrallon  in  smdi  ncH- 


802 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


ters.  I  may  have ;  those  about  me  should  know  best  about 
that,  and  perhaps  do  know.  Upon  that  point  I  shall  express 
no  opinion — it  wouldn’t  become  me  to  do  so  ;  it’s  cpute  out  of 
the  question — quite.” 

Nicholas  snuffed  the  candles,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  assumed  a  look  of  patient  suffering 
and  melancholy  resignation. 

“  1  think  it’s  my  duty,  Nicholas,  my  dear,”  resumed  his  mo¬ 
ther,  “  to  tell  you  what  I  know,  not  only  because  you  have  a 
right  to  know  it  too,  and  to  know  every  thing  that  happens  in 
this  family,  but  because  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  promote 
and  assist  the  thing  very  much ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
sooner  one  can  come  to  a  clear  understanding  upon  such  sub¬ 
jects,  it  is  always  better  every  way.  There  are  a  great  many 
things  you  might  do,  such  as  taking  a  walk  in  the  garden  some¬ 
times,  or  sitting  up  stairs  in  your  own  room  for  a  little  while, 
or  making  believe  to  fall  asleep  occasionally,  or  pretending  that 
you  recollected  some  business,  and  going  out  for  an  hour  or  so, 
and  taking  Mr.  Smike  with  you.  These  seem  very  slight  things, 
and  I  dare  say  you  will  be  amused  at  my  making  them  of  so 
much  importance ;  at  the  same  time,  my  dear,  I  can  assure  you 
(and  you’ll  find  this  out,  Nicholas,  for  yourself  one  of  these  days, 
if  you  ever  fall  in  love  with  any  body,  as  I  trust  and  hope  you 
will,  provided  she  is  respectable  and  well  conducted,  and  of 
course  you’d  never  dream  of  falling  in  love  with  any  body  who 
was  not),  I  say,  I  can  assure  you  that  a  great  deal  more  de¬ 
pends  upon  these  little  things  than  you  would  suppose  possible. 
If  your  poor  papa  was  alive,  he  would  tell  you  how  much  de¬ 
pended  upon  the  parties  being  left  alone.  Of  course  you  are 
not  to  go  out  of  the  room  as  if  you  meant  it  and  did  it  on 
purpose,  but  as  if  it  was  quite  an  accident,  and  to  come  back 
again  in  the  same  way.  If  you  cough  in  the  passage  before 
you  open  the  door,  or  whistle  carelessly,  or  hum  a  tune,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  to  let  them  know  you’re  coming,  it’s 
always  better  ;  because,  of  course,  though  it’s  not  only  natural, 
but  perfectly  correct  and  proper  under  the  circumstances,  still 
it  is  very  confusing  h  you  interrupt  young  people  when  they 
are — when  they  are  sitting  on  the  sofa,  and — and  all  that  sort 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


803 


of  thing,  which  is  very  nonsensical  perhaps,  but  still  they  will 
do  it.” 

The  profound  astonishment  with  which  her  son  regarded  her 
during  this  long  address,  gradually  increasing  as  it  approached 
its  climax,  in  no  way  discomposed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  but  rather 
exalted  her  opinion  of  her  own  cleverness ;  therefore,  merely 
stopping  to  remark,  with  much  complacency,  that  she  had  fully 
expected  him  to  be  surprised,  she  entered  upon  a  vast  quantity 
of  circumstantial  evidence  of  a  particularly  incoherent  and  per¬ 
plexing  kind,  the  upshot  of  which  was  to  establish,  beyond  tlie 
possibility  of  doubt,  that  Mr.  Frank  Cheery ble  had  fallen 
desperately  in  love  with  Kate. 

“  With  whom  ?”  cried  Nicholas. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  repeated,  with  Kate. 

“What  I  our  Kate — my  sister  !” 

“Lord,  Nicholas!”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “whose  Kate 
should  it  be,  if  not  ours  ;  or  what  should  I  care  about  it,  or 
take  any  interest  in  it  for,  if  it  was  any  body  but  your  sister  ?” 

“Dear  mother,”  said  Nicholas,  “surely  it  can’t  be.” 

“Very  good,  my  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great 
confidence.  “  Wait,  and  see.” 

Nicholas  had  never,  until  that  moment,  bestowed  one  thought 
upon  the  remote  possibility  of  such  an  occurrence  as  that  which 
was  now  communicated  to  him ;  for,  besides  that  he  had  been 
much  from  home  of  late  and  closely  occupied  with  other  matters, 
his  own  jealous  fears  had  prompted  the  suspicion  that  some 
secret  interest  in  Madeline,  akin  to  that  which  he  felt  himself, 
occasioned  those  visits  of  Frank  Cheeryble  which  had  recently 
become  so  frequent.  Even  now,  although  he  knew  that  the 
observation  of  an  anxious  mother  was  much  more  likely  to  be 
correct  in  such  a  case  than  his  own,  and  although  she  reminded 
liim  of  many  little  circumstances  which,  taken  together,  were 
certainly  susceptible  of  the  construction  she  triumphantly  put 
upon  them,  he  was  not  quite  convinced  but  that  they  arose  from 
mere  good-natured  thoughtless  gallantry,  which  would  have 
dictated  the  same  conduct  towards  any  other  girl  who  was  young 
and  pleasing-  -at  all  events,  he  hoped  so,  and  therefore  tried 
to  believe  it. 

“  I  am  very  much  disturbed  by  what  you  tell  me,”  said 


804 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


Nicholas,  after  a  little  reflection,  “though  I  yet  hope  you  may 
be  mistaken.” 

“  I  don’t  understand  why  you  should  hope  so,”  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  “I  confess  ;  but  you  may  depend  upon  it  I  am  not.” 

“  What  of  Kate  ?”  inquired  Nicholas. 

“  Why  that,  my  dear,”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “is  just  the 
point  upon  which  I  am  not  yet  satisfied.  During  this  sickness, 
she  has  been  constantly  at  Madeline’s  bedside — never  were  two 
people  so  fond  of  each  other  as  they  have  grown — and  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  Nicholas,  I  have  rather  kept  her  away  now  and 
then,  because  I  think  it’s  a  good  plan,  and  urges  a  young  man 
on.  Pie  doesn’t  get  too  sure,  you  know.” 

She  said  this  with  such  a  mingling  of  high  delight  and  self- 
congratulation,  that  it  was  inexpressibly  painful  to  Nicholas  to 
dash  her  hopes  ;  but  he  felt  that  there  was  only  one  honorable 
course  before  him,  and  that  he  was  bound  to  take  it. 

“Dear  mother,”  he  said  kindly,  “don’t  you  see  that  if  there 
really  were  any  serious  inclination  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Frardc 
towards  Kate,  and  we  suffered  ourselves  for  one  moment  to 
encourage  it,  we  should  be  acting  a  most  dishonorable  and 
ungrateful  part?  I  ask  you  if  you  don’t  see  it,  but  I  need  not 
say  that,  I  know  you  don’t,  or  you  would  have  been  more 
strictly  upon  your  guard.  Let  me  explain  my  meaning  to  you 
. — remember  how  poor  we  are.” 

Mrs.  Nickleby  shook  her  head,  and  said  through  her  tears 
that  poverty  was  not  a  crime. 

“No,”  said  Nicholas,  “and  for  that  very  reason  poverty 
should  engender  an  honest  pride,  that  it  may  not  lead  and  tempt 
us  to  unworthy  actions,  and  that  we  may  preserve  the  self- 
respect  which  a  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of  water  may  main¬ 
tain — and  does  belter  in  maintaining  than  a  monarch  his.  Think 
what  we  owe  to  these  two  brothers ;  remember  what  they  have 
done  and  do  every  day  for  us  with  a  generosity  and  delicacy  for 
which  the  devotion  of  our  whole  lives  would  be  a  most  imper¬ 
fect  and  inadequate  return.  What  kind  of  return  would  that 
be  which  would  be  comprised  in  our  permitting  their  nephew, 
their  only  relative,  whom  they  regard  as  a  son,  and  for  whom  it 
would  be  mei’e  childishness  to  suppose  they  have  not  formed 
plans  suitably  adapted  to  the  education  he  has  had,  and  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


805 


fortune  he  will  inherit — in  our  permitting  him  to  marry  a  por¬ 
tionless  girl  so  closely  connected  with  us,  that  the  irresistible 
inference  must  be  that  he  was  entrapped  by  a  plot;  that  it  was  a 
deliberate  scheme  and  a  speculation  amongst  us  three.  Bring 
the  matter  clearly  before  yourself,  mother.  Now  how  would 
you  feel  if  they  were  married,  and  the  brothers  coming  here  on 
cue  of  those  kind  errands  which  bring  them  here  so  often,  you 
had  to  break  out  to  them  the  truth  ?  Would  you  be  at  case, 
and  feel  that  you  had  played  an  honest,  open  part  ?” 

Poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  crying  more  and  more,  murmured  that 
of  course  Mr.  Frank  would  ask  the  consent  of  his  uncles  first. 

“  Wh)'’,  to  be  sure,  that  would  place  him  in  a  better  situation 
with  them,”  said  Nicholas,  “but  we  should  still  be  open  to  the 
same  suspicions,  the  distance  between  us  Avould  still  be  as  great, 
the  advantages  to  be  gained  would  still  be  as  manifest  as  now. 
We  may  be  reckoning  without  our  host  in  all  this,”  he  added 
more  cheerfully,  “and  I  trust,  and  almost  believe  we  are.  If  it 
be  otherwise,  I  have  that  confidence  in  Kate  that  I  know  she 
will  feel  as  I  do,  and  in  you,  dear  mother,  to  be  assured  that 
after  a  little  consideration  you  will  do  the  same.” 

After  many  more  representations  and  entreaties,  Nicholas 
obtained  a  promise  from  Mrs.  Nickleby  that  she  would  try  all 
she  could  to  think  as  he  did,  and  that  if  Mr.  Frank  persevered 
in  his  attentions  she  would  endeavor  to  discourage  them,  or,  at 
the  least,  would  render  him  no  countenance  or  assistance.  He 
determined  to  forbear  mentioning  the  subject  to  Kate  until  he 
was  quite  convinced  there  existed  a  real  necessity  for  his  doing 
BO,  and  resolved  to  assure  himself,  as  well  as  he  could,  by  close 
personal  observation,  of  the  exact  position  of  affairs.  This  was 
a  very  wise  resolution,  but  he  was  prevented  from  putting  it  in 
practice  by  a  new  source  of  anxiety  and  uneasiness. 

Smike  became  alarmingly  ill ;  so  reduced  and  exhausted  that 
he  could  scarcely  move  from  room  to  room  without  assistance, 
and  so  worn  and  emaciated  that  it  was  painful  to  look  ui)on  him. 
Nicholas  was  warned  by  the  same  medical  authority  to  whom 
he  had  at  first  appealed,  that  the  last  chance  and  hope  of  his 
life  depended  on  his  being  instantly  removed  from  London. 
That  part  of  Devonshire  in  which  Nicholas  had  been  himself 
bred  when  a  boy,  was  named  as  the  most  favorable  spot;  but 


806 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


this  advice  was  cautiously  coupled  with  the  information,  that 
whoever  accompanied  him  thither  must  be  prepared  for  the 
worst,  for  every  token  of  rapid  consumption  had  appeared,  and 
he  might  never  return  alive. 

The  kind  brothers,  who  were  acquainted  with  the  poor  crea¬ 
ture’s  sad  history,  despatched  old  Tim  to  be  present  at  this  con¬ 
sult  ation.  That  same  morning,  Nicholas  was  summoned  bv 
brother  Charles  into  his  private  room,  and  thus  addressed  : 

“  My  dear  Sir,  no  time  must  be  lost.  This  lad  shall  not  die 
if  such  human  means  as  we  can  use  can  save  his  life  ;  neither 
shall  he  die  alone,  and  in  a  strange  place.  Remove  him  to¬ 
morrow  morning,  see  that  he  has  every  comfort  that  his  situation 
requires,  and  don’t  leave  him — don’t  leave  him,  ray  dear  Sir, 
until  you  know  that  there  is  no  longer  any  immediate  danger. 
It  would  be  hard  indeed  to  part  you  now — no,  no,  no.  Tim 
shall  wait  upon  you  to-night.  Sir ;  Tim  shall  wait  upon  you 
to-night  with  a  parting  word  or  two.  Brother  Ned,  my  dear 
fellow,  Mr.  Nickleby  waits  to  shake  hands  and  say  good  bye  ; 
Mr.  Nickleby  won’t  be  long  gone;  this  poor  chap  will  soon  get 
better — very  soon  get  better — and  then  he’ll  find  out  some  nice 
homely  country  people  to  leave  him  with,  and  go  backwards  and 
forwards  sometimes — backwards  and  forwards  you  know,  Ned- — 
and  there’s  no  cause  to  be  down-hearted,  for  he’ll  very  soon  get 
better,  very  soon,  won’t  he — won’t  he,  Ned  ?” 

What  Tim  Linkinwater  said,  or  what  he  brought  with  him 
that  night,  needs  not  to  be  told.  Next  morning  Nicholas  and 
his  feeble  companion  began  their  journey. 

And  who  but  one — and  that  one  he  who,  but  for  those  who 
crowded  round  him  then,  had  never  met  a  look  of  kindness,  or 
known  a  word  of  pity — could  tell  what  agony  of  mind,  what 
blighted  thoughts,  what  unavailing  sorrow,  were  involved  in 
that  sad  parting  ! 

“See,”  cried  Nicholas  eagerly,  as  he  looked  from  the  coach 
window,  “  they  are  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  still !  And  now 
there’s  Kate — poor  Kate,  whom  you  said  you  couldn’t  bear  to 
say  good  bye  to — waving  her  handkerchief.  Don’t  go  without 
one  gesture  of  farewell  to  Kate!” 

“1  cannot  make  it  I”  cried  his  trembling  companion,  falling 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


807 


back  in  his  seat  and  corering  his  eyes.  “  Do  you  see  her  now  ? 
Is  she  there  still  ?” 

“Yes,  yes!”  said  Nicholas,  earnestly.  “There,  she  waves 
her  hand  again.  I  have  answered  it  for  you — and  now  they  are 
out  of  sight.  Do  not  give  way  so  bitterly,  dear  friend,  do  not. 
You  will  meet  them  all  again.” 

lie  whom  he  thus  encouraged,  raised  his  withered  hands  and 
clasped  them  fervently  together. 

“  In  heaven — I  humbly  pray  to  God — in  heaven  I” 

It  sounded  like  the  prayer  of  a  broken  heart. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


RALPH  NIOKLEBY,  BAFFLED  BY  HIS  NEPHEW  IN  HIS  LATE  DE¬ 
SIGN,  HATCHES  A  SCHEME  OF  RETALIATION  WHICH  ACCIDENT 
SUGGESTS  TO  HIM,  AND  TAKES  INTO  HIS  COUNSELS  A  TRIED 
AU  XILIARY. 

The  course  which  these  adventures  shape  out  for  themselves 
and  imperatively  call  upon  the  historian  to  observe,  now  de¬ 
mands  that  they  should  revert  to  the  point  they  attained  pre¬ 
vious  to  the  commencement  of  tlie  last  chapter,  when  Ralph 
Nickleby  and  Arthur  Gride  were  left  together  in  the  house 
where  death  had  so  suddenly  reared  his  dark  and  heavy  banner. 

With  clenched  hands,  and  teeth  ground  together  so  firm  and 
tight  that  no  locking  of  the  jaws  could  for  the  time  have  fixed 
and  riveted  them  more  securely,  Ralph  stood  for  some  minutes 
in  the  same  attitude  in  which  he  had  last  addressed  his  nephew : 
breathing  heavily,  but  as  rigid  and  motionless  in  other  respects 
as  if  he  had  been  a  brazen  statue.  After  a  time,  he  began  by 
slow  degrees,  as  a  man  rousing  himself  from  heavy  slumber,  to 
relax.  For  a  moment  he  shook  his  clasped  fist  stealthily  and 
savagely  towards  the  door  by  which  Nicholas  had  disappeared, 
and  then  thrusting  it  into  his  breast  as  if  to  repress  by  force 
even  this  show  of  passion,  turned  round  and  confronted  the  less 
hardy  usurer,  who  had  not  yet  risen  from  the  ground. 

The  cowering  wretch,  who  still  shook  in  every  limb,  and 
whose  few  gray  hairs  trembled  and  quivered  on  his  head  with 
abject  dismay,  tottered  to  his  feet  as  he  met  Ralph’s  eye,  and 
shielding  his  face  with  both  hands,  protested  while  he  crept  to¬ 
wards  the  door  that  it  was  no  fault  of  his. 

“  Who  said  it  was,  man  ?”  returned  Ralph,  in  a  suppressed 
voice.  “  Who  said  it  was  ?” 

“You  looked  as  if  you  thought  I  was  to  blame,”  said  Gride, 
timidly, 

“  Pshaw  1”  Ralph  muttered,  forcing  a  laugh.  “  I  blame  him 

esos) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


809 


for  not  living  an  hour  longer — one  hour  longer  would  have  been 
long  enough — I  blame  no  one  else.” 

“  N — n — no  one  else  ?”  said  Gride. 

“Not  for  this  mischance,”  replied  Ralph.  “I  have  an  old 
score  to  clear  with  that — that  young  fellow  who  has  carried  otf 
your  mistress,  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  blustering 
just  now  for  we  should  soon  have  been  quit  of  him,  but  for  this 
cursed  accident.” 

There  was  something  so  unnatural  in  the  constrained  calmne;«i 
with  which  Ralph  Nickleby  spoke,  when  coupled  with  the  livid 
face,  the  horrible  expression  of  the  features  to  which  every  nerve 
and  muscle,  as  it  twitched  and  throbbed  with  a  spasm  whose 
workings  no  effect  could  conceal,  gave  every  instant  some  new 
and  frightful  aspect — there  was  something  so  unnatural  and 
ghastly  in  the  contrast  between  his  harsh,  slow,  steady  voice 
(only  altered  by  a  certain  halting  of  the  breath  which  made  him 
pause  between  almost  every  word  like  a  drunken  man  bent  upon 
speaking  plainly),  and  these  evidences  of  the  most  intense  and 
violent  passions,  and  the  struggle  he  made  to  keep  them  under, 
that  if  the  dead  body  which  lay  above  had  stood  instead  of  him 
before  the  cowering  Gride,  it  could  scarcely  have  presented  a 
spectacle  which  would  have  terrified  him  more. 

“  The  coach,”  said  Ralph  after  a  time,  during  which  he  had 
struggled  like  some  strong  man  against  a  fit.  “We  came  in  a 
coach.  Is  it — waiting  ?” 

Gride  gladly  availed  himself  of  the  pretext  for  going  to  the 
window  to  see,  and  Ralph,  keeping  his  face  steadily  the  other 
way,  tore  at  his  shirt  with  the  hand  which  he  had  thrust  into 
his  breast,  and  mnttered  in  a  hoarse  whisper — 

“Ten  thousand  pounds  !  He  said  ten  thousand  !  The  pre¬ 
cise  sum  paid  in  but  yesterday  for  the  two  mortgages,  and  which 
would  have  gone  out  again  at  heavy  interest  to-morrow.  If  that 
liouse  has  failed,  and  he  the  first  to  bring  the  news ! — Is  the 
coa(!h  there  ?” 

“Yes,  yes,”  said  Gride,  startled  by  the  fierce  tone  of  tho 
inquiry.  “  It’s  here.  Dear,  dear,  what  a  fiery  man  you  are  1” 

“  Come  here,”  said  Ralph,  beckoning  to  him.  “  We  mustn’t 
make  a  show  of  being  disturbed.  We’ll  go  down  arm  in  arm.” 


810 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


“  But  you  pinch  me  black  and  blue,”  urged  Gride,  writhing 
with  pain. 

Ralph  threw  him  off  impatiently,  and  descending  the  stairsi 
with  his  usual  firm  and  heavy  tread,  got  into  the  coach.  Artliur 
Gride  followed.  After  looking  doubtfully  at  Ralph  when  the 
man  asked  where  he  was  to  drive,  and  finding  that  he  remained 
silent,  and  expressed  no  wish  upon  the  subject,  Arthur  men¬ 
tioned  his  own  house,  and  thither  they  proceeded. 

On  their  way,  Ralph  sat  in  the  furthest  corner  with  folded 
arms,  and  uttered  not  a  word.  With  his  chin  sunk  upon  his 
breast,  and  his  downcast  eyes  quite  hidden  by  the  contraction  of 
his  knotted  brows,  he  might  have  been  asleep  for  any  sign  of 
consciousness  he  gave,  until  the  coach  stopped,  when  he  raised 
his  head,  and  glancing  through  the  window  inquh'ed  what  place 
that  was. 

“  My  house,”  answered  the  disconsolate  Gride,  affected  by  its 
loneliness.  “Oh  dear  I  my  house.” 

“  True,”  said  Ralph.  “  I  have  not  observed  the  way  we 
came.  “  I  should  like  a  glass  of  water.  You  have  that  in  the 
house,  I  suppose  ?” 

“  You  shall  have  a  glass  of — of  any  thing  you  like,”  answered 
Gride,  with  a  groan.  “  It’s  no  use  knocking,  coachman.  Ring 
the  bell.” 

The  man  rang,  and  rang,  and  rang  again  ;  then  knocked 
until  the  street  re-echoed  with  the  sounds  ;  then  listened  at  the 
keyhole  of  the  door.  Nobody  came,  and  the  house  was  silent 
as  the  grave. 

“How’s  thisf”  said  Ralph,  impatiently. 

“  Peg  is  so  very  deaf,”  answered  Gride,  with  a  look  of  anxiety 
and  alarm.  “  Oh  dear  !  Ring  again  coachman.  She  sees  the 
bell.” 

Again  the  man  rang  and  knocked,  and  knocked  and  rang 
again.  Some  of  the  neighbors  threw  up  their  windows  and 
culled  across  the  street  to  each  other  that  old  Gride’s  house- 
keep'cr  must  have  dropped  down  dead.  Others  collected  round 
the  coach  and  gave  vent  to  various  surmises  ;  some  held  that 
she  had  fallen  asleep,  some  that  she  had  burnt  herself  to  death, 
some  that  she  had  got  drunk ;  and  one  very  fat  man  that  she 
had  seen  something  to  eat  which  had  frightened  her  so  much 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


81 1 

(not  being  used  to  it)  tliat  she  bad  fallen  into  a  fit.  This  last 
suggestion  particularly  delighted  the  bystanders,  who  cheered  it 
rather  uproariously,  and  were  with  some  difficulty  deterred  from 
dropping  down  the  area  and  breaking  open  the  kitchen  door  to 
ascertain  the  fact.  Nor  was  this  all,  for  rumors  having  gone 
abroad  that  Arthur  was  to  be  married  that  morning,  very  par¬ 
ticular  inquiries  were  made  after  the  bride,  who  was  held  by  the 
majority  to  be  disguised  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby, 
which  gave  rise  to  much  jocose  indignation  at  the  public  appear¬ 
ance  of  a  bride  in  boots  and  pantaloons,  and  called  forth  a  great 
many  hoots  and  groans.  At  length  the  two  money-lenders 
obtained  shelter  in  a  house  next  door,  and  being  accommodated 
with  a  ladder,  clambered  over  the  wall  of  the  back  yard,  which 
was  not  a  high  one,  and  descended  in  safety  on  the  other  side. 

“lam  almost  afraid  to  go  in,  I  declare,”  said  Arthur,  turning 
to  Ralph  when  they  were  alone.  “  Suppose  she  should  be 
murdered — lying  with  her  brains  knocked  out  by  a  poker — eh?” 

“  Suppose  she  were,”  said  Ralph  hoarsely.  “  I  tell  you  I 
wish  such  things  were  more  common  than  they  are,  and  more 
easily  done.  You  may  stare  and  shiver — I  do  !” 

He  applied  himself  to  a  pump  in  the  yard,  and  having  taken 
a  deep  draught  of  water,  and  (lung  a  quantity  on  his  head  and 
face,  regained  his  accustomed  manner  and  led  the  way  into  the 
house.  Gride  following  close  at  his  heels. 

It  was  the  same  dark  place  as  ever  :  every  room  dismal  and 
silent  as  it  was  wont  to  be,  and  every  ghostly  article  of  furniture 
in  its  customary  place.  The  iron  heart  of  the  old  grim  clock, 
undisturhed  by  all  the  noise  without,  still  beat  heavily  within  its 
dusty  case,  the  tottering  presses  slunk  from  the  sight  as  usual  in 
their  melancholy  corners,  the  echoes  of  footsteps  returned  the 
same  dreary  sound  ;  the  long-legged  spider  paused  in  his  nimble 
run,  and  scared  by  the  sight  of  men  in  that  his  dull  domain, 
hung  moiionless  upon  the  wall,  counterfeiting  death  until  they 
should  have  passed  him  by. 

From  cellar  to  garret  went  the  two  usurers,  oi)ening  every 
creaking  door  and  looking  into  every  deserted  room.  But  no 
Reg  was  there.  At  last  they  sat  them  down  in  the  apartment 
which  Arthur  Gride  usually  inhabited,  to  rest  after  their  search. 

“The  hag  is  out  on  some  preparation  for  your  wedding  fes* 


812 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


tivities,  1  suppose,”  said  Ralph,  preparing  to  depart.  “See, 
here.  1  destroy  the  bond  ;  we  shall  never  need  it  now.” 

Gride,  who  had  been  peering  narrowly  about  the  room,  fell  at 
that  moment  upon  his  knees  before  a  large  chest,  and  uttered  a 
terrible  yell. 

“How  now  ?”  said  Ralph,  looking  sternly  round. 

“  Robbed  !  robbed  !”  screamed  Arthur  Gride. 

“  Robbed  1  of  money  ?” 

“No,  no,  no.  Worse,  far  worse.” 

“  Of  what  then  ?”  demanded  Ralph. 

“  Worse  than  money,  worse  than  money  !”  cried  the  old  man, 
casting  the  papers  out  of  the  chest,  like  some  beast  tearing  up 
the  earth.  “  She  had  better  have  stolen  money — all  my  money 
■ — I  haven’t  much.  She  had  better  have  made  me  a  beggar, 
than  have  done  this  1” 

“  Done  what  ?”  said  Ralph.  “  Done  what,  you  devil’s 
dotard  ?” 

Still  Gride  made  no  answer,  but  tore  and  scratched  among 
the  papers,  and  yelled  and  screeched  like  a  fiend  in  torment. 

“There  is  something  missing,  you  say,”  said  Ralph,  shaking 
him  furiously  by  the  collar.  “  What  is  it  ?” 

“  Papers,  deeds.  I  am  a  ruined  man — lost — lost  I  I  am 
robbed,  I  am  ruined.  She  saw  me  reading  it — reading  it  of 
late.  I  did  very  often.  She  watched  me — saw  me  put  it  in 
the  box  that  fitted  into  this — the  box  is  gone — she  has  stolen 
it.  Damnation  seize  her,  she  has  robbed  me  I” 

“Of  what  I''  cried  Ralph,  on  whom  a  sudden  light  appeared 
to  break,  for  his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  frame  trembled  with  agi¬ 
tation  as  he  clutched  Gride  by  his  bony  arm.  “  Of  what  ?” 

“She  don't  know  what  it  is;  she  can’t  read!”  shrieked  Gride, 
not  heeding  the  inquiry.  “  There’s  only  one  way  in  which  money 
can  be  made  of  it,  and  that  is  by  taking  it  to  her.  Somebody 
will  read  it  for  her  and  tell  her  what  to  do.  She  and  her  accom¬ 
plice  will  get  money  for  it  and  be  let  off  besides  ;  they’ll  make  a 
merit  of  it — say  they  found  it — knew  it — and  be  evidence  against 
me.  The  only  person  it  will  fall  upon  is  me — me- — me  I” 

“  Patience  1”  said  Ralph,  clutching  him  still  tighter  and  eye¬ 
ing  him  with  a  sidelong  look,  so  fixed  and  eager  as  sufficiently 
to  denote  that  he  had  some  hidden  purpose  in  what  he  was 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


813 


about  to  say.  “Rear reason.  She  can’t  have  been  gone  long. 
I’ll  call  the  police.  Give  you  but  information  of  what  she  has 
stolen,  and  they’ll  lay  hands  upon  her,  trust  me.  Here — help  !” 

“  No — no — no,”  screamed  the  old  man,  putting  his  hand  upon 
Ralph’s  mouth.  “I  can’t,  I  daren’t.” 

“  Help  !  help  !”  cried  Ralph. 

“No,  no,  no,”  shrieked  the  other,  stamping  upon  the  ground 
with  the  energy  of  a  madman.  “  I  tell  you  no.  I  daren’t — I 
daren’t!” 

“  Daren’t  make  this  robbery  public  ?”  said  Ralph,  eagerly. 

“  No  I”  rejoined  Gride,  wringing  his  hands.  “  Hush  !  Rush  1 
Not  a  word  of  this;  not  a  word  must  be  said.  I  am  undone. 
Whichever  way  I  turn,  I  am  undone.,  I  am  betrayed.  I  shall 
be  given  up.  I  shall  die  in  Newgate  I” 

With  frantic  exclamations  such  as  these,  and  with  many  others 
in  which  fear,  grief,  and  rage,  were  strangely  blended,  the  panic- 
stricken  wretch  gradually  subdued  his  first  loud  outcry  until  it 
had  softened  down  into  a  low  despairing  moaii,  chequered  now 
and  then  by  a  howl  as,  going  over  such  papers  as  were  left  in  the 
chest,  he  discovered  some  new  loss.  With  very  little  excuse 
for  departing  so  abrubtly,  Ralph  left  him,  and  greatly  disap¬ 
pointing  the  loiterers  outside  the  house  by  telling  them  there 
was  nothing  the  matter,  got  into  the  coach  and  was  driven  to 
his  own  home. 

A  letter  lay  on  his  table.  He  let  it  lie  there  for  some  time  as 
if  he  had  not  the  courage  to  open  it,  but  at  length  did  so  and 
turned  deadly  pale. 

“The  worst  has  happened,”  he  said,  “the  house  has  failed. 
I  see — the  rumor  was  abroad  in  the  city  last  night,  and  reached 
the  ears  of  those  merchants.  Well — well !” 

Re  strode  violently  up  and  down  the  room  and  stopped 
tigain. 

“  Ten  thousand  pounds  1  And  only  lying  there  for  a  day — 
for  .one  day  !  Row  many  anxious  years,  how  many  pinching 
days  and  sleepless  nights,  before  I  scraped  together  that  ten 
thousand  ])Ounds!  Ten  thousand  pounds!  Row  many  proud 
painted  dames  would  have  fawned  and  smiled,  and  how  many 
Bpendthrift  blockheads  done  me  lip-service  to  my  face  and  cursed 
me  in  their  hearts,  while  I  turned  that  ten  thousand  pounds  into 


814 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


iwent}'!  While  I  ground,  and  pinched,  and  used  these  needy 
borrowers  for  iny  i)leasure  and  profit,  what  smooth-tongued 
speeches,  and  courteous  looks,  and  civil  letters  they  would  have 
given  me  !  The  cant  of  the  lying  world  is,  that  men  like  me 
compass  our  riches  by  dissimulation  and  treachery,  by  fawning, 
cringing,  and  stooping.  Why,  how  many  lies,  what  mean  and 
abject  evasions,  what  humbled  behavior  from  upstarts  who,  but 
for  my  money,  would  spurn  me  aside  as  they  do  their  betters 
every  day,  would  that  ten  thousand  pounds  have  brought  me 
in  !  Grant  that  I  had  doubled  it — made  cent,  per  cent. — for 
every  sovereign  told  another — there  would  not  be  one  piece  of 
money  in  all  that  heap  of  coin  which  wouldn’t  represent  ten 
thousand  mean  and  paltry^ies,  told — not  by  the  money-lender, 
oh  no  !  but  by  the  money-borrowers — your  liberal,  thoughtless, 
generous,  dashing  folks,  who  wouldn’t  be  so  mean  as  save  a  six¬ 
pence  for  the  world.” 

Striving  as  it  would  seem  to  lose  part  of  the  bitterness  of  his 
regrets  in  the  bitterness  of  these  other  thoughts,  Ralph  con¬ 
tinued  to  pace  the  room.  There  was  less  and  less  of  resolution 
in  his  manner  as  his  riiind  gradually  reverted  to  his  loss  ;  and 
at  length,  dropping  into  his  elbow-chair  and  grasping  its  sides 
60  firmly  that  they  creaked  again,  he  said,  between  his  set 
teeth  : 

“  The  time  has  been  when  nothing  could  have  moved  me  like 
the  loss  of  this  great  sum — nothing,  for  births,  deaths,  maiwiages, 
and  every  event  which  is  of  interest  to  most  men,  had  (unless  it 
is  connected  with  gain  or  loss  of  money)  no  interest  for  me. 
But  now  I  swear,  I  mjx  up  with  the  loss,  his  triumph  in  telling 
it.  If  he  had  brought  it  about, — I  almost  feel  as  if  he  had — I 
couldn’t  hate  him  more.  Let  me  but  retaliate  upon  him,  by 
degi’ees  however  slow ;  let  me  but  begin  to  get  the  better  of 
him,  let  me  but  turn  the  scale,  and  I  can  bear  it  ” 

II  is  meditations  were  long  and  deep.  They  terminated  in 
his  despatching  a  letter  by  Newman,  addressed  to  Mr.  Sqm.crg 
at  the  Saracen’s  Head,  with  instructions  to  inquire  whether  he 
had  arrived  in  town,  and  if  so,  to  wait  an  answer.  Newman 
brought  back  the  information  that  Mr.  Squeers  had  come  by 
mail  that  morning,  and  had  received  the  letter  in  bed ;  but  that 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


815 


he  sent  his  duty,  and  word  that  he  would  get  up  and  wait  upon 
Mr.  Nickleby  directly. 

The  interval  between  the  delivery  of  this  message  and  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Squecrs  was  very  short,  but  before  he  came, 
Ralph  had  suppressed  every  sign  of  emotion,  and  once  more 
regained  the  hard,  immovable,  inflexible  manner  which  was 
habitual  to  him,  and  to  which,  perhaps,  was  ascribable  no  small 
part  of  the  influence  which,  over  many  men  of  no  very  strong 
l)rejudices  on  the  score  of  morality,  he  could  exert  almost  at 
will. 

“  Well,  Mr.  Squeers,”  he  said,  welcoming  that  worthy  with 
his  accustomed  smile,  of  which  a  sharp  look  and  a  thoughtful 
frown  were  part  and  parcel,  “  how  do  you  do 

“Why,  Sir,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  “I’m  pretty  well.  So’s  the 
family,  and  so’s  the  boys,  except  for  a  sort  of  rash  as  is  a  run¬ 
ning  through  the  school,  and  rather  puts  ’em  off  their  feed.  But 
it’s  a  ill  wind  as  blows  no  good  to  nobody ;  that’s  what  I  always 
say  when  them  lads  has  a  wisitation.  A  wisitation.  Sir.  is  the 
lot  of  mortality.  Mortality  itself.  Sir,  is  a  wisitation,  The 
world  is  chock  full  of  wisitations  ;  and  if  a  boy  repines  at  a 
wisitation  and  makes  you  uncomfortable  with  his  noise,  he  must 
have  his  head  punched.  That’s  going  according  to  the  S(;ripter, 
that  is.” 

“  ]\lr.  Squeers,”  said  Ralph,  drily. 

“Sir.” 

“We’ll  avoid  all  these  precious  morsels  of  morality  if  you 
please,  and  talk  of  business.” 

“With  all  my  heart.  Sir,”  rejoined  Squeers,  “and  first  let 
me  say - ” 

“  First  let  me  say,  if  you  please - IN’oggs  !” 

Newman  presented  himself  when  the  summons  had  been  twice 
or  thrice  repeated,  and  asked  if  his  master  called. 

“  I  did.  Go  to  your  dinner.  And  go  at  once.  Do  you 
hear  ?” 

“It  ain’t  time,”  said  Newman,  doggedly. 

“  My  time  is  yours,  and  I  say  it  is,”  returned  Ralph. 

“  You  alter  it  every  day,”  said  Newman.  “  It  isn’t  fair.” 

You  don’t  keep  many  cooks,  and  can  easily  apologize  to 
them  for  the  trouble,”  retorted  Ralph.  “Begone  Sir  I” 

52 


816 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Ralph  aot  only  issued  this  order  in  his  most  peremptory 
manner,  but  under  pretence  of  fetching  some  papers  from  the 
little  office,  saw  it  obeyed,  and  when  Newman  had  left  the  house, 
chained  the  door  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  his  returning 
secretly  by  means  of  his  latch  key. 

“I  have  reason  to  suspect  that  fellow,”  said  Ralph,  when  he 
returned  to  his  own  office.  “  Therefore,  until  I  have  thought 
of  the  shortest  and  least  troublesome  way  of  ruining  him,  1  hold 
it  best  to  keep  him  at  a  distance.” 

“  It  wouldn’t  take  much  to  ruin  him,  I  should  think,”  said 
Squeers  with  a  grin. 

“  Perhaps  not,”  answered  Ralph.  “Nor  to  ruin  a  great  many 
people  whom  I  know.  You  were  going  to  say - ?” 

Ralph’s  summary  manner  and  matter-of-course  way  of  holding 
up  this  example  and  throwing  out  the  hint  that  followed  it,  had 
evidently  an  effect  (as  doubtless  it  was  designed  to  have)  upon 
Mr.  Squeers,  who  said,  after  a  little  hesitation  and  iii  a  much 
more  subdued  tone — 

“  Why,  what  I  was  a  going  to  say.  Sir,  is,  that  this  here 
business  regarding  of  that  ungrateful  and  hard-hearted  chap 
Snawley  senior,  puts  me  out  of  my  way,  and  occasions  a  in- 
conveniency  quite  unparalleled,  besides,  as  I  may  say,  making, 
for  whole  weeks  together,  Mrs.  Squeers  a  perfect  widder.  It’s 
a  pleasure  to  me  to  act  with  you,  of  course.” 

“  Of  course,”  said  Ralph,  drily. 

“Yes,  I  say,  of  course,”  resumed  Mr.  Squeers,  rubbing  his 
knees,  “  but  at  the  same  time,  when  one  comes,  as  I  do  now, 
better  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  mile  to  take  a  afferdavid,  it 
does  put  a  man  out  a  good  deal,  letting  alone  the  risk.” 

“And  where  may  the  risk  be,  Mr.  Squeers  ?”  said  Ralph. 

“  I  said,  letting  alone  the  risk,”  replied  Squeers,  evasively. 

“And  I  said,  where  was  the  risk  ?” 

“1  wasn’t  complaining,  you  know,  Mr.  Nickleby,”  pleaded 
Squeers.  “Upon  my  word  I  never  see  such  a - ” 

“  I  ask  you  where  is  the  risk  repeated  Ralph,  emphati¬ 
cally. 

“  Where  the  risk  ?”  returned  Squeers,  rubbing  his  knees  still 
harder.  “Why,  it  ain’t  necessary  to  mention — certain  subjects 
is  best  av'oided.  Oh,  you  know  what  risk  1  mean.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


817 


“  How  often  have  I  told  you,”  said  Ralph,  “  and  how  often 
am  I  to  tell  you,  that  you  run  no  risk  ?  What  have  you  sworn, 
or  what  are  you  asked  to  swear,  but  that  at  such  and  such  a 
time  a  boy  was  left  with  yoli  in  the  name  of  Smike ;  that  he 
was  at  your  school  for  a  given  number  of  years,  was  lest  under 
such  circumstances,  is  now  found,  and  has  been  identified  by 
you  in  such  and  such  keeping.  This  is  all  true — is  it  not  ?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Squeers,  that’s  all  true.” 

“Well  then,”  said  Ralph,  “what  risk  do  you  run?  Who 
swears  to  a  lie  but  Snawley — a  man  whom  I  have  paid  much 
less  than  I  have  you  ?” 

“  He  ceitainly  did  it  cheap,  did  Snawley,”  observe-d  Squeers. 

“He  did  it  cheap!”  retorted  Ralph,  testily,  “yes,  and  he 
did  it  well,  and  carries  it  off  with  a  hypocritical  face  and  a 
sanctified  air,  but  you — risk !  What  do  you  mean  by  risk  ? 
The  certificates  are  all  genuine,  Snawley  had  another  son,  he 
has  been  married  twice,  his  first  wife  is  dead,  none  but  her 
ghost  could  tell  that  she  didn’t  write  that  letter,  none  but 
Snawley  himself  can  tell  that  this  is  not  his  son  and  that  his 
son  is  food  for  worms.  The  only  perjury  is  Snawley’s,  and  1 
fancy  he  is  pretty  well  used  to  it.  Where’s  your  risk  ?” 

“Why,  you  know,”  said  Squeers,  fidgeting  in  his  chair,  “if 
you  come  to  that,  I  might  say  where’s  yours  ?” 

“  You  might  say  where’s  mine  I”  returned  Ralph  ;  “you  may 
say  where’s  mine.  I  don’t  appear  in  the  business — neither  do 
you.  All  Snawley’s  interest  is  to  stick  well  to  the  story  he  has 
told,  and  all  his  risk  is  to  depart  from  it  in  the  least.  Talk  of 
your  risk  in  the  conspiracy  !” 

“I  say,”  remonstrated  Squeers,  looking  uneasily  round; 
“don’t  call  it  that — just  as  a  favor,  don’t.” 

“Call  it  what  you  like,”  said  Ralph,  irritably,  “but  attend  to 
me.  This  tale  was  originally  fabricated  as  a  means  of  deep 
annoyance  against  one  who  hurt  your  trade  and  half  cudgeled 
you  to  death,  and  to  enable  you  to  obtain  repossession  of  a 
half-dead  drudge,  whom  you  wished  to  regain,  because  A’hile 
you  wreaked  your  vengeance  on  him  for  his  share  in  the  busi¬ 
ness,  yon  knew  that  the  knowledge  that  he  was  again  in  your 
power  would  be  the  best  punishment  you  could  inflict  upon  youf 
enemy.  Is  that  so,  IMr.  Squeers?” 


818 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


"Why,  Sir,”  returned  Squeers,  almost  overpowered  by  the 
determination  whi-cli  Ralph  displayed  to  make  every  thing  tell 
against  him,  and  by  his  stern  unyielding  manner,  "  in  a  measure 
it  was.” 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?”  said  Ralph,  quietly. 

"Why,  in  a  measure,  means,”  returned  Squeers,  "as  it  may 
be  so  ;  that  it  wasn’t  all  on  my  account,  because  you  had  some 
old  grudge  to  satisfy,  too.” 

"If  I  had  not  had,”  said  Ralph,  in  no  way  abashed  by  the 
reminder,  "  do  you  think  I  should  have  helped  you  ?” 

"Why  no,  I  don’t  suppose  you  would,”  Squeers  replied 
"I  only  wanted  that  point  to  be  all  square  and  straight 
between  us.” 

“  How  can  it  ever  be  otherwise  ?”  retorted  Ralph.  “  Except 
that  account  is  against  me,  for  I  spend  money  to  gratify  my 
hatred,  and  you  pocket  it,  and  gratify  yours  at  the  same  time. 
You  are  at  least  as  avaricious  as  you  are  revengeful — so  am 
I.  Which  is  best  oif  ?  You,  who  win  money  and  revenge  at 
the  same  time  and  by  the  same  process,  and  who  are  at  all 
events  sure  of  money,  if  not  of  revenge ;  or  I,  who  am  only 
sure  of  spending  money  in  any  case,  and  can  but  win  bare 
revenge  at  last  ?” 

As  Mr.  Squeers  could  only  answer  this  proposition  by  shrugs 
and  smiles,  Ralph  sternly  bade  him  be  silent,  and  thankful  that 
he  was  so  well  off,  and  then  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  him, 
proceeded  to  say — 

First,  that  Nicholas  had  thwarted  him  in  a  plan  that  he  had 
formed  for  the  disposal  in  marriage  of  a  certain  young  lady, 
and  had,  in  the  confusion  attendant  upon  her  father’s  sudden 
death,  secured  that  lady  himself  and  borne  her  off  in  triumph. 

Secondly,  that  by  some  will  or  settlement — certainly  by  some 
instrument  in  writing,  which  must  contain  the  young  lady’s 
name,  and  could  be  therefore  easily  selected  from  others,  if  access 
to  the  place  where  it  was  deposited  were  once  secured — she  was 
entitled  to  property  which,  if  the  existence  of  this  deed  ever 
became  known  to  her,  would  make  her  husband  (and  Ralph 
represented  that  Nicholas  was  certain  to  marry  her)  a  rich  and 
prosperous  man,  and  most  formidable  enemy. 

Thirdly,  that  this  deed  had  been,  with  others,  stolen  from  one 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


819 


wlio  had  himself  obtained  or  concealed  it  frandnlently,  and  who 
feared  to  take  any  steps  for  its  recovery  ;  and  that  lie  (Ralph) 
knew  the  thief. 

To  all  this,  Mr.  Squeers  listened  with  greedy  c-ars  that 
devoured  every  syllable,  and  with  his  one  eje  and  his  mouth 
wide  open  :  marveling  for  what  special  reason  he  was  honored 
with  so  much  of  Ralph’s  confidence,  and  to  what  it  all  tended. 

“Now,”  said  Ralph,  leaning  forward,  and  placing  his  hand 
on  Squeers’s  arm,  “  hear  the  design  which  I  have  conceived, 
and  which  I  must — I  say,  must  if  I  can  ripen  it — have  carried 
into  execution.  No  advantage  can  be  reaped  from  this  deed, 
whatever  it  is,  save  by  the  girl  herself,  or  her  husband,  and  the 
possession  of  this  deed  by  one  or  other  of  them  is  indispensable 
to  any  advantage  being  gained.  That  T  have  discovered  beyond 
the  i)ossibility  of  doubt.  I  want  that  deed  brought  here,  that 
I  may  give  the  man  who  brings  it  fifty  pounds  in  gold,  and  burn 
it  to  ashes  before  his  face.” 

Mr.  Squeers,  after  following  with  his  eye  the  action  of 
Ralph’s  hand  towards  the  fire-place  as  if  he  were  at  that 
moment  consuming  the  paper,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said — • 

“  Yes  ;  but  who’s  to  bring  it?” 

“  Nobody,  perhaps,  for  much  is  to  be  done  before  it  can  be 
got  at,”  said  Ralph.  “But  if  any  body — you.” 

Mr.  Squeers’s  first  tokens  of  consternation,  and  his  flat 
relinquishment  of  the  task,  would  have  staggered  most  men,  if 
they  had  not  occasioned  an  utter  abandonment  of  the  proposi¬ 
tion.  On  Ralph  they  produced  not  the  slightest  effect.  Re¬ 
suming  when  the  schoolmaster  had  quite  talked  himself  out  of 
breath,  as  coolly  as  if  he  had  never  been  interrupted,  Rali)h 
proceeded  to  expatiate  on  such  features  of  the  case  as  he  deemed 
it  most  advisable  to  lay  the  greatest  stress  upon. 

These  wmre,  the  age,  decrepitude,  and  weakness  of  INIrs, 
Sliderskew,  the  great  improbability  of  her  having  any  accom- 
])lice  or  even  acquaintance,  taking  into  account  her  secluded 
hal)its,  and  her  long  residence  in  such  a  house  as  Gride’s  ;  the 
strong  reason  there  was  to  suppose  that  the  robbery  was  not 
the  result  of  a  concerted  plan,  otherwise  she  w'ould  have  watched 
an  0])portunity  of  carrying  off  a  sura  of  money,  or  even  of  her 
being  in  wnxnt  (to  w'^hich  the  same  argument  applied) ;  the  diffi- 


820 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


culty  sLe  would  be  placed  in  when  she  be<^an  to  think  on  whal 
she, had  done,  and  found  herself  incumbered  with  documents  of 
whose  nature  she  was  utterly  ignorant ;  and  the  comparative 
ease  with  which  somebody,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  her  position, 
obtaining  access  to  her  and  working  upon  her  fears,  if  necessary, 
might  worm  himself  into  her  confidence,  and  obtain,  under  one 
pretence  or  another,  free  possession  of  the  deed.  To  these 
were  added  such  considerations  as  the  constant  residence  of 
Mr.  Squeers  at  a  long  distance  from  London,  which  rendered 
his  association  with  Mrs.  Sliderskew  a  mere  masquerading  frolic, 
in  which  nobody  was  likely  to  recognize  him  either  at  the  time 
or  afterwards  ;  the  impossibility  of  Ralph’s  undertaking  the 
task  himself,  being  already  known  to  her  by  sight,  and  various 
comments  upon  the  uncommon  tact  and  experience  of  Mr. 
Squeers,  which  would  make  his  overreaching  one  old  woman  a 
mere  matter  of  child’s  play  and  amusement.  In  addition  to 
these  influences  and  persuasions,  Ralph  drew,  with  his  utmost 
skill  and  power,  a  vivid  picture  of  the  defeat  which  Nicholas 
would  sustain  should  they  succeed,  in  linking  himself  to  a 
beggar  where  he  expected  to  wed  an  heiress — glanced  at  the 
immeasurable  importance  it  must  be  to  a  man  situated  as 
Squeers,  to  preserve  such  a  friend  as  himself — dwelt  on  a  long 
train  of  benefits  conferred  since  their  first  acquaintance,  when 
he  had  reported  favorably  of  his  treatment  of  a  sickly  boy  who 
had  died  under  his  hands  (and  whose  death  was  very  convenient 
to  Ralph  and  his  clients,  but  this  he  did  not  say),  and  finally 
hinted  that  the  fifty  pounds  might  be  increased  to  seventy-five, 
or  in  the  event  of  very  great  success,  even  to  a  hundred. 

These  arguments  at  length  concluded,  Mr.  Squeers  crossed 
his  legs  and  uncrossed  them,  and  scratched  his  head,  and  rubbed 
his  eye,-  and  examined  the  palms  of  his  hands,  and  bit  his  nails, 
and  after  exhibiting  many  other  signs  of  restlessness  and  inde¬ 
cision,  asked,  “  whether  one  hundred  pound  was  the  highest 
bhat  Mr.  Nickleby  could  go.”  Being  answered  in  the  affirma¬ 
tive,  he  became  restless  again,  and  after  some  thought,  and  an 
unsuccessful  inquiry,  “  whether  he  couldn’t  go  another  fifty,’ 
said  he  supposed  he  must  try  and  do  the  most  he  could  for  a 
friend,  which  was  always  his  maxim,  and  therefore  he  undertook 
the  job. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


821 


“  But  how  are  you  to  get  at  the  woman  ?”  he  said  ;  “  that’s 
what  it  is  as  puzzles  me.” 

“  I  may  not  get  at  her  at  all,”  replied  Ralph,  “  but  I’ll  try.  I 
have  hunted  down  people  in  this  city  before  now  who  have  been 
better  hid  than  she,  and  I  know  quarters  in  which  a  guinea  or 
two  carefully  spent  will  often  solve  darker  riddles  than  this — 
ay,  and  keep  them  close  too,  if  need  be.  I  hear  my  man  ring¬ 
ing  at  the  door.  We  may  as  well  part.  You  had  better  not 
come  to  and  fro,  but  wait  till  you  hear  from  me.” 

“Good!”  returned  Squeers.  “I  say,  if  you  shouldn’t  find 
her  out,  you’ll  pay  expenses  at  the  Saracen,  and  something  for 
loss  of  time  ?” 

“  Well,”  said  Ralph,  testily  I  “yes.  You  have  nothing  more 
to  say  ?” 

Squeers,  shaking  his  head,  Ralph  accompanied  him  to  the 
street  door,  and  audibly  wondering,  for  the  edification  of  New¬ 
man,  why  it  was  fastened  as  if  it  were  night,  let  him  in  and 
Squeers  out,  and  returned  to  his  own  room. 

“Now!”  he  muttered,  doggedly.  “  Come  what  come  may, 
for  the  present  I  am  firm  and  unshaken.  Let  me  but  retrieve 
this  one  small  portion  of  my  loss  and  disgrace.  Let  me  but 
defeat  him  in  this  one  hope,  dear  to  his  heart  as  I  know  it 
must  be.  Let  me  but  do  this,  and  it  shall  be  the  first  link  in 
such  a  chain,  which  I  shall  wind  about  him,  as  never  man 
forged  yet,.  ” 


CHAPTER  LYII. 


now  RALPH  NICKLEBY’S  auxiliary  went  about  Ills  WORK, 
AND  now  HE  PROSPERED  WITH  IT. 

It  was  a  dark,  wet,  gloomy  night  in  autumn,  when  in  an 
upper  room  of  a  mean  house,  situated  in  an  obscure  street,  or 
rather  court,  near  Lambeth,  tliere  sat  all  alone,  a  one-eyed  man, 
grotescpiely  habited,  cither  for  lack  of  better  garments  or  for 
inu-poses  of  disguise,  in  a  loose  great-coat,  with  arms  half  as 
long  again  as  his  own,  and  a  capacity  of  breadth  and  length 
which  would  have  admitted  of  his  winding  himself  in  it,  head 
and  all,  with  the  utmost  ea.se,  and  without  any  risk  of  straining 
the  old  and  greasy  material  of  which  it  was  composed. 

So  attired,  and  in  a  i)lace  so  far  removed  from  his  usual 
haunts  and  occupations,  and  so  very  poor  and  wretched  in  its 
character,  perhaps  Mrs.  Squeers  herself  would  have  had  some 
difliculty  in  recognizing  her  lord,  quickened  though  her  natural 
sagacity  would  have  been  by  the  alfectionate  yearnings  and 
impulses  of  a  tender  wife.  But  Mrs.  Squeers’s  lord  it  was  ; 
and  in  a  tolerably  disconsolate  mood  jMrs.  Squeers’s  lord  ap- 
|)earcd  to  be,  as,  helping  himself  from  a  black  bottle  which  stood 
on  the  table  beside  him,  he  cast  round  the  chamber  a  look,  in 
which  very  slight  regard  for  the  objects  within  view  was  plainly 
mingled  with  some  regretful  and  imi)aticnt  recollection  of  distant 
scenes  and  ])ersous. 

There  were  certainly  no  ])articular  attractions,  either  in  the 
room  over  which  the  glance  of  Mr.  Squeers  so  discontentedly 
wandered,  or  in  the  narrow  street  into  \vhieh  it  might  have  pene¬ 
trated,  if  he  had  thought  tit  to  ap])roach  the  w'iudow.  The  attic- 
chamber  in  which  he  sat  \vas  bare  and  mean  ;  the  bedstead,  and 
such  few  olher  articles  of  necessary  furniture  as  it  contained,  of 
the  commonest  description,  in  a  most  crazy  state,  and  of  a  most 
uninviting  appearance.  The  street  was  muddy,  dirty,  and  de¬ 
serted.  Having  but  one  outlet,  it  was  traversed  by  few  but  the 
(822) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


823 


inhabitants  at  any  time,  and  the  night  being  one  of  those  on 
which  most  people  are  glad  to  be  within  doors,  it  now  presented 
no  other  signs  of  life  than  the  dull  glimmering  of  poor  candles 
from  the  dirty  windows,  and  few  sounds  but  the  pattering  of 
the  rain,  and  occasionally  the  heavy  closing  of  some  creaking 
door. 

Mr.  Squeers  continued  to  look  disconsolately  about  him,  and 
to  listen  to  these  noises  in  profound  sileticc,  broken  only  by  the 
rustling  of  his  large  coat,  as  he  now  and  then  moved  his  arm  to 
raise  his  glass  to  his  lips — Mr.  Squeers  continued  to  do  this  for 
some  time,  until  the  increasing  gloom  warned  him  to  suulf  the 
candle.  Seeming  to  be  slightly  roused  by  this  exertion,  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  fixing  them  upon  some  uncouth 
and  fantastic  figures,  traced  upon  it  by  the  wet  and  damp  which 
had  penetrated  through  the  roof,  broke  out  into  the  following 
soliloquy  : 

“  Well,  this  is  a  pretty  go,  is  this  here  ! — aii  uncommon  pretty 
go !  Here  have  I  been  a  matter  of  how  many  weeks — hard  upon 
six — a  follering  up  this  here  blessed  old  dowager,  petty  larcencr,” 
■ — Mr.  Squeers  delivered  himself  of  this  epithet  with  great  diffi¬ 
culty  and  effort — “and  Dotheboys  Hall  a-runiiing  itself  regularly 
to  seed  the  while  I  That’s  the  worst  of  ever  being  in  with  a 
ow-dacious  chap  like  that  old  INickleby ;  you  never  know  when 
he’s  done  with  you,  and  if  you’re  in  for  a  penny,  you’re  in  for  a 
pound.” 

This  remark  perhaps  reminded  Mr.  Squeers  that  he  was  in 
for  a  hundred  pound  ;  at  any  rate,  his  countenance  relaxed,  and 
he  raised  his  glass  to  his  mouth  wdth  an  air  of  greater  enjoy¬ 
ment  of  its  contents  than  he  had  before  evinced. 

“I  never  see,”  soliloquized  Mr.  Squeers  in  coutiuuatiou,  “I 
never  see  nor  come  across  such  a  file  as  that  old  jS’ickleby — 
never.  He’s  out  of  every  body’s  depth,  he  is.  lie’s  what  you 
may  a-call  a  rasper,  is  Nickleby.  To  sec  how  sly  and  cunning 
he  grubbed  on,  day  after  day,  a-worming  and  plodding  and 
tracing  and  turning  and  twining  of  hisself  about,  till  he  found 
out  where  this  precious  JNfrs.  Peg  was  hid,  and  cleared  the 
ground  for  me  to  work  upon — creeping  and  crawling  and 
gliding,  like  a  ugly  old,  bright-eyed,  stagnation-blooded  adder  I 
Ah  I  He’d  have  made  a  good  un  in  our  line,  but  it  would  have 


821 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


been  too  limited  for  him ;  his  genius  would  have  busted  all 
bounds,  and  coming  over  every  obstacle,  broke  down  all  before 
it,  till  it  erected  itself  into  a  monneyment  of — Well,  I’ll  think  of 
the  rest,  and  say  it  when  coiiwenient.” 

Making  a  halt  in  his  reflections  at  this  place,  Mr.  Squeers 
again  put  his  glass  to  his  lips,  and  drawing  a  dirty  letter  from 
Ills  pocket,  proceeded  to  con  over  its  contents  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  had  read  it  very  often,  and  now  refreshed  his  memory 
rather  in  the  absence  of  better  amusement,  than  for  any  specific 
information. 

“  The  pigs  is  well,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  “the  cows  is  well,  and 
the  boys  is  bobbish.  Young  Sprouter  has  been  a-winking,  has 
he  ?  I’ll  wink  him  when  I  get  back.  “  Cobbey  would  persist  in 
sniffing  while  he  was  a-eating  his  dinner,  and  said  that  the  beef 
was  so  strong  it  made  him.’ — Yery  good,  Cobbey,  we’ll  see  if 
we  can’t  make  you  sniff  a  little  without  beef.  ‘  Pitcher  was  took 
with  another  fever,’ — of  course  he  was — ‘  and  being  fetched  by 
his  friends,  died  the  day  after  he  got  home,’ — of  course  he  did, 
and  out  of  aggravation  ;  it’s  part  of  a  deep-laid  system.  There 
ain’t  another  chap  in  the  school  but  that  boy  as  would  have  died 
exa,ctly  at  the  end  of  the  quarter,  taking  it  out  of  me  to  the 
very  last,  and  then  carrying  his  spite  to  the  utmost  extremity. 
‘The  juniorest  Palmer  said  he  wished  he  was  in  Heaven,’ — I 
really  don’t  know,  I  do  not  know  what’s  to  be  done  with  that 
young  fellow;  he’s  always  a  wishing  something  horrid.  lie  said 
once  he  wished  he  was  a  donkey,  because  then  he  wouldn’t  have 
a  father  as  didn’t  love  him  ! — pretty  wicious  that,  for  a  child  of 
six !” 

Mr.  Squeers  was  so  much  moved  by  the  contemplation  of  this 
hardened  nature  in  one  so  young,  that  he  angrily  put  up  the  let¬ 
ter,  and  sought,  in  a  new  train  of  ideas,  a  subject  of  consolation. 

“It’s  a  long  time  to  have  been  a-lingering  in  London,”  ha 
said,  “  and  this  is  a  precious  hole  to  come  and  live  in,  even  if  it 
has  been  only  for  a  week  or  so.  Still,  one  hundred  pound  is 
five  boys,  and  five  boys  takes  a  whole  year  to  pay  one  hundred 
pound,  and  there’s  their  keep  to  be  substracted,  besides.  There’s 
nothing  lost,  neither,  by  one’s  being  here  ;  because  the  boys’ 
D'oney  comes  in  just  the  same  as  if  I  was  at  home,  and  Mrs. 
Sqneers  she  keeps  them  in  order.  There’ll  be  some  lost  time 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


826 


to  make  up,  of  course — there’ll  be  an  arrear  of  flogging  as’ll 
have  to  be  gone  through  ;  still,  a  couple  of  days  makes  that  all 
right,  and  one  don’t  mind  a  little  extra  work  for  one  hundred 
pound.  It’s  pretty  nigh  the  time  to  wait  upon  the  old  woman. 
From  what  she  said  last  night,  I  suspect  that  if  I’m  to  succeed 
at  all,  I  shall  succeed  to-night,  so  I’ll  have  half  a  glass  more  to 
wish  myself  success,  and  put  myself  in  spirits.  Mrs.  Squeers, 
my  dear,  your  health.” 

Leering  with  his  one  eye  as  if  the  lady  to  whom  he  drank  had 
been  actually  present,  Mr.  Squeers — in  his  enthusiasm,  no  doul>t 
— poured  out  a  full  glass,  and  emptied  it ;  and  as  the  liquor  was 
raw  spirits,  and  he  had  applied  himself  to  the  same  bottle  more 
than  once  already,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  found  himself  by 
this  time  in  an  extremely  cheerful  state,  and  quite  enough  ex¬ 
cited  for  his  purpose. 

What  his  purpose  was,  soon  appeared  ;  for,  after  a  few  turns 
about  the  room  to  steady  himself,  he  took  the  bottle  under  his 
arm  and  the  glass  in  his  hand,  and  blowing  out  the  candle  as  if 
he  purposed  being  gone  some  time,  stole  out  upon  the  staircase, 
and  creeping  softly  to  a  door  opposite  his  own,  tapped  gentlyatit. 

“  But  what’s  the  use  of  tapping  ?”  he  said,  “  she’ll  never  hear. 
I  suppose  she  isn’t  doing  any  thing  very  particular,  and  if  she  is, 
it  don’t  much  matter  that  I  see.” 

With  this  brief  preface,  Mr.  Squeers  applied  his  hand  to  the 
latch  of  the  door,  and  thrusting  his  head  into  a  garret  far  more 
deplorable  than  that  he  had  just  left,  and  seeing  that  there  was 
nobody  there  but  an  old  woman,  who  was  bending  over  a  wretched 
fire  (for  although  the  weather  was  still  warm,  the  evening  was 
chilly),  walked  in,  and  tapped  her  on  the  shoulder. 

“Well,  my  Slider,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  jocidarly. 

“  Is  that  you  ?”  inquired  Peg. 

“  Ah  1  it's  me,  and  me’s  the  first  person  singular,  nominative 
case,  agreeing  with  the  verb  ‘it’s,’  and  governed  by  Squeers 
understood,  as  a  acorn,  a  hour  :  but  when  the  h  is  sounded,  the 
a  only  is  to  be  used,  as  a  hand,  a  lieart,  a  highway,”  replied  Mr. 
Squeers,  quoting  at  random  from  the  grammar,  “at  least  if  it 
isn't,  you  don’t  know  any  better,  and  if  it  is,  I’ve  done  it  acci¬ 
dentally.” 

Delivering  this  reply  in  his  accustomed  tone  of  voice,  in  which 


826 


NICHOLAS  NICRLEBY. 


of  course  it  was  mandible  to  Peg,  Mr.  Sqneers  drew  a  stool  np 
to  the  fire,  and  placing  himself  over  against  her,  and  the  bottle 
and  glass  on  the  floor  between  them,  roared  out  again  very  loud — 

“Well,  my  Slider.” 

‘‘  I  hear  you,”  said  Peg,  receiving  him  very  graciously. 

“  I’ve  come  according  to  promise,”  roared  Sqneers. 

“  So  they  used  to  say  in  that  part  of  the  country  I  como 
from,”  observed  Peg,  complacently,  “but  I  think  oil’s  better.” 

“  Better  than  what  ?”  shouted  Squeers,  adding  some  rather 
strong  language  in  an  under-tone. 

“  No,”  said  Peg,  “  of  course  not.” 

“  I  never  saw  such  a  monster  as  you  are  !”  muttered  Squeers, 
looking  as  amiably  as  he  possibly  could  tlie  while  ;  for  Peg’s  eye 
was  upon  him,  and  she  was  chuckling  fearful]}^  as  though  in 
delight  at  having  made  a  choice  repartee.  “Do  you  see  this  ? 
this  is  a  bottle.” 

“  I  see  it,”  answered  Peg. 

“Well,  and  do  you  see  ihisV^  bawled  Squeers.  “This  is  a 
glass  ?”  Peg  saw  that  too. 

“  See  here,  then,”  said  Squeers,  accompanying  his  remarks 
with  appropriate  action,  “  I  fill  the  glass  from  the  bottle,  and  I 
say  ‘your  health.  Slider,’  and  empty  it;  then  I  rinse  it  genteelly 
with  a  little  drop,  which  I’m  forced  to  throw  into  the  fire — • 
Hallo  !  we  shall  have  the  chimbley  alight  next — fill  it  again,  and 
hand  it  over  to  you.  ” 

“  Your  health,”  said  Peg. 

“  She  understands  that,  anyways,”  muttered  Squeers,  watch¬ 
ing  Mrs.  Sliderskew  as  she  dispatched  her  portion,  and  choked 
and  gasped  in  a  most  awful  manner  after  so  doing  ;  “  now,  then, 
let’s  have  a  talk.  How’s  the  rheumatics  ?” 

Mrs.  Sliderskew,  with  much  blinking  and  chuckling,  and  with 
looks  expressive  of  her  strong  admiration  of  Mr.  Squeers,  his 
person,  manners,  and  conversation,  replied  that  the  rheumatics 
were  better. 

“  What’s  the  reason,”  said  Mr.  Squeers,  deriving  fresh  face¬ 
tiousness  from  the  bottle;  “what’s  the  reason  of  rheumatics, 
what  do  they  mean,  what  do  people  have  ’em  for — eh  ?” 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  didn’t  know,  but  suggested  that  it  was  pos¬ 
sibly  because  they  couldn’t  help  it. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


827 


‘‘  Measles,  rheumatics,  hooping-cough,  fevers,  agues,  and  !um- 
bagers,”  said  Mr.  Sque.ers,  “is  all  philosophy  together,  that’s 
what  it  is.  The  heavenly  bodies  is  philosophy,  and  the  earthly 
bodies  is  philosophy.  If  there’s  a  screw  loose  in  a  heavenly 
body,  that’s  philoso[)hy,  and  if  there’s  a  screw  loose  in  a  earthly 
body  tlrat’s  philosophy  too  ;  or  it  may  be  that  sometimes  there’s 
a  little  metaphysics  in  it,  but  that’s  not  often.  Philoso])hy’s 
the  chap  for  me.  If  a  parent  asks  a  cpiestion  in  the  classicM, 
commercial,  or  mathematical  line,  says  I,  gravely,  ‘Why,  Sir, 
in  the  first  place,  are  you  a  philosopher  ?’ — ‘  No,  Mr.  Squeers,” 
he  says,  ‘I  ain’t.’  ‘Then,  Sir,’  says  I,  ‘I  am  sorry  for  you,  for 
I  shan’t  be  able  to  explain  it.’  Naturally  the  parent  goes 
away  and  wishes  he  was  a  philosopher,  and  equally  naturally, 
thinks  I’m  one.” 

Saying  this  and  a  great  deal  more  with  tipsy  profundity  and 
a  serio-comic  air,  and  keeping  his  eye  all  the  time  on  Mrs.  Sli- 
derskew,  who  was  unable  to  hear  one  word,  Mr.  Squeers  con¬ 
cluded  by  helping  himself  and  passing  the  bottle,  to  which  Peg 
did  becoming  reverence. 

“That’s  the  time  of  day!”  said  Mr.  Squeers.  “You  look 
twenty  pound  ten  better  than  you  did.” 

Again  Mrs.  Sliderskew  chuckled,  but  modesty  forbade  her 
assenting  verbally  to  the  compliment. 

“Twenty  pound  ten  better,”  repeated  Mr.  Squeers,  “than 
you  did  that  day  when  I  first  introduced  myself — don’t  you 
know  ?” 

“Ah  I”  said  Peg,  shaking  her  head,  “but  you  frightened  me 
that  day.” 

“  Did  I  ?”  said  Squeers,  “well,  it  was  rather  a  startling  thing 
for  a  stranger  to  come  and  recommend  himself  by  saying  that  ho 
knew  all  about  you,  and  what  your  name  was,  and  why  you  were 
living  so  quiet  liere,  and  what  you  had  boned,  and  who  you 
boned  it  from,  wasn’t  it  ?” 

Peg  nodded  her  head  in  strong  assent. 

“  But  I  know  every  thing  that  happens  in  that  way,  you  see,” 
continued  Squeers.  “  Nothing  takes  place  of  that  kind  that  I 
ain’t  up  to  entirely.  I’m  a  sort  of  a  lawyer.  Slider,  of  first-rate 
Blaiuling,  and  understanding  too  ;  I’m  the  intimate  friend  and 
confidential  adwiser  of  pretty  nigh  every  man,  woman  and  child 


828 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


that  gets  themselves  into  difficulties  by  being  too  nimble  with 
their  fingers,  I'm - ” 

Mr.  Squeers’s  catalogue  of  his  own  merits  and  accomplish¬ 
ments,  which  was  partly  the  result  of  a  concerted  }ilan  between 
himself  and  Ralph  Nickleby,  and  flowed,  in  part,  from  the  black 
bottle,  was  here  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Sliderskew. 

“  Ha,  ha,  ha !”  she  cried,  folding  her  arms  and  wmgging  her 
head  ;  “  and  so  he  wasn’t  married  after  all,  wasn’t  he — not  mar¬ 
ried  after  all  ?” 

“No,”  replied  Squeers,  “that  he  wasn’t  1” 

“And  a  young  lover  came  and  carried  off  the  bride,  eh?” 
said  Peg. 

“  From  under  his  very  nose,”  replied  Squeers  ;  “  and  I’m  told 
the  young  chap  cut  up  rough  besides,  and  broke  the  winders, 
and  forced  him  to  swaller  his  wedding  favor,  which  nearly 
choked  him.” 

“  Tell  me  all  about  it  again,”  cried  Peg,  with  a  malicious 
relish  of  her  old  master’s  defeat,  which  made  her  natural  hide¬ 
ousness  something  quite  fearful ;  “  let’s  hear  it  all  again,  begin¬ 
ning  at  the  beginning  now,  as  if  you’d  never  told  me.  Let’s 
have  it  every  w'ord — now — now — beginning  at  the  very  first, 
you  know,  when  he  went  to  the  house  that  morning.” 

Mr.  Squeers,  plying  Mrs.  Sliderskew  freely  with  the  liquor, 
and  sustaining  himself  under  the  exertion  of  speaking  so  loud 
by  frequent  applications  to  it  himself,  complied  with  this  request 
by  describing  the  discomfiture  of  Arthur  Gride,  with  such  im¬ 
provements  on  the  truth  as  happened  to  occur  to  him,  and  the 
ingenious  invention  and  application  of  which  had  been  very  in¬ 
strumental  in  recommending  him  to  her  notice  in  the  beginning 
of  their  acquaintance.  Mrs.  Sliderskew  was  in  an  ecstacy  of 
delight,  rolling  her  head  about,  drawing  up  her  skinny  shoulders, 
and  wrinkling  her  cadaverous  face  into  so  many  and  such  com¬ 
plicated  forms  of  ugliness,  as  awakened  the  unbounded  astonish¬ 
ment  and  disgust  even  of  Mr.  Squeers. 

“He’s  a  treacherous  old  goat,”  said  Peg,  “and  cozened  me 
w  ith  cunning  tricks  and  lying  promises,  but  never  mind — I’m 
even  wdth  him — I’m  even  with  him.” 

“More  than  even.  Slider,”  returned  Squeers;  “you’d  have 
been  even  with  him  if  he’d  got  married,  but  with  the  dis- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


829 


appointment  besides,  you’re  a  long  way  ahead — out  of  sight, 
Slider,  quite  out  of  sight.  And  that  reminds  me,”  he  added, 
handing  her  the  glass,  “if  you  want  me  to  give  you  my  opinion 
of  them  deeds,  and  tell  you  what  you’d  better  keep  and  what 
3'ou’d  better  burn,  why,  now’s  your  time.  Slider.” 

“  There  ain’t  no  hurry  for  that,”  said  Peg,  with  several  know¬ 
ing  looks  and  winks. 

“  Oh  I  very  well,”  observed  Squeers,  “it  don’t  matter  to  me; 
you  asked  me,  you  know.  I  shouldn’t  charge  you  nothing, 
being  a  friend.  You’re  the  best  judge  of  course,  but  you’re  a 
bold  woman,  Slider — that’s  all.” 

“  How  do  you  mean — bold  ?”  said  Peg, 

“  Why,  I  only  mean  that  if  it  was  me,  I  wouldn’t  keep  papers 
as  might  hang  me,  littering  about  when  they  might  be  turned  into 
money;  them  as  wasn’t  useful  made  away  with,  and  them  as  was, 
laid  by  somewhere  safe,  that’s  all,”  returned  Squeers;  “but 
every  body’s  the  best  judge  of  their  own  affairs.  All  as  I  say 
is.  Slider,  I  wouldn’t  do  it.” 

“  Come,”  said  Peg,  “  then  you  shall  see  ’em.” 

“7  don’t  want  to  see  ’em,”  replied  Squeers,  affecting  to  be 
out  of  humor,  “don’t  talk  as  if  it  was  a  treat.  Show 
’em  to  some  body  else  and  take  their  advice.” 

Mr.  Squeers  would  very  likely  have  carried  on  the  farce  of 
being  offended  a  little  longer,  if  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  in  her  anxiety 
to  restore  herself  to  her  former  high  position  in  his  good  graces, 
had  not  become  so  extremely  affectionate  that  he  stood  at  some 
risk  of  being  smothered  by  her  caresses.  Repressing,  with  as 
good  a  grace  as  possible,  these  little  familiarities — for  which 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  black  bottle  was  at  least  as 
much  to  blame  as  any  constitutional  infirmity  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Sliderskew — he  protested  that  he  had  only  been  joking, 
and,  in  proof  of  his  unimpaired  good  humor,  that  he  was  ready 
to  examine  the  deeds  at  once,  if,  by  so  doing,  he  could  afford 
any  satisfaction  or  relief  of  mind  to  his  fair  friend. 

“And  now  you’re  up,  my  Slider,”  bawled  Squeers,  as  she 
rose  to  fetch  them,  “l)olt  the  door.” 

Peg  trotted  to  the  door,  and  after  fumbling  at  the  bolt,  crept 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  from  beneath  the  coals  which 
filWi  the  bottom  of  the  cupboard,  drew  forth  a  small  deal  box 


830 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


Having  placed  this  on  the  floor  at  Squeers’s  feet,  she  brought 
from  under  the  pillow  of  her  bed,  a  small  key,  with  which  she 
signed  to  that  gentleman  to  open  it.  Mr.  Squeers,  who  had 
eagerly  followed  her  every  motion,  lost  no  time  in  obeying  this 
hint,  and  throwing  back  the  lid,  gazed  with  rapture  on  the  docu¬ 
ments  which  lay  within. 

“  Now  you  see,”  said  Peg,  kneeling  down  on  the  floor  beside 
him,  and  staying  his  impatient  hand;  “what  is  of  no  use  we’ll 
burn,  what  we  can  get  any  money  by  we’ll  keep,  and  if -there’s 
any  we  could  get  him  into  trouble  by,  and  fret  and  waste  away 
his  heart  to  shreds,  those  we’ll  take  particular  care  of,  for  that’s 
what  I  w'ant  to  do,  and  hoped  to  do  when  I  left  him.” 

“I  thought,”  said  Squeers,  “ that  you  didn’t  bear  him  any 
particular  good-will.  But  I  say,  why  didn’t  you  take  some 
money  besides  ?” 

“  Some  what  ?”  asked  Peg. 

“  Some  money,”  roared  Squeers.  “I  do  believe  the  woman 
hears  me,  and  wants  to  make  me  break  a  wessel,  so  that  she 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  nursing  me.  Some  money.  Slider — • 
money.” 

“  Why,  what  a  man  you  are  to  ask  !”  cried  Peg,  with  some 
contempt.  “  If  I  had  taken  money,  from  Arthur  Gride,  he’d 
have  scoured  the  whole  earth  to  find  me — aye,  and  he’d  have 
smelt  it  out,  and  raked  it  up  somehow  if  I  had  buried  it  at  the 
bottom  of  the  deepest  well  in  England.  No,  no  !  I  knew  better 
than  tliat.  I  took  what  I  thought  his  secrets  were  hid  in,  and 
them  he  couldn’t  afford  to  make  public,  let  ’em  be  worth  ever 
so  much  money.  He’s  an  old  dog,  a  sly,  old,  cunning,  thank¬ 
less  dog.  He  first  starved  and  then  tricked  me,  and  if  I  could, 
I’d  kill  him.” 

“All  right,  and  very  laudable,”  said  Squeers.  “But  first 
and  foremost.  Slider,  burn  the  box.  You  should  never  keep 
things  as  may  lead  to  discovery — always  mind  that.  So  while 
you  pull  it  to  pieces  (which  you  can  easily  do,  for  it’s  very  old 
and  rickety)  and  burn  it  in  little  bits.  I’ll  look  over  the  papers 
and  tell  you  what  they  are.” 

Peg,  expressing  her  acquiescence  in  this  arrangement,  Mr. 
Squeers  turned  the  box  bottom  upwards,  and  tumbling  the 
contents  upon  the  floor,  Landed  it  to  her ;  the  destruction  of 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


8^1 


the  box  being  an  extemporary  device  for  engaging  her  attention, 
in  ease  it  should  prove  desirable  to  distract  it  from  his  own  pro¬ 
ceedings. 

There,”  said  Squeers,  “you  poke  the  pieces  between  the 
bars,  and  make  up  a  good  fire,  and  I’ll  read  the  while — let  me 
seC' — let  me  see.”  And  taking  the  candle  down  beside  him, 
Mr.  Squeers,  with  great  eagerness  and  a  cunning  grin  over* 
spreading  his  face,  entered  upon  his  task  of  examination. 

If  the  old  woman  had  not  been  very  deaf,  she  must  havm 
heard,  when  she  last  went  to  the  door,  the  breathing  of  two 
persons  close  behind  it,  and  if  those  two  persons  had  been  un¬ 
acquainted  with  her  infirmity  they  must  probably  have  chosen 
that  moment  either  for  presenting  themselves  or  taking  to 
flight.  But,  knowing  with  whom  they  had  to  deal,  they  re¬ 
mained  quite  still,  and  now  not  only  appeared  unobserved  at 
the  door — which  was  not  bolted,  for  the  bolt  had  no  hasp — • 
but  warily,  and  with  noiseless  footsteps,  advanced  into  the 
room. 

As  they  stoic  further  and  further  in,  by  slight  and  scarcely  per¬ 
ceptible  degrees  and  with  such  caution  that  they  scarcely  seemed 
to  breathe,  the  old  hag  and  Squeers,  little  dreaming  of  any  such 
invasion,  and  utterly  unconscious  of  there  being  any  soul  near 
but  themselves,  were  busily  occupied  with  their  tasks.  The  old 
woman,  with  her  wrinkled  face  close  to  the  bars  of  the  stove, 
puffing  at  the  dull  embers  which  had  not  yet  caught  the  wood 
■ — Squeers  stooping  down  to  the  candle,  which  brought  out  the 
full  ugliness  of  his  face,  as  the  light  of  the  fire  did  that  of  his 
companion — both  intently  engaged,  and  wearing  faces  of  exulta¬ 
tion,  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  anxious  looks  of  those 
behind,  who  took  advantage  of  the  slightest  sound  to  cover 
their  advance,  and  almost  before  they  had  moved  an  inch,  and  all 
was  silent,  stojiped  again — this,  with  the  large,  bare  room,  damp 
walls,  and  flickering,  doulitful  light,  combined  to  form  a  scene- 
which  the  most  careless  and  indifferent  spectator — could  any 
have  been  present — could  scarcely  have  failed  to  derive  some 
interest  from,  and  would  not  readily  have  forgotten. 

Of  the  stealthy  comers  Frank  Cheeryble  was  one,  and  Newraau 
Noggs  the  other.  Newman  had  caught  up  by  the  rusty  nozzle 
an  old  ])air  o^  bellows,  which  were  just  undergoing  a  flourisli 


882 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


in  the  air  preparatory  to  a  descent  upon  the  head  of  Mr 
Squeers,  when  Frank,  with  an  earnest  gesture,  stayed  his  arm, 
and  taking  another  step  in  advance,  came  so  close  behind  the 
sclioolmaster  that,  by  leaning  slightly  forward,  he  could  plainly 
distinguish  the  writing  which  he  held  up  to  his  eye. 

Mr.  Squeers,  not  being  remarkably  erudite,  appeared  to  be 
considerably  puzzled  by  this  first  prize,  which  was  in  an  en¬ 
grossing  hand,  and  not  very  legible  except  to  a  practised  eye. 
Having  tried  it  by  reading  from  left  to  right  and  from  right 
to  left,  and  finding  it  equally  clear  both  ways,  he  turned  it  up¬ 
side  down  with  no  better  success. 

“Ha,  ha,  ha!”  chuckled  Peg,  who,  on  her  knees  before  the 
fire,  was  feeding  it  with  fragments  of  the  box,  and  grinning  in 
most  devilish  exultation.  “  What’s  that  writing  about,  eh  ?” 

“Nothing  particular,”  replied  Squeers,  tossing  it  towards 
her.  “It’s  only  an  old  lease,  as  well  as  I  can  make  out.  Throw 
it  in  the  fire.” 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  complied,  and  inquired  what  the  next  one 
was. 

“  This,”  said  Squeers,  “  is  a  bundle  of  over-due  acceptances 
and  renewed  bills  of  six  or  eight  young  gentleman,  but  they’re 
all  M.P’s.,  so  it’s  of  no  use  to  anybody.  Throw  it  in  the 
fire.” 

Peg  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  waited  for  the  next. 

“This,”  said  Squeers,  “  seems  to  be  some  deed  of  sale  of  the 
right  of  presentation  to  the  rectory  of  Purechurch,  in  the  valley 
of  Cashup.  Take  care  of  that.  Slider — literally  for  God’s  sake. 
It’ll  fetch  its  price  at  the  Auction  Mart.” 

“  What’s  the  next  ?”  inquired  Peg. 

“  Why,  this,”  said  Squeers,  “  seems,  from  the  two  letters  that’s 
with  it,  to  be  a  bond  from  a  curate  down  in  the  country  to  pay 
lialf-a-year’s  wages  of  forty  pound  for  borrowing  twenty.  Take 
care  of  that,  for  if  he  don’t  pay  it,  his  bishop  will  very  soon  bo 
down  upon  him.  We  know  what  the  camel  and  the  needle’s 
eye  means — no  man  as  can’t  live  upon  his  income,  whatever  it 
is,  must  expect  to  go  to  heaven  at  any  price — it’s  very  odd.  1 
don’t  see  any  thing  like  it  yet.” 

“What’s  the  matter?”  said  Peg. 

“.Nothing,”  replied  Squeers,  “only  I’m  looking  for - ” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


833 


Newman  raised  the  bellows  again,  and  once  more  Frank,  by 
a  rapid  motion  of  his  arm,  unaccompanied  by  any  noise, 
checked  him  in  his  purpose. 

“Here  you  are,”  said  Squeers,  “bonds — take  care  of  them, 
Warrant  of  attorney — take  care  of  that.  Two  cognovits — take 
care  of  them.  Lease  and  release — burn  that.  Ah  I  ‘Made¬ 
line  Lray — come  of  age  or  marry — the  said  Madeline’ — Here, 
burn  thaV^ 

Eagerly  throwing  towards  the  old  woman  a  parchment  that 
he  caught  up  for  the  purpose,  Squeers,  as  she  turned  her  head, 
thrust  into  the  breast  of  his  large  coat,  the  deed  in  which  these 
words  had  caught  his  eye,  and  burst  into  a  shout  of  triumph. 

“I’ve  got  it  1”  said  Squeers.  “I’ve  got  it.  Hurrah!  The 
plan  was  a  good  one  though  the  chance  was  desperate,  and  the 
day’s  our  own  at  last !” 

Peg  demanded  what  he  laughed  at,  but  no  answer  was  re¬ 
turned,  for  Newman’s  arm  could  no  longer  be  restrained;  the 
bellows  descending  heavily  and  with  unerring  aim  on  the  very 
centre  of  Mr.  Squeers’s  head,  felled  him  to  the  floor,  and 
stretched  him  on  it  flat  and  senseless 


CHAPTER  LVIIL’ 


rN  WHICH  ONE  SCENE  OP  THIS  HISTORY  IS  CLOSED. 

DivrDiNG  the  distance  into  two  days’  journey,  in  order  that 
his  charge  miffht  sustain  the  less  exhaustion  and  fatiijue  from 
traveling  so  far,  Nicholas,  at  the  end  of  the  second  day  from 
their  leaving  home,  found  himself  within  a  very  few  miles  of  the 
spot,  where  the  happiest  years  of  his  life  had  been  passed,  and 
which,  while  it  filled  his  mind  with  pleasant  and  peaceful 
thoughts,  brought  back  many  painful  and  vivid  recollections 
of  the  circumstances  in  which  he  and  his  had  wandered  forth 
from  tlieir  old  home,  cast  upon  the  rough  world  and  the  mercy 
of  strangers. 

It  needed  no  such  reflections  as  those  which  the  memory  of 
old  days,  and  wanderings  among  scenes  where  our  childhood 
has  been  passed,  usually  awaken  in  the  most  insensible  minds, 
to  soften  the  heart  of  Nicholas,  and  render  him  more  than 
usually  mindful  of  his  drooping  friend.  By  night  and  day,  at 
all  times  and  seasons,  always  watchful,  attentive,  and  solicitous, 
and  never  var3dng  in  the  discharge  of  his  self-imposed  duty  to 
one  so  friendless  and  helpless  as  he  whose  sands  of  life  were 
now  fast  running  out  and  dwindling  rapidly  away,  he  was  ever 
at  his  side.  He  never  left  him  ;  to  encourage  and  animate 
him,  administer  to  his  wants,  support  and  cheer  him  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power,  was  now  his  constant  and  unceasing 
occupation. 

They  procured  a  humble  lodging  in  a  small  farm-house,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  meadows,  where  Nicholas  had  often  reveled  when  a 
child  with  a  troop  of  merry  school -fellows ;  and  here  they  took 
up  their  rest. 

At  first,  Smike  was  strong  enough  to  walk  about  for  short 
distances  at  a  time,  with  no  other  support  or  aid  than  that  which 
Nicholas  could  afford  him.  At  this  time,  nothing  appeared  to 
interest  him  so  much  as  visiting  those  places  which  had  been 
(834) 


NICHOLAS  N I C  K  L  E  B  Y . 


835 


most  familiar  to  his  friend  in  bygone  days.  Yielding  to  this  fancy, 
and  pleased  to  find  that  its  indulgence  beguiled  the  sick  boy  of 
many  tedious  hours,  and  never  failed  to  attbrd  him  matter  for 
thought  and  conversation  afterwards,  Niciiolas  made  such  spots 
the  scenes  of  their  daily  rambles :  driving  him  from  place  to 
place  in  a  little  pony-chair,  and  supporting  him  on  his  arm 
while  they  walked  slowly  among  these  old  haunts,  or  lingered 
ill  the  sunlight  to  take  long  parting  looks  of  those  which  were 
most  quiet  and  beautiful. 

It  was  on  such  occasions  as  these,  that  Nicholas,  yielding 
almost  unconsciously  to  the  interest  of  old  associations,  would 
point  out  some  tree  that  he  had  climbed  a  hundred  times  to 
peep  at  the  young  birds  in  their  nests,  and  the  branch  from 
which  he  used  to  shout  to  little  Kate,  who  stood  below  terrified 
at  the  height  he  had  gained,  and  yet  urging  him  higher  still  by 
the  intensity  of  her  admiration.  There  was  the  old  house  too, 
which  they  would  pass  every  day,  looking  up  at  the  tiny  win¬ 
dow  through  which  the  sun  used  to  stream  in  and  wake  him  on 
the  summer  mornings — they  were  all  summer  mornings  then — 
and  climbing  up  the  garden-wall  and  looking  over,  Nicholas 
could  see  the  very  rose-bush  which  had  come  a  present  to  Kate 
from  some  little  lover  and  she  had  planted  with  her  own  hands. 
There  were  the  hedge-rows  where  the  brother  and  sister  had  so 
often  gathered  wild  flowers  together,  and  the  green  fields  and 
shady  paths  where  they  had  so  often  strayed.  There  was  not  a 
lane,  or  brook,  or  copse,  or  cottage  near,  with  which  some  childish 
event  was  not  entwined,  and  back  it  came  upon  the  mind  as 
events  of  childhood  do — nothing  in  itself:  perhaps  a  word,  a 
laugh,  a  look,  some  slight  distress,  a  passing  thought  or  fear — 
and  yet  more  strongly  and  distinctly  marked,  and  better  far 
remembered,  than  the  hardest  trials  or  severest  sorrows  of  but  a 
year  ago. 

One  of  these  expeditions  led  them  through  the  chnrdiyard 
where  was  his  fathei’’s  grave.  “  Even  here,”  said  Nicholas, 
softly,  “  we  used  to  loiter  before  we  knew  what  death  was,  and 
when  we  little  thought  whose  ashes  would  rest  beneath,  and 
wondering  at  the  silence,  sit  down  to  rest  and  speak  below  our 
breath.  Once  Kate  was  lost,  and  after  an  hour  of  fruitless 
search,  they  found  her  fast  asleep  under  that  tree  which  shades 


836 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEHY. 


my  father’s  grave.  He  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  said  when  he 
took  her  up  in  his  arms,  still  sleeping,  that  whenever  he  died  he 
would  wish  to  be  buried  where  his  dear  little  child  had  laid  her 
head.  You  see  his  wish  was  not  forgotten.” 

Nothing  more  passed  at  the  time,  but  that  night,  as  Nicholas 
sat  beside  his  bed,  Smike  started  up  from  what  had  seemed  to 
be  a  slumber,  and  laying  his  hand  in  his,  prayed,  as  the  tears 
coursed  down  his  face,  that  he  would  make  him  one  solemn 
promise. 

“  What  is  that  ?”  said  Nicholas,  kindly.  “  If  I  can  redeem 
it,  or  hope  to  do  so,  you  know  I  will.” 

“  I  am  sure  you  will,”  was  the  reply.  “  Promise  me  that 
when  I  die,  I  shall  be  buried  near — as  near  as  they  can  make 
my  grave — to  the  tree  we  saw  to-day.” 

Nicholas  gave  the  promise ;  he  had  few  words  to  give  it  in, 
but  they  were  solemn  and  earnest.  Ills  poor  friend  kept  his 
hand  in  his,  and  turned  as  if  to  sleep.  But  there  were  stifled 
sobs ;  and  the  hand  was  pressed  more  than  once,  or  twice,  or 
thrice,  before  he  sank  to  rest,  and  slowly  loosed  his  hold. 

In  a  fortnight’s  time,  he  became  too  ill  to  move  about.  Once 
or  twice  Nicholas  drove  him  out,  propped  up  with  pillows,  but 
the  motion  of  the  chaise  was  painful  to  him,  and  brought  on 
fits  of  fainting,  which,  in  his  weakened  state,  were  dangerous. 
There  was  an  old  couch  in  the  house  which  was  his  favorite 
resting-place  by  day  ;  when  the  sun  shone,  and  the  weather  was 
warm,  Nicholas  had  this  wheeled  into  a  little  orchard  which 
was  close  at  hand,  and  his  charge  being  well  wrapt  up  and 
carried  out  to  it,  they  used  to  sit  there  sometimes  for  hours 
together. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  a  circumstance  took 
place,  which  Nicholas  at  the  time  thoroughly  believed  to  be  the 
mere  delusion  of  an  imagination  afiTected  by  disease,  but  which 
he  had  afterwards  too  good  reason  to  know  was  of  real  and 
actual  occurrence. 

lie  had  brought  Smike  out  in  his  arms — poor  fellow  !  a  child 
might  have  carried  him  then — to  see  the  sunset,  and,  having 
arranged  his  couch,  had  taken  his  seat  beside  it.  He  had  been 
watching  the  whole  of  the  night  before,  and  being  greatly 
fatigued  both  in  mind  and  body,  gradually  fell  asleep. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


837 


He  could  not  have  closed  Ills  eyes  five  minutes,  when  he  was 
awakened  by  a  scream,  and  starting  up  in  that  kind  of  terror 
which  affects  a  person  suddenly  roused,  saw  to  his  great  asto¬ 
nishment  that  his  charge  had  struggled  into  a  sitting  posture, 
and  with  eyes  almost  starting  b’om  their  sockets,  the  cold  dew 
standing  on  his  forehead,  and  in  a  fit  of  trembling  which  quite 
convulsed  his  frame,  was  shrieking  to  him  for  help. 

“  Good  Heaven,  what  is  this  ?”  cried  Nicholas,  bending  over 
him.  “Be  calm  ;  you  have  been  dreaming.” 

“No,  no,  no!”  cried  Smike,  clinging  to  him.  “Hold  me 
tight-  Don’t  let  me  go.  There — there — behind  the  tree  1” 

Nicholas  followed  his  eyes,  which  were  directed  to  some  dis¬ 
tance  behind  the  chair  from  which  he  himself  had  just  risen. 
But  there  was  nothing  there. 

“This  is  nothing  but  your  fancy,”  ho  said,  as  he  strove  to 
compose  him  ;  “nothing  else  indeed.” 

“  I  know  better.  I  saw  as  plain  as  I  see  now,”  was  the  an¬ 
swer.  “  Oh !  say  you’ll  keep  me  with  you — swear  you  won’t 
leave  me  for  an  instant  1” 

“Do  I  ever  leave  you?”  returned  Nicholas.  “Lie  down 
again  now — there.  You  see  I’m  here.  Now  tell  me- — what 
was  it  ?” 

“Do  you  remember,”  said  Smike,  in  a  low  voice,  and  glanc¬ 
ing  fearfully  round,  “  do  you  remember  my  telling  you  of  the 
man  who  first  took  me  to  the  school  ?” 

“Yes,  surely.” 

“I  raised  my  eyes  just  now  towards  that  tree — that  one  with 
the  thick  trunk — and  there,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  me,  he 
stood.” 

“  Only  reflect  for  one  moment,”  said  Nicholas  :  “  granting 
for  an  instant  that  it’s  likely  he  is  alive  and  wandering  about  a 
lonely  place  like  this,  so  far  removed  from  the  public  road,  do 
you  think  that  at  this  distance  of  time  you  could  possibly  know 
that  man  again  ?” 

“Anywhere — in  any  dress,”  returned  Smike  ;  “but  just  now, 
he  stood  leaning  upon  his  stick  and  looking  at  me,  exactly  as  I 
told  you  I  remembered  him.  He  was  dusty  with  walking,  and 
poorly  dressed — I  think  his  clothes  were  ragged — but  directly 
I  saw  him,  the  wet  night,  his  face  when  he  left  me,  the  parlor  1 


838 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


was  left  ill,  aud  the  people  that  were  there,  all  seemed  to  come 
back  together.  When  he  knew  I  saw  him,  he  looked  frightened, 
for  he  started  and  shrunk  away.  I  have  thought  of  him  by 
day,  and  dreamt  of  him  by  night.  He  looked  in  my  sleep  when 
1  was  quite  a  little  child,  and  has  looked  in  my  sleep  ever  since, 
as  he  did  just  now.” 

Nicholas  endeavored,  by  every  persuasion  and  argument  he 
conld  think  of,  to  convince  the  terrified  creature  that  hig 
imagination  had  deceived  him,  and  that  this -close  resemblance 
between  the  Creation  of  his  dreams  and  the  man  he  supposed  he 
had  seen  was  but  a  proof  of  it ;  but  all  in  vain.  When  he 
conld  persuade  him  to  remain  for  a  few  moments  in  the  care  of 
the  people  to  whom  the  house  belonged,  he  instituted  a  strict 
inquiry  whether  any  stranger  had  been  seen,  and  searched  him¬ 
self  behind  the  tree,  and  through  the  orchard,  aud  upon  the 
land  immediately  adjoining,  and  in  every  place  near,  where  it 
was  possible  for  a  man  to  lie  concealed,  but  all  in  vain.  Satis¬ 
fied  that  he  was  right  in  his  original  conjecture,  he  ultimately 
applied  himself  to  calming  the  fears  of  Sraike,  which  after  some 
time  he  partially  succeeded  in  doing,  though  not  in  removing 
the  impression  upon  his  mind,  for  he  still  declared  again  and 
again,  in  the  most  solemn  and  fervid  manner,  that  he  had  posi¬ 
tively  seen  what  he  described,  and  that  nothing  could  ever 
remove  his  firm  conviction  of  its  reality. 

-And  now  Nicholas  began  to  see  that  hope  was  gone,  and 
that  upon  the  partner  of  his  povert}’-,  and  the  sharer  of  hig 
better  fortune,  the  world  was  closing  fast.  There  was  little 
pain,  little  uneasiness,  but  there  was  no  rallying,  no  effort,  no 
struggle  for  life.  He  was  worn  and  wasted  to  the  last  degree ; 
his  voice  had  sunk  so  low,  that  he  could  scarce  ne  heard  to 
speak  Nature  was  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  he  had  lain  him 
down  to  die. 

On  a  fine,  mild  autumn  day,  when  all  was  tranquil  and  at 
peace,  when  the  soft  sweet  air  crept  in  at  the  open  window  of 
the  quiet  room,  and  not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the  gentle 
rustling  of  the  leaves,  Nicholas  sat  in  his  old  place  by  the  bed¬ 
side,  and  knew  that  the  time  was  nearly  come.  So  very  still  it 
was,  that  every  now  and  then  he  bent  down  his  ear  to  listen  for 
tlie  breathing  of  him  who  lay  asleep,  as  if  to  assure  himself 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY, 


839 


cnat  life  was  still  there,  and  that  he  had  not  fallen  into  that  deep 
Bluinber  from  which  on  earth  there  is  no  waking. 

While  he  was  tlius  employed,  the  closed  eyes  opened,  and  on 
the  pale  face  there  came  a  placid  smile. 

“That’s  well,”  said  Nicholas  “The  sleep  has  done  you 
good.” 

“I’ve  had  such  pleasant  dreams,”  was  the  answer.  “Such 
pleasant,  happy  dreams  1” 

“Of  what  1”  said  Nicholas. 

The  dying  boy  turned  towards  him,  and  putting  his  arm 
about  his  neck,  made  answer,  “  I  shall  soon  be  there  1” 

After  a  short  silence,  he  spoke  again. 

“  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,”  he  said. '  “I  am  quite  contented.  I 
almost  think  that  if  I  could  rise  from  this  bed  quite  well,  I 
would  not  wish  to  do  so  now.  You  have  so  often  told  me  we 
shall  meet  again — so  very  often  lately,  and  now  I  feel  the  truth 
of  that  so  strongly — that  I  can  even  bear  to  part  from  you.” 

The  trembling  voice  and  tearful  eye,  and  the  closer  grasp  of 
the  arm  which  accompanied  these  latter  words,  showed  how 
they  filled  the  sjieaker’s  heart ;  nor  were  there  wanting  indica¬ 
tions  of  how  deeply  they  had  touched  the  heart  of  him  to  whom 
they  were  addressed. 

“  You  say  well,”  returned  Nicholas  at  length,  “and  comfort 
me  very  much,  dear  fellow.  Lot  me  hear  you  say  you  are 
happy,  if  you  can.” 

“  I  must  tell  you  something  first.  I  should  not  have  a  secret 
from  you.  You  would  not  blame  me  at  a  time  like  this,  1 
know.” 

“  I  blame  you  !”  exclaimed  Nicholas. 

“I  am  sure  you  would  not.  You  asked  me  why  I  was  so 
changed,  and — and  sat  so  much  alone.  IShall  I  tell  you  why  C' 

“Not  if  it  pains  you,”  said  Nicholas.  “I  only  asked  that  I 
might  make  you  hapjiier  if  I  could.” 

“I  know — I  felt  that  at  the  time.”  lie  drew  his  friend 
closer  to  him.  “  You  will  forgive  me;  I  could  not  help  it,  Imt 
though  I  would  have  died  to  make  her  happy,  it  Iji’oke  my 
heart  to  see — I  know  he  loves  her  dearly — Oh  !  who  could  find 
that  out  so  soon  as  I  !” 

The  words  which  followed  were  feebly  and  faintly  uttered. 


840 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  broken  by  long  pauses ;  but  from  them  Nicholas  learnt,  for 
the  first  time,  that  the  dying  boy,  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  nature 
concentrated  on  one  absorbing,  hopeless,  secret  passion,  loved 
his  sister  Kate. 

He  had  procured  a  lock  of  her  hair,  which  hung  at  his  breast, 
folded  in  one  or  two  slight  ribands  she  had  worn.  lie  prayed 
that  when  he  was  dead,  Nicholas  would  take  it  ofi',  so  that  no 
eyes  but  his  might  see  it,  and  that  when  he  was  laid  in  his  coffin 
and  about  to  be  placed  in  the  earth,  he  would  hang  it  round  his 
neck  again,  that  it  might  rest  with  him  in  the  grave. 

Upon  his  knees  Nicholas  gave  him  this  pledge,  and  promised 
Again  that  he  should  rest  in  the  spot  he  had  pointed  out.  They 
embraced,  and  kissed  each  other  on  the  cheek. 

“Now,”  he  murmured,  “I  am  happy.” 

He  fell  into  a  slight  slumber,  and  waking,  smiled  as  before  ; 
then  spoke  of  beautiful  gardens,  which  he  said  stretched  out 
before  him,  and  were  filled  with  figures  of  men,  women,  and 
many  children,  all  with  light  upon  their  faces  ;  then  whispered 
tJiat  it  was  Eden — and  so  died. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


THE  PLOTS  BEGIN  TO  FAIL,  AND  DOUBTS  AND  DANGF.RS  TO  DIS¬ 
TURB  THE  PLOTTER. 

Ralph  sat  alone  in  the  solitary  room  where  he  was  accustomed 
to  take  his  meals,  and  to  sit  of  nights  when  no  profitable  occu¬ 
pation  called  him  abroad ;  before  him  was  an  untasted  brealcfast, 
and  near  to  where  his  fingers  beat  restlessly  npon  the  table,  lay 
his  watch.  It  was  long  past  the  time  at  which,  for  many  years, 
he  had  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  gone  with  measured  steps  down 
stairs  to  the  business  of  the  day,  but  he  took  as  little  heed  of  its 
monotonous  warning,  as  of  the  meat  and  drink  before  him,  and 
remained  with  his  head  resting  on  one  hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed 
moodily  on  the  ground. 

This  departure  from  his  regular  and  constant  habit  in  one  so 
regular  and  unvarying  in  all  that  appertained  to  the  daily  pur¬ 
suit  of  riches,  would  almost-of  itself  have  told  that  the  usurer 
was  not  well.  That  he  labored  under  some  mental  or  bodily 
indisposition,  and  that  it  was  one  of  no  slight  kind  so  to  affect 
a  man  like  him,  was  sufficiently  shown  by  his  haggard  face, 
jaded  air,  and  hollow,  languid  eyes,  which  he  raised  at  last  with 
a  start  and  a  hasty  glance  around  him,  as  one  who  suddenly 
awakes  from  sleep,  and  cannot  immediately  recognize  the  place 
in  which  he  finds  himself. 

“What  is  this,”  he  said,  “that  hangs  over  me,  and  I  cannot 
shake  off?  I  have  never  pampered  myself,  and  should  not 
be  ill.  I  have  never  moped,  and  pined,  and  yielded  to  fancies  j 
bnt  what  can  a  man  do  without  rest  ?” 

He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  forehead. 

“  Niglit  after  night  comes  and  goes,  and  I  have  no  rest. 

I  sleep,  what  rest  is  that  which  is  disturbed  by  constant  dreams 
of  the  same  detested  faces  crowding  around  me- — of  the  same 
detested  people  in  every  variety  of  action,  mingling  with  all  I 
say  and  do,  and  always  to  my  defeat?  Waking,  what  rest 

(841) 


812 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


have  I,  constantly  haunted  by  this  heavy  shadow  of — I  know 
not  what,  which  is  its  worst  character.  I  must  have  rest.  Ono 
night’s  uul)rokeu  rest,  and  I  sliould  be  a  man  again.” 

Pushing  the  table  from  him  while  he  spoke,  as  though  he 
loathed  the  sight  of  food,  he  encountered  the  watch  ;  the  hands 
of  which  were  almost  upon  noon. 

'■*  This  is  strange  !”  he  said,  “noon,  and  Noggs  not  herel 
what  drunken  brawl  keeps  him  away  ?  I  would  give  something 
n'  w,  something  in  money  even  after  that  dreadful  loss,  if  he 
had  stabbed  a  man  in  a  tavern  scuffle,  or  broken  into  a  house, 
or  picked  a  pocket,  or  done  any  thing  that  would  send  him 
abroad  with  an  iron  ring  upon  his  leg,  and  rid  me  of  him. 
Petter  still  if  I  could  throw  temptation  in  his  way,  and  lure 
him  on  to  rob  me.  lie  should  bo  welcome  to  what  he  took,  so 
I  brought  the  law  upon  him,  for  he  is  a  traitor,  I  swear ;  how 
or  when  or  where  I  don’t  know,  though  I  suspect.” 

After  waiting  for  another  half-hour,  he  despatched  the  woman 
who  kept  his  house  to  Newman’s  lodging,  to  inquire  if  he 
were  ill,  and  why  he  had  not  come  or  sent.  She  brought  back 
answer  that  he  had  not  been  home  all  night,  and  that  no  one 
could  tell  her  any  thing  about  him. 

“But  there  is  a  gentleman.  Sir,”  she  said,  “below,  vtdio  was 
standing  at  the  door  when  I  came  in,  and  he  says - ” 

“What  says  he  ?”  demanded  Ralph,  turning  angrily  upon  hei . 
“  I  told  you  I  would  see  nobody.” 

“lie  sa3's,”  replied  the  w^oman,  abashed  by  his  harshness, 
“  that  he  comes  on  very  particular  business,  which  admits  of  no 
excuse,  and  I  thought  perhaps  it  might  be  about - ” 

“  About  what,  in  the  devil’s  name  ?”  said  Ralph,  hastily. 
“  You  si)y  and  speculate  on  people’s  business  with  me,  do  you, 
woman  ?” 

“  Dear,  no.  Sir !  I  saw  you  were  anxious,  and  thought  it 
might  be  about  Mr.  Noggs,  that’s  all.” 

“  Saw  I  was  anxious  !”  muttered  Ralph ;  “  they  all  watch  mo 
now.  Where  is  this  person  ?  You  did  not  say  I  was  not  down 
yet,  I  hope  ?” 

The  woman  replied  that  he  was  in  the  little  office,  and  that 
she  had  said  her  master  was  engaged,  but  she  would  take  the 
message. 


NICHOLAS  NIC  RLE  BY. 


84^ 

“  Well/’ said  Ralph,  “  I’ll  sec  him.  Go  you  to  your  kitchen, 
and  keep  there, — do  you  mind  me  ?” 

Glad  to  be  released,  the  woman  quickly  disappeared.  Col- 
lectinc;  himself,  and  assuming  as  much  of  his  accustomed  man¬ 
ner  as  his  utmost  resolution  could  summon,  Ral{)h  descended 
llie  stairs,  and  after  pausing  for  a  few  moments  with  his  hand 
upon  the  lock,  entered  Newman’s  room,  and  confronted  Mr. 
Charles  Cheeryble. 

Of  all  men  alive,  this  was  one  of  the  last  he  would  have 
wished  to  meet  at  any  time  ;  but  now  that  he  recognized  in  him 
enly  the  patron  and  protector  of  Nicholas,  he  would  rather 
nave  seen  a  spectre.  One  beneficial  effect,  however,  the  en- 
eounter  had  upon  him.  It  instantly  roused  all  his  dormant 
energies,  rekindled  in  his  breast  the  passions  that  for  many  years 
aad  found  an  improving  home  there,  called  up  all  his  wrath, 
liatred,  and  malice  ;  restored  the  sneer  to  his  lip,  and  scowl 
to  his  brow,  and  made  him  again,  in  all  outward  appearance, 
the  same  Ralph  Nickleby  that  so  many  had  bitter  cause  to 
remember. 

“Humph,”  said  Ralph,  pausing  at  the  door.  “This  is  an 
unexpected  favor.  Sir.” 

“  And  an  unwelcome  one,”  said  brother  Charles;  “an  unwel¬ 
come  one,  I  know.” 

“Men  say  you  are  truth  itself.  Sir,”  sneered  Ralph.  “You 
speak  truth  now  at  all  events,  and  I’ll  not  contradict  you.  The 
favor  is  at  least  as  unwelcome  as  it  is  unexpected.  I  can 
scarcely  say  more  !” 

“  riainly.  Sir - ”  began  brother  Charles. 

“Plainly,  Sir,”  interrupted  Ral))h,  “I  wish  this  confer ence 
tc  be  a  short  one,  and  to  end  where  it  begins.  I  guess  the  sub¬ 
ject  upon  which  you  are  about  to  speak,  and  I’ll  not  hear  you. 
Von  like  plainness,  I  believe — there  it  is.  Here  is  the  door  as 
you  see.  Our  way  lies  in  very  different  directions.  Take  yours, 
I  beg  of  you,  and  leave  me  to  pursue  mine  in  quiet.” 

“In  quiet  I”  repeated  brother  Charles,  mildly,  and  looking  at 
him  with  more  of  pity  than  reproach,  “  To  pursue  his  way  in 
quiet !” 

“  V  ou  will  scarcely  remain  in  my  house,  I  presume,  Sir, 
against  my  will,”  said  Ralph ;  or  you  can  scarcely  hope  to 


844 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LEE  Y. 


make  an  impression  upon  a  man  who  closes  his  ears  to  all  that 
you  can  say,  and  is  firmly  and  resolutely  determined  not  to  hear 
you.” 

“  Mr.  Nicklcby,  Sir,”  returned  brother  Charles,  no  less  mildly 
than  before,  but  firmly  too,  “  I  come  here  against  my  will— 
Gorely  and  grievously  against  my  will.  I  have  never  been  in 
this  house  before  ;  and  to  speak  my  mind.  Sir,  I  don’t  feel  at 
home  or  easy  in  it,  and  have  no  wish  ever  to  be  here  again.  You 
do  not  guess  the  subject  on  which  I  come  to  speak  to  you,  you 
do  not  indeed,  I  am  sure  of  that,  or  your  manner  would  be  a 
very  different  one.” 

Ralph  glanced  keenly  at  him,  but  the  clear  eye  and  open 
countenance  of  the  honest  old  merchant  underwent  no  change  of 
expression,  and  met  his  look  without  reserve. 

“  Shall  I  go  on  ?”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble. 

"Oh,  by  all  means,  if  you  please,”  returned  Ralph,  dryly. 
"  Here  are  walls  to  speak  to.  Sir,  a  desk,  and  two  stools — most 
attentive  auditors,  and  certain  not  to  inte  upt  you.  Go  on,  I 
beg ;  make  my  house  yours,  and  perhaps  by  the  time  1  return 
from  my  walk,  you  will  have  finished  what  you  have  to  say,  and 
will  yield  me  up  possession  again.” 

So  saying,  he  buttoned  his  coat,  and  turning  into  the  passage, 
took  down,  his  hat.  The  old  gentleman  followed,  and  was  about 
to  speak,  when  Ralph  waved  him  off  impatiently,  and  said  : 

“  Not  a  word.  I  tell  you.  Sir,  not  a  word.  Virtuous  as  you 
are,  you  are  not  an  angel  yet,  to  appear  in  men’s  houses  whether 
they  will  or  no,  and  pour  your  speech  into  unwilling  ears.  Preach 
to  the  walls  I  tell  you — not  to  me.” 

"I  am  no  angel.  Heaven  knows,”  returned  brother  Charles, 
shaking  his  head,  "but  an  erring  and  imperfect  man  ;  neverthe¬ 
less  there  is  one  quality  which  all  men  have,  in  common  with  the 
angels,  blessed  opportunities  of  exercising  if  they  will — mercy. 
It  is  an  errand  of  mercy  that  brings  me  here.  Pray,  let  me  dis¬ 
charge  it.” 

“I  show  no  mercy,”  retorted  Ralph,  with  a  triumphant  smile, 
"  and  I  ask  none.  Seek  no  mercy  from  me.  Sir,  on  behalf  of  a 
fellow  who  has  imposed  upon  your  childish  credulity,  but  let 
him  expect  the  worst  that  I  can  do.” 

"  He  ask  mercy  at  your  hands  !”  exclaimed  the  old  merchant, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


845 


warmly,  “  ask  it  at  Lis,  Sir,  ask  it  at  his.  If  you  will  not  hear 
me  now,  when  you  may,  hear  me  when  you  must,  or  anticipate 
what  I  would  say,  and  take  measures  to  prevent  our  ever  meet¬ 
ing  again.  Your  nephew  is  a  noble  lad,  Sir,  an  honest,  noble 
lad  What  you  are,  Mr.  Nickleby,  I  will  not  say  ;  but  what 
you  have  done,  I  know.  Now,  Sir,  when  you  go  about  the 
business  in  which  you  have  been  recently  engaged,  and  find  it 
difficult  of  pursuing,  come  to  me  and  niy  brother  Ned,  and  Tim 
Linkinwatcr,  Sir,  and  we’ll  explain  it  for  you — and  come  soon, 
or  it  may  be  too  late,  and  you  may  have  it  explained  with  a 
little  more  roughness,  and  a  little  less  delicacy — and  never  for¬ 
get,  Sir,  that  I  came  here  this  morning  in  mercy  to  you,  and 
am  still  ready  to  talk  to  you  in  the  same  spirit.” 

With  these  words,  uttered  with  great  emphasis  and  emotion, 
brother  Charles  put  on  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  passing 
Ralph  Nickleby  without  any  further  remark,  trotted  nimbly 
into  the  street.  Ralph  looked  after  him,  but  neither  moved  nor 
spoke  for  some  time,  when  he  broke  what  almost  seemed  the 
silence  of  stupefaction,  by  a  scornful  laugh. 

“  This,”  he  said,  “  from  its  wdldness,  should  be  another  of  those 
dreams  that  have  so  broken  ray  rest  of  late.  In  mercy  to  me  I 
— Pho  !  The  old  simpleton  has  gone  mad.” 

Although  he  expressed  himself  in  this  derisive  and  contemp¬ 
tuous  manner,  it  was  plain  that  the  more  Ralph  pondered,  the 
more  ill  at  ease  he  became,  and  the  more  he  labored  under  some 
vague  anxiety  and  alarm,  which  increased  as  the  time  passed  on 
and  no  tidings  of  Newman  Noggs  appeared.  After  w^aiting 
until  late  in  the  afternoon,  tortured  by  various  apprehensions  and 
misgivings,  and  the  recollection  of  the  warning  which  his  nephew 
had  given  him  when  they  last  met,  the  further  confirmation  of 
which  now  presented  itself  in  one  shape  of  probability,  now  in 
another,  and  haunted  him  perpetually,  he  left  home,  and  scarcely 
knowing  why,  save  that  he  was  in  a  suspicious  and  agitated 
mood,  betook  himself  to  Snawley’s  house.  His  wife  presented 
herself,  and  of  her  Ralph  inquired  whether  her  husband  was  at 
home. 

“  No,”  she  said  sharply,  "he  is  not  indeed,  and  I  don’t  think 
he  will  be  at  home  for  a  very  long  time,  that’s  more.” 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am?”  asked  Ralph. 


84G 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Oh  yes,  I  know  you  very  well — too  well,  perhaps,  and  per 
haps  he  does  too,  and  sorry  am  1  that  I  should  have  to  say  it.” 

“  Tell  him  that  I  saw  him  through  the  window-blind  above,  as  I 
crossed  the  road  just  now,  and  that  I  would  speak  to  him  on 
business,”  said  Ralph,  sarcastically.  “  Do  you  hear?” 

“  I  hear,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Snawley,  taking  no  further  notice  of 
the  request. 

“  I  knew  this  woman  was  a  hypocrite  in  the  way  of  psalms 
and  scripture  })hrases,”  said  Ralph,  passing  quietly  by,  “but  I 
never  knew  she  drank  before.” 

“  Stop  !  You  don’t  come  in  here,”  said  Mr.  Snawley’s  better- 
half,  interposing  her  person,  which  was  a  robust  one,  in  the  door¬ 
way.  “  You  have  said  more  than  enough  to  him  on  business 
before  now.  I  always  told  him  what  dealing  with  you  and 
working  out  your  schemes  would  come  to.  It  was  either  you 
or  the  schoolmaster — one  of  you,  or  the  two  between  you — that 
got  the  forged  letter  done,  remember  that.  That  wasn’t  his 
doing,  so  don’t  lay  it  at  his  door.” 

“  Hold  your  tongue,  you  Jezebel,”  said  Ralph,  looking  fear¬ 
fully  round. 

“Ah,  I  know  when  to  hold  my  tongue,  and  when  to  speak, 
Mr.  Nickleby,”  retorted  the  dame.  Take  care  that  other  peo¬ 
ple  know  when  to  hold  theirs.” 

“A'ou  jade,”  said  Ralph,  grinning  with  rage;  “if  your  husband 
Ims  been  idiot  enough  to  trust  you  with  his  secrets,  keep  them — 
keep  them,  she-devil  that  you  are.” 

“  Not  so  much  his  secrets  as  other  people’s  secrets,  perhaps,” 
retorted  the  woman  ;  “not  so  much  his  secrets  as  yours.  None 
of  your  black  looks  at  me.  You’ll  want  ’em  all  perhaps  for 
another  time.  You  had  better  keep  ’em.” 

“Will  you,”  said  Ralph,  suppressing  his  passion  as  wf>l!  as 
he  could,  and  clutching  her  tightly  by  the  wrist :  “will  you  go 
to  your  husband  and  tell  him  that  I  know  he  is  at  home,  and 
that  I  must  see  him  ?  And  will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  that  you 
and  he  mean  by  this  new  style  of  behavior.” 

“No,”  replied  the  woman,  violently  disengaging  herself,  “  [’ll 
do  neither.” 

“You  set  me  at  defiance,  do  you  ?”  said  R,alph. 

“Yes,”  was  the  answer.  “I  do.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


847 


For  an  instant  Ralph  had  his  hand  raised  as  though  he  were 
about  to  strike  her,  but  checking  himself,  and  nodding  his  head, 
and  muttering  as  though  to  assure  her  he  would  not  forget  this, 
walked  away. 

Thence,  he  went  straight  to  the  inn  which  Mr.  Squeers  fre¬ 
quented  and  inquired  when  he  had  been  there  last ;  in  the  vague 
hope  that  whether  successful  or  unsuccessful,  he  might  by  this 
time  hare  returned  from  his  mission  and  be  able  to  assure  him 
that  all  was  safe.  Rut  Mr.  Squeers  had  not  been  there  for  ten 
days,  and  all  that  the  people  could  tell  about  him  was,  that  he 
had  left  his  luggage  and  his  bill. 

Disturbed  by  a  thousand  fears  and  surmises,  and  bent  upon 
ascertaining  whether  Squeers  had  any  suspicion  of  Suawley,  or 
was  in  any  way  a  party  to  this  altered  behavior,  Ralph  deter¬ 
mined  10  hazard  the  extreme  step  of  inquiring  for  him  at  the 
Lambeth  lodging,  and  having  an  interview  with  him  even  there. 
Rent  upon  this  purpose,  and  in  that  mood  in  which  delay  is 
insupportable,  he  repaired  at  once  to  the  place,  and  being  by 
description  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  situation  of  his  room, 
crept  up  stairs  and  knocked  gently  at  the  door. 

Not  one,  nor  two,  nor  three,  nor  yet  a  dozen  knocks  served  to 
convince  Ralph  against  his  wish  that  there  was  nobody  inside, 
lie  reasoned  that  he  might  be  asleep ;  and,  listening,  almost 
persuaded  himself  that  he  could  hear  him  breathe.  Even  when 
he  was  satisfied  that  he  could  not  be  there,  he  sat  patiently  down 
upon  a  broken  chair  and  waited  ;  arguing  that  he  had  gone  out 
upon  some  slight  errand  and  must  soon  return. 

Many  feet  came  up  the  creaking  stairs,  and  the  step  of  some 
seemed  to  his  listening  ear  so  like  that  of  the  man  for  whom  he 
waited,  that  Ralph  often  stood  up  to  be  ready  to  address  him 
when  he  reached  the  top  ;  but  one  by  one  each  person  turned 
off  into  some  room  short  of  the  ])lace  where  he  was  stationed, 
and  at  every  such  disapjiointment  he  felt  quite  chilled  and  lonely. 

At  length  he  felt  it  was  hopeless  to  remain,  and  going  down 
slairs  again,  inquired  of  one  of  the  lodgers  if  he  knew  anything 
of  i\lr.  S([ueers’s  movements — mentioning  that  worthy  by  an 
assumed  name  which  had  been  agreed  upon  between  them.  Ry 
this  lodger  he  was  referred  to  another,  and  by  him  to  some  one 
else,  from  whom  he  learnt  that  late  on  the  previous  night  he  had 
54 


848 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


gone  on't  hastily  with  two  men,  who  had  shortly  afterwards  re¬ 
turned  for  the  old  woman  who  lived  on  the  same  floor ;  and  thal 
although  the  circumstance  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  in¬ 
formant,  he  had  not  spoken  to  them  at  the  time,  nor  made  any 
inquiry  afterwards. 

This  possessed  him  with  the  idea  that  perhaps  Peg  Sliderskew 
had  Been  apprehended  for  the  robbery,  and  that  Mr.  Squeers 
being  with  her  at  the  time,  had  been  apprehended  also  on  sus¬ 
picion  of  being  a  confederate.  If  this  were  so,  the  fact  must  be 
known  to  Gride ;  and  to  Gride’s  house  he  directed  his  steps ; 
now  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  fearful  that  there  were  indeed 
plots  afoot  tending  to  his  discomfiture  and  ruin. 

Arrived  at  the  usurer’s  house,  he  found  the  windows  close 
shut,  the  dingy  blinds  drawn  down  ;  all  silent,  melancholy,  and 
deserted.  But  this  was  its  usual  aspect.  He  knocked — gently 
at  first,  then  loud  and  vigorously,  but  nobody  came.  He  wrote 
a  few  words  in  pencil  on  a  card,  and  having  thrust  it  under  the 
door  was  going  away,  when  a  noise  above  as  though  a  window- 
sash  were  stealthily  raised  caught  his  ear,  and  looking  up  he 
could  just  discern  the  face  of  Gride  himself,  cautiously  peering 
over  the  house  parapet  from,  the  window  of  the  garret.  Seeing 
who  was  below,  he  drew  it  in  again ;  not  so  quickly,  however, 
but  that  Ralph  let  him  know  he  was  observed,  and  called  to  him 
to  come  down. 

The  call  being  repeated.  Gride  looked  out  again  so  cautiously 
that  no  part  of  the  old  man’s  body  was  visible,  and  the  sharp 
features  and  white  hair  appearing  alone  above  the  parapet  looked 
like  a  severed  head  garnishing  the  wall. 

“  Hush  !”  he  cried.  “  Go  away — go  away  !” 

“  Come  down,”  said  Ralph,  beckoning  him. 

“  Go  a — way  !”  squeaked  Gride,  shaking  his  head  in  a  sort 
of  ecstacy  of  impatience.  “  Don’t  speak  to  me,  don’t  knock,  dor 't 
call  attention  to  the  house,  but  go  away.” 

“  I’ll  knock,  I  swear,  till  I  have  your  neighbors  up  in  arms,” 
said  Ralph,  “  if  you  don’t  tell  me  v\'hat  you  mean  by  li  rking 
there,  you  whining  cur.” 

“  I  can’t  hear  what  you  say — don’t  talk  to  me,  it  isn’t  safe — - 
go  away — go  away,”  returned  Gride. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


849 


“  Come  down,  I  say.  Will  you  come  down  1”  said  Ralph, 
fiercely. 

"No — 0 — o — o,”  snarled  Gride.  He  drew  in  his  head  ;  and 
Ralph,  left  standing  in'  the  street,  could  hear  the  sash  closed  as 
gently  and  carefully  as  it  had  been  opened. 

■'  How  is  this,”  said  he,  “  that  they  all  fall  from  me  and  shun 
me  like  the  plague — these  men  who  have  licked  the  dust  from 
my  feet !  Is  my  day  past,  and  is  this  indeed  the  coming  on  of 
night?  I’ll  know  what  it  means,  I  will,  at  any  cost.  I  am 
firmer  and  more  myself  just  now  than  I  have  been  these  many 
days.” 

Turning  from  the  door,  which  in  the  first  transport  of  his 
rage  he  had  meditated  battering  upon  until  Gride’s  very  fears 
impelled  him  to  open  it,  he  turned  his  face  towards  the  city,  and 
working  his  way  steadily  through  the  crowd  which  was  pouring 
fi’om  it  (it  was  by  this  time  between  five  and  six  o’clock  in  the 
afternoon)  went  straight  to  the  house  of  business  of  the  Brothers 
Cheeryble,  and  putting  his  head  into  the  glass  case,  found  Tim 
Linkinwater  alone. 

"  My  name’s  Nickleby,”  said  Ralph. 

“  I  know  it,”  replied  Tim,  surveying  him  through  his  spec¬ 
tacles. 

“  Which  of  your  firm  was  it  who  called  on  me  this  morning  ?” 
demanded  Ralph. 

“Mr.  Charles.” 

“  Then  tell  Mr.  Charles  I  want  to  see  him.” 

“You  shall  see,”  said  Tim,  getting  off  his  stool  with  great 
agility,  “you  shall  not  see  only  Mr.  Charles,  but  Mr.  Ned 
likewise.” 

Tim  stopped,  looked  steadily  and  severely  at  Ralph,  nodded 
his  head  once  in  a  curt  manner  which  seemed  to  say  there  was 
a  little  more  behind,  and  vanished.  After  a  short  interval  he 
returned,  and  ushering  Ralph  into  the  presence  of  the  two 
brothers,  remained  in  the  room  himself. 

“  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  who  spoke  to  me  this  morning,” 
said  Balph,  pointing  out  with  his  finger  the  man  whom  ho 
addressed. 

“I  have  no  secrets  from  my  brother  Ned,  or  from  Tim  Tan- 
kinwatcr,”  observed  brother  Charles,  quietly. 


850 


NICnOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


''  I  have,”  said  Kalph. 

“Mr.  Nickleby,  Sir,”  said  brother  Ned,  “the  matter  npoa 
which  my  brother  Charles  called  upon  you  this  morning  is  one 
wdiich  is  already  perfectly  well  known  to  us  three  and  to  othera 
besides,  and  must  unhappily  soon  become  known  to  a  great 
many  more.  Tie  waited  upon  you,  Sir,  this  morning,  alone,  aa 
a  matter  of  delicacy  and  consideration.  We  feel  now  that  fur* 
ther  delicacy  and  consideration  would  be  misplaced,  and  if  we 
confer  together  it  must  be  as  "we  are  or  not  at  all.” 

“AVell,  gentlemen,”  said  Ralph,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  “talk¬ 
ing  in  riddles  would  seem  to  be  the  peculiar  forte  of  you  two, 
and  I  suppose  your  clerk,  like  a  prudent  man,  has  studied  the 
art  also  with  a  view  to  your  good  graces.  Talk  in  company, 
gentlemen,  in  God’s  name.  I’ll  humor  you.” 

“  Humor  1”  cried  Tim  Linkinwater,  suddenly  growing  very 
red  in  the  face,  “he’ll  humor  us!  He’ll  humor  Cheeryble 
Brothers  1  Do  you  hear  that  ?  Do  you  hear  him  ?  Do  you 
hear  him  say  he’ll  humor  Cheeryble  Brothers  ?” 

“  Tim,”  said  Charles  and  Ned  together,  “  pray  Tim,  pray 
now  don’t.” 

Tim,  taking  the  hint,  stifled  his  indignation  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  suffered  it  to  escape  through  his  spectacles,  with  the 
additional  safety-valve  of  a  short  hysterical  laugh  now  and  then, 
which  seemed  to  relieve  him  mightily. 

“  As  nobody  bids  me  to  a  seat,”  said  Ralph,  looking  round, 
“  I’ll  take  one,  for  I  am  fatigued  with  walking.  And  now  if 
you  please,  gentlemen,  I  wish  to  know — I  demand  to  know ; 
I  have  the  right — what  you  have  to  say  to  me  which  justifies 
such  a  tone  as  you  have  assumed,  and  that  underhand  inter¬ 
ference  in  my  affairs  which  I  have  reason  to  suppose  you  have 
been  practising.  I  tell  you  plainly,  gentleman,  that  little  as  I 
care  for  the  opinion  of  the  world  (as  the  slang  goes)  I  don’t 
choose  to  submit  quietly  to  slander  and  malice.  Whether  you 
suffer  yourselves  to  be  impos-ed  upon  too  easily,  or  wilfully 
make  yourselves  parties  to  it,  the  result  to  me  is  the  same,  and 
in  either  case  you  can’t  expect  from  a  plain  man  like  myself 
much  consideration  or  forbearance.” 

So  coolly  and  deliberately  was  this  said,  that  nine  men  out 
of  ten,  ignorant  of  the  circumstances,  would  have  supposed 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


851 


Ralph  to  be  really  an  injured  man.  There  he  sat  with  folded 
arms ;  paler  than  usually,  certainly,  and  sufficiently  ill-favored, 
but  quite  collected — far  more  so  than  the  brothers  or  the  ex¬ 
asperated  Tim,  and  ready  to  face  out  the  very  worst. 

“Yery  well.  Sir,”  said  brother  Charles.  “Yery  well. 
Brother  Ned,  will  you  ring  the  bell  ?” 

“Charles,  ray  dear  fellow  1  stop  one  instant,”  returned  the 
other.  “  It  will  be  better  for  Mr.  Nickleby  and  for  our  object 
that  he  should  remain  silent  if  he  can,  till  we  have  said  what 
we  have  to  say.  I  wish  him  to  understand  that.” 

“  Quite  right,  quite  right,”  said  brother  Charles. 

Ralph  smiled,  but  made  no  reply.  The  bell  was  rung;  the 
room-door  opened ;  a  man  came  in  with  a  halting  walk  ;  and, 
looking  round,  Ralph’s  eyes  met  those  of  Newman  Noggs 
From  that  moment  his  heart  began  to  fail  him. 

“  This  is  a  good  beginning,”  he  said,  bitterly.  “  Oh  !  this  is 
a  good  beginning.  You  are  candid,  honest,  open-hearted,  fair¬ 
dealing  men  !  I  always  knew  the  real  worth  of  such  characters 
as  yours !  To  tamper  with  a  fellow  like  this,  who  would  sell 
his  soul  (if  he  had  one)  for  drink,  and  whose  every  word  is  a 
lie, — what  men  are  safe  if  this  is  done  ?  Oh  it’s  a  good  be¬ 
ginning  !” 

“I  will  speak,”  cried  Newman,  standing  on  tiptoe  to  loot 
over  Tim’s  head,  who  had  interposed  to  prevent  him.  “Hallo, 
you,  Sir — old  Nickleby — what  do  you  mean  when  you  talk  of 
‘a  fellow  like  this  V  Who  made  me  ‘a  fellow  like  this  V  If  I 
would  sell  my  soul  for  drink,  why  wasn’t  I  a  thief,  swindler, 
housebreaker,  area  sneak,  robber  of  pence  out  of  the  trays  of 
blind  men’s  dogs,  rather  than  your  drudge  and  packhorse  ?  If 
my  every  word  was  a  lie,  why  wasn’t  I  a  pet  and  favorite  of 
yours  ?  Lie  I  When  did  I  ever  cringe  and  fawn  to  you — eh  ? 
Tell  me  that.  I  served  you  faithfully.  I  did  more  work  be¬ 
cause  I  was  poor,  and  took  more  hard  words  from  you  because 
I  desjnsed  you  and  them,  than  any  man  you  could  have  g('t 
from  the  parish  workhouse.  I  did.  I  served  you  oecause  I 
was  proud  ;  because  I  was  a  lonely  man  with  you,  and  there 
wore  no  other  drudges  to  see  my  degradation,  and  because 
nobody  knew  better  than  you  that  I  was  a  ruined  man,  that  I 
hadn’t  always  been  what  I  am,  and  that  I  might  have  been 


862 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


better  oif  if  I  hadn’t  been  a  fool  and  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
you  and  ovhers  who  were  knaves.  Do  you  deny  that — eh  ?” 

“Gently,”  reasoned  Tim,  “you  said  you  wouldn’t.” 

“I  said  I  wouldn’t!”  cried  Newman,  thrusting  him  aside,  and 
moving  his  hand  as  Tim  moved,  so  as  to  keep  him  at  arm’s- 
length,  “  don’t  tell  me.  Here,  you  Nickleby,  don’t  pretend  not 
to  mind  me  ;  it  won’t  do,  I  know  better.  You  were  talking  of 
tampering  just  now.  Who  tampered  with  Yorkshire  school¬ 
masters,  and,  while  they  sent  the  drudge  out  that  he  shouldn’t 
overhear,  forgot  that  such  great  caution  might  render  him  sus¬ 
picious,  and  that  he  might  watch  his  master  out  at  nights,  and 
might  set  other  eyes  to  watch  the  schoolmaster  besides  ?  Who 
tampered  with  a  selfish  father,  urging  him  to  sell  his  daughter 
to  old  Arthur  Gride,  and  tampered  with  Gride  too,  and  did  so 
in  the  little  office  with  a  closet  in  the  roomV^ 

Ralph  had  put  a  great  command  upon  himself,  but  he  could 
not  have  suppressed  a  slight  start,  if  he  had  been  certain  to  be 
beheaded  for  it  next  moment. 

“Aha  1”  cried  Newman,  “you  mind  me  now,  do  you  ?  What 
first  set  this  fag  to  be  jealous  of  his  master’s  actions,  and  to 
feel  that  if  he  hadn’t  crossed  him  when  he  might,  he  would  have 
been  as  bad  as  he,  or  worse  ?  That  master’s  cruel  treatment 
of  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  vile  designs  upon  a  young 
girl  who  interested  even  his  broken-down,  drunken,  miserable 
hack,  and  made  him  linger  in  his  service,  in  the  hope  of  doing  her 
some  good  (as,  thank  God,  he  had  done  others  once  or  twice  be¬ 
fore),  when  he  would  otherwise  have  relieved  his  feelings  by  pum- 
meling  his  master  soundly,  and  then  going  to  the  devil.  He  would 
— mark  that;  and  mark  this — that  I’m  here  now  because  these 
gentlemen  thought  it  best.  When  I  sought  them  out  (as  I  did 
—  there  was  no  tampering  with  me)  I  told  them  I  wanted  help 
to  find  you  out,  to  trace  you  down,  to  go  through  with  what  I 
begun,  to  help  the  right;  and  that  when  I  had  done  it,  I’d 
burst  into  your  room  and  tell  you  all,  face  to  face,  man  to  man, 
and  like  a  man.  Now  I’ve  said  my  say,  and  let  any  body  else 
say  theirs,  and  fire  away.” 

With  this  concluding  sentiment,  Newman  Noggs,  who  had 
been  perpetually  sitting  down  and  getting  up  again  all  through 
his  speech,  which  he  had  delivered  in  a  series  of  jerks,  and  who 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


853 


was,  from  the  violent  exercise  and  the  excitement  combined,  in 
a  state  of  most  intense  and  fiery  heat,  became,  without  passing 
tlirough  any  intermediate  stage,  stiff,  upright,  and  motionless, 
and  so  remained,  staring  at  llalph  Nickleby  with  all  his  might 
and  main. 

Ralph  looked  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  for  an  instant  only  , 
then  waved  his  hand,  and,  beating  the  ground  with  his  foot, 
said  in  a  choking  voice, 

“  Go  on,  gentlemen,  go  on.  I’m  patient,  you  see.  There’s 
law  to  be  had,  there’s  law.  I  shall  call  you  to  an  account  for 
this.  Take  care  what  you  say;  I  shall  make  you  prove  it.” 

“The  proof  is  ready,”  returned  Brother  Charles,  “quite 
ready  to  our  hands.  The  man  Snawley  last  night  made  a  con¬ 
fession.” 

“Who  may  ‘the  man  Snawley’ be,”  returned  Ralph,  “and 
what  may  his  ‘confession’  have  to  do  with  my  affairs  ?” 

To  this  inquiry,  put  with  a  dogged  inflexibility  of  manner 
which  language  cannot  express,  the  old  gentleman  returned  no 
answer,  but  went  on  to  say  that  to  show  him  how  much  they 
were  in  earnest,  it  would  be  necessary  to  tell  him  not  only  what 
accusations  were  made  against  him,  but  what  proof  of  them  they 
had,  and  how  that  proof  had  been  acquired.  This  laying  open 
the  whole  question,  brought  up  Brother  Ned,  Tim  Linkinwater, 
and  Newman  Noggs,  all  three  at  once,  who  after  a  vast  deal  of 
talking  together,  and  a  scene  of  great  confusion,  laid  before 
Ralph  in  distinct  terms  the  following  statement : 

That  Newman,  having  been  solemnly  assured  by  one  not  then 
producible  that  Smike  was  not  the  son  of  Snawley,  and  this 
])erson  having  offered  to  make  oath  to  that  effect  if  necessary, 
they  had  by  this  communication  been  first  led  to  doubt  the 
claim  set  up,  which  they  would  otherwise  have  seen  no  reason 
to  dispute,  supported  as  it  was  by  evidence  which  they  had  no 
power  of  disproving.  That  once  suspecting  the  existence  of  a 
conspiracy,  they  had  no  difficulty  in  tracing  back  its  origin  to 
the  malice  of  Ralph  and  the  vindictiveness  and  avarice  of 
Squeers.  That  suspicion  and  proof  being  two  very  different 
things,  they  had  been  advised  by  a  lawyer,  eminent  for  his  saga¬ 
city  and  acuteness  in  such  practice,  to  resist  the  proceedings 
taken  on  the  other  side  for  the  recovery  of  the  youth  as  slowly 


854 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  artfully  as  possible,  and  meanwhile  to  beset  Snawley  (mtli 
whom  it  was  clear  the  main  falsehood  mast  rest),  to  lead  him, 
if  possible,  into  coniradictory  and  conflicting  statements,  to 
harass  him  by  all  available  means,  and  so  to  practise  on  his 
fears  and  regard  for  his  own  safety  as  to  induce  him  to  divulge 
the  whole  scheme,  and  to  give  up  his  employer  and  whomsoever 
else  he  could  implicate.  That  all  this  had  been  skillfully  done ; 
but  that  Snawley,  who  was  well  practised  in  the  arts  of  low  cun¬ 
ning  and  intrigue,  had  successfully  baffled  all  their  attempts, 
until  an  unexpected  circumstance  had  brought  him  last  night 
upon  his  knees. 

It  thus  arose.  When  Newman  Noggs  reported  that  Squeers 
was  again  in  town,  and  that  an  interview  of  such  secrecy  had 
taken  place  between  him  and  Ralph  that  he  had  been  sent  out 
of  the  house,  plainly  lest  he  should  overhear  a  word,  a  watch 
was  set  upon  the  schoolmaster,  in  the  hope  that  something 
might  be  discovered  which  would  throw  some  light  upon  the 
suspected  plot.  It  being  found,  however,  that  he  lield  no  further 
communication  with  Ralph  nor  any  with  Snawley,  and  lived  quite 
alone,  they  were  completely  at  fault;  the  watch  was  withdrawn, 
and  they  would  have  observed  his  motions  no  longer,  if  it  had 
not  happened  that  one  night  Newman  stumbled  unobserved  upon 
him  and  Ralph  in  the  street  together.  Following  them,  he  dis¬ 
covered,  to  his  great  surprise,  that  they  repaired  to  various  low 
lodging-houses,  and  taverns  kept  by  broken  gamblers,  to  more 
than  one  of  whom  Ralph  was  known,  and  vvere  in  pursuit — so 
he  found  by  inquiries  when  they  had  left — of  an  old  woman, 
whose  description  exactly  tallied  with  that  of  deaf  Mrs.  Slider- 
skew.  Affairs  now  appearing  to  assume  a  more  serious  com¬ 
plexion,  the  watch  was  renewed  with  increased  vigilance ;  an 
officer  was  procured  who  took  up  his  abode  in  the  same  tavern 
with  Squeers ;  and  by  him  and  Frank  Cheeryble  the  footsteps 
of  the  unconscious  schoolmaster  were  dogged,  until  he  was  safely 
housed  in  tlie  lodging  at  Lambeth.  Mr.  Squeers  having  shifted 
his  lodging,  the  oflicer  shifted  his,  and,  lying  concealed  in  the 
same  street,  and,  indeed,  in  the  opposite  house,  soon  found  that 
Mr.  Squeers  and  Mrs.  Sliderskew  were  in  constant  communi¬ 
cation. 

In  this  state  of  things  Arthur  Gride  was  artoealed  to.  The 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


863 


robbery,  partly  owing  to  the  inquisitiveness  of  the  neighbors, 
and  partly  to  his  own  grief  and  rage,  had  long  ago  become 
known  ;  but  he  positively  refused  to  give  his  sanction  or  yield 
any  assistance  to  the  old  woman’s  capture,  and  was  seized  with 
such  a  panic  at  the  idea  of  being  called  upon  to  give  evidence 
against  her,  that  he  shut  himself  up  close  in  his  house,  and 
refused  to  hold  communication  with  any  body.  Upon  this,  the 
pursuers  took  counsel  together,  and,  coming  so  near  the  truth 
as  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  Gride  and  Ralph,  with 
Squccrs  for  their  instrument,  were  negotiating  for  the  recovery 
of  some  of  the  stolen  papers  which  would  not  bear  the  light, 
and  might  possibly  explain  the  hints  relative  to  Madeline  which 
Newman  had  overheard,  resolved  that  Mrs.  Sliderskew  should 
be  taken  into  custody  before  she  had  parted  with  them,  and 
Squeers  too,  if  any  thing  suspicious  could  be  attached  to  him. 
Accordingly,  a  search-warrant  being  procured,  and  all  prepared, 
Mr.  Squeers’s  window  was  watched,  until  his  light  was  put 
out,  and  the  time  arrived  when,  as  had  been  previously  as¬ 
certained,  he  usually  visited  Mrs.  Sliderskew.  This  done, 
Frank  Cheeryble  and  Newman  stole  up  stairs  to  listen  to  their 
discourse,  and  to  give  the  signal  to  the  officer  at  the  most  favor¬ 
able  time.  At  what  an  opportune  moment  they  arrived,  how 
they  listened,  and  what  they  heard,  is  already  known  to  the 
reader.  Mr.  Squeers,  still  half  stunned,  was  hurried  off  wdth  a 
stolen  deed  in  his  possession,  and  Mrs.  Sliderskew  was  appre¬ 
hended  likewise.  The  information  being  promptly  carried  to 
Snawley  that  Squeers  was  in  custody — he  was  not  told  for  what 
— that  worthy,  first  extorting  a  promise  that  he  should  be  kept 
harmless,  declared  the  whole  tale  concerning  Smike  to  be  a  fic¬ 
tion  and  forgery,  and  implicated  Ralph  Nickleby  to  the  fullest 
extent.  As  to  Mr.  Squeers,  he  had  that  morning  undergone  a 
private  examination  before  a  magistrate,  and  being  unable  to 
account  satisfactorily  for  his  possession  of  the  deed  or  his  com¬ 
panionship  with  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  had  been,  with  her,  remanded 
for  a  week. 

All  these  discoveries  were  now  related  to  Ralph,  circumstaii' 
tially,  and  in  detail.  Whatever  iinpressions  they  secretly  pro¬ 
duced,  he  suffered  no  sign  of  emotion  to  escape  him,  but  sat 
])erfectly  still,  not  raising  his  frowning  eyes  from  the  ground, 


856 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  covering  liis  mouth  with  his  hand.  When  the  narrative 
was  concluded,  he  raised  his  head  hastily,  as  if  about  to  speak, 
but  on  brother  Charles  resuming,  fell  into  his  old  attitude  again. 

“  I  told  you  this  morning,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  brother’s  shoulder,  “that  I  came  to  you  in  mercy. 
How  far  you  may  be  implicated  in  this  last  transaction,  or  how 
far  the  person  who  is  now  in  custody  may  criminate  you,  you 
best  know.  But  justice  must  take  its  course  against  the  parties 
implicated  in  the  plot  against  this  poor,  unoffending,  injured  lad. 
It  is  not  in  my  power,  or  in  the  power  of  my  brother  Ned,  to 
save  you  from  the  consequences.  The  utmost  we  can  do  is  to 
warn  you  in  time,  and  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  escaping 
them.  We  would  not  have  an  old  man  like  you  disgraced  and 
punished  by  your  near  relation,  nor  would  we  have  him  forget, 
like  you,  all  ties  of  blood  and  nature.  We  entreat  you — brother 
Ned,  you  join  me,  I  know,  in  this  entreaty,  and  so  Tim  Linkin- 
water  do  you,  although  you  pretend  to  be  an  obstinate  dog,  Sir, 
and  sit  there  frowning  as  if  you  didn’t — we  entreat  you  to  retire 
from  London,  to  take  shelter  in  some  place  where  you  will  be 
safe  from  the  consequences  of  these  wicked  designs,  and  where 
you  may  have  time.  Sir,  to  atone  for  them,  and  to  become  a 
better  man.” 

“  And  do  you  think,”  returned  Ralph,  rising,  with  the  sneer 
of  a  devil,  “and  do  you  think  you  will  so  easily  crush  vie?  Do 
you  think  that  a  hundred  w'ell-arranged  plans,  or  a  hundred 
suborned  witnesses,  or  a  hundred  false  curs  at  my  heels,  or  a 
hundred  canting  speeches  full  of  oily  wmrds,  will  move  me  ?  I 
thank  you  for  disclosing  your  schemes,  which  I  am  now  prepared 
for.  You  have  not  the  man  to  deal  with  that  you  think;  try 
me,  and  remember  that  I  spit  upon  your  fair  words  and  false 
dealings,  and  dare  you — provoke  you — taunt  you — to  do  to  mo 
the  very  worst  you  can.” 

Thus  they  parted  for  that  time  ;  but  the  worst  had  not  come 
yet. 


CHAPTER  LX. 


THE  DANGERS  THICKEN,  AND  THE  -WORST  IS  TOLD. 

Instead  of  going  home,  Ralph  threw  himself  into  the  first 
street  cabriolet  he  could  find,  and  directing  the  driver  towards 
the  police-office  of  the  district  in  which  Mr.  Squeers’s  misfor¬ 
tunes  had  occurred,  alighted  at  a  short  distance  from  it,  and 
discharging  the  man,  went  the  rest  of  his  way  thither  on  foot. 
Inquiring  for  the  object  of  his  solicitude,  he  learned  that  he  had 
timed  his  visit  well,  for  Mr.  Squeers  was  in  fact  at  that  moment 
waiting  for  a  hackney  coach  he  had  ordered,  and  in  which  he 
purposed  proceeding  to  his  week’s  retirement,  like  a  gentleman. 

Demanding  speech  with  the  prisoner,  he  was  ushered  into  a 
kind  of  waiting-room  in  which,  by  reason  of  his  scholastic  pro¬ 
fession  and  superior  respectability,  Mr.  Squeers  had  been  per¬ 
mitted  to  pass  the  day.  Here,  by  the  light  of  a  guttering  and 
blackened  candle,  he  could  barely  discern  the  schoolmaster  fast 
asleep  on  a  bench  in  a  remote  corner.  An  empty  glass  stood 
on  a  table  before  him,  and  this,  with  his  somnolent  condition 
and  a  very  strong  smell  of  brandy  and  water,  forewarned  the 
visitor  that  Mr.  Squeers  had  been  seeking  in  creature  comforts 
a  temporary  forgetfulness  of  his  unpleasant  situation. 

It  was  not  a  very  easy  matter  to  rouse  him  :  so  lethargic  and 
heavy  were  his  slumbers.  Regaining  his  faculties  by  slow  and 
faint  glimmerings,  he  at  length  sat  upright,  and  displaying  a 
very  yellow  face,  a  very  red  nose,  and  a  very  bristly  beard,  the 
joint  effect  of  which  was  considerably  heightened  by  a  dirty 
white  handkerehief,  spotted  with  blood,  drawn  over  the  crown 
of  bis  head  and  tied  under  his  chin,  stared  ruefully  at  Ralph,  in 
silenct  until  his  feelings  found  a  vent  in  this  pithy  sentence : 

“  I  say,  young  fellow,  you’ve  been  and  done  it  now,  you 
have !” 

“  What’s  the  matter  with  your  head  ?”  asked  Ralph. 

“  Why,  jmur  man,  vour  informing  kidnapping  man,  has  been 

(85T) 


858 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  broke  it,”  rejoined  Squeers,  sulkily,  “  that’s  what’s  the 
matter  with  it.  You’ve  come  at  last,  have  you  ?” 

“Why  have  you  not  sent  to  me  ?”  said  Ralph.  “  How  could 
I  come  till  I  knew  what  had  befallen  you  ?” 

“  My  family  !”  hiccupped  Mr.  Squeers,  raising  his  eyes  to  the 
ceiling;  “my  daughter  as  is  at  that  age  when  all  die  sensibili¬ 
ties  is  a  coming  out  strong  in  blow — my  son  as  is  the  young 
Norval  of  private  life,  and  the  pride  and  ornament  of  a  doting 
willage — here’s  a  shock  for  the  family  I  The  coat  of  arms  of 
the  Squeerses  is  tore,  and  their  sun  is  gone  down  into  the  ocean 
wave  !” 

“You  have  been  drinking,”  said  Ralph,  “and  have  not  yet 
slept  yourself  sober.” 

“I  haven’t  been  drinking  your  health,  my  codger,”  replied 
Mr.  Squeers,  “so  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.” 

Ralph  suppressed  the  indignation  which  the  schoolmaster’s 
altered  and  insolent  manner  awakened,  and  asked  again  why  he 
had  not  sent  to  him. 

“  What  should  I  get  by  sending  to  you  ?”  returned  Squeers. 
“  To  be  known  to  be  in  with  you,  wouldn’t  do  me  a  great  deal 
of  good,  and  they  won’t  take  bail  till  they  know  something  more 
of  the  case,  so  here  am  I  hard  and  fast,  and  there  are  you  loose 
and  comfortable.” 

“  And  so  you  must  be  in  a  few  days,”  retorted  Ralph,  with 
affected  good  humor.  “  They  can’t  hurt  you,  man.” 

“  Why,  I  suppose  they  can’t  do  much  to  me  if  I  explain  how  it 
was  that  I  got  into  the  good  company  of  that  there  ca-daverous 
old  Slider,”  replied  Squeers,  viciously,  “who  I  wish  was  dead 
and  buried,  and  resurrected  and  dissected,  and  hung  upon  wires 
in  a  anatomical  museum,  before  ever  I’d  had  any  thing  to  do 
with  her.  This  is  what  him  with  the  powMered  head  says  this 
morning,  in  so  many  words — ‘Prisoner,  as  you  have  been  found 
in  company  with  this  woman  ;  as  you  were  detected  in  posses- 
elon  of  this  document ;  and  as  you  wmre  engaged  with  her  in 
fraudulently  destroying  others,  and  can  give  no  satisfactory  ac¬ 
count  of  yourself,  I  shall  remand  you  for  a  w'eek,  in  order  that 
inquiries  may  be  made,  and  evidence  got — and  meanwhile  I  can’t 
take  any  bail  for  your  appearance.’  Well,  then,  what  1  say 
now  is,  that  I  can  give  a  satisfactory  account  of  myself;  I  can 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


859 


hand  in  the  card  of  my  estabblishment  and  say,  ‘  I  am  the  Wack- 
ford  Squcers  as  is  therein  named,  Sir,  I  am  the  man  as  is  guaran¬ 
teed  by  n'nimpeachable  references  to  be  a  out-and-outer  in  morals 
and  uprightness  of  principle.  Whatever  is  wrong  in  this  busi¬ 
ness  is  no  fault  of  mine.  I  had  no  evil  design  in  it,  Sir.  I  was 
not  aware  that  any  thing  was  wrong,  I  was  merely  employed 
by  a  friend. — my  friend,  Mr.  llalph  Nickleby,  of  Golden  Square 
— send  for  him,  Sir,  and  ask  him  what  he  has  to  say — he’s  the 
man;  not  me.’ ” 

“  What  document  was  it  that  you  had  ?”  asked  Ralph,  evad¬ 
ing  for  the  moment  the  point  just  raised. 

“What  document?  Why, //ie  document,”  replied  Squeers. 
“  The  Madeline  what’s-her-name  one.  It  was  a  will,  that’s 
what  it  was.” 

“Of  what  nature,  whose  will,  when  dated,  how  benefiting  hei, 
to  what  extent  ?”  asked  Ralph,  hurriedly. 

“A  will  in  her  favor,  that’s  all  I  know,”  rejoined  Squeers; 
“  and  that’s  more  than  you’d  have  known,  if  you’d  had  them 
bellows  on  your  head.  It’s  all  owing  to  your  precious  caution 
that  they  got  hold  of  it.  If  you  had  let  me  burn  it,  and  taken 
my  word  that  it  was  gone,  it  would  have  been  a  heap  of  ashes 
behind  the  fire,  instead  of  being  whole  and  sound  inside  of  my 
great-coat.” 

“ Beaten  at  every  point!”  muttered  Ralph,  gnawing  his 
fingers. 

“  Ah  1”  sighed  Squeers,  who,  between  the  brandy  and  water 
and  his  broken  head,  wandered  strangely,  “  at  the  delightful 
village  of  Dotheboys,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  youth 
are  boarded,  clothed,  booked,  washed,  furnished  with  pocket 
money,  pro^'ided  with  all  necessaries,  instructed  in  all  languages 
living  and  dead,  mathematics,  orthography,  geometry,  astronomy, 
trigonometry — this  is  a  altered  state  of  trigonomics,  this  is — a 
double  1 — all,  every  thing — a  cobbler’s  weapon.  U-p-up,  ad¬ 
jective,  not  down.  S-q-u-double  e-r-s-S(pieers,  noun  su))stan- 
tive,  a  educator  of  youth.  Total,  all  up  with  Squeers  !” 

His  running  on  in  this  way  had  afforded  Ralph  an  opportu- 
nily  of  recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  which  at  once  suggested 
to  him  the  necessity  of  removing  as  far  as  possible  the  school* 


860 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


master’s  misgivings,  and  leading  him  to  believe  that  his  safety 
and  best  policy  lay  in  the  preservation  of  a  rigid  silence. 

“I  tell  you  once  again,”  he  said,  “they  can’t  hurt  you.  You 
shall  have  an  action  for  false  imprisonment,  and  make  a  profit 
of  this  yet.  We  will  devise  a  story  for  you  that  should  carry 
you  through  twenty  times  such  a  trivial  scrape  as  this  ;  and  if 
they  want  security  in  a  thousand  pounds  for  your  reappearance 
in  case  you  should  be  called  upon,  you  shall  have  it.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  keep  back  the  truth.  You’re  a  little  fuddled 
to-night,  and  may  not  be  able  to  see  this  as  clearly  as  you  would 
at  another  time,  but  this  is  what  you  must  do,  and  you’ll  need 
all  your  senses  about  you,  for  a  slip  might  be  awkward.” 

“Oh  1”  said  Squeers,  who  had  looked  cunningly  at  him,  with 
his  head  stuck  on  one  side  like  an  old  raven.  “  That’s  what 
I’m  to  do,  is  it  ?  Now  then,  just  you  hear  a  word  or  two  from 
me.  I  ain’t  a  going  to  have  any  stories  made  for  me,  and  I  ain’t 
a  going  to  stick  to  any.  If  I  find  matters  going  against  me, 
I  shall  expect  you  to  take  your  share,  and  I’ll  take  care  you  do. 
You  never  said  any  thing  about  danger,  I  never  bargained  for 
being  brought  into  such  a  plight  as  this,  and  I  don’t  mean  to 
take  it  as  quiet  as  you  think.  I  let  you  lead  me  on  from  one 
thing  to  another,  because  we  had  been  mixed  up  together  in  a 
certain  sort  of  a  way,  and  if  you  had  liked  to  be  ill-natured  you 
might  perhaps  have  hurt  the  business,  and  if  you  liked  to  be 
good-natured  you  might  throw  a  good  deal  in  my  way.  Well ; 
if  all  goes  right  now,  that’s  quite  correct,  and  I  don’t  mind  it ; 
but  if  any  thing  goes  wrong,  then  times  are  altered,  and  I  shall 
just  say  and  do  whatever  I  think  may  serve  me  most,  and  take 
advice  from  nobody.  My  moral  influence  with  them  lads,” 
added  Mr.  Squeers,  with  deeper  gravity,  “  is  a  tottering  to  its 
basis.  The  images  of  Mrs.  Squeers,  my  daughter,  and  my  son 
Wackford,  all  short  of  vittles,  is  perpetually  before  me ;  every 
other  consideration  melts  away  and  vanishes  in  front  of  these, 
ard  the  only  number  iu  all  arithmetic  that  I  know  of  as  a  hus¬ 
band  and  a  father  is  number  one,  under  this  here  most  fatal 
go  !” 

How  long  Mr.  Squeers  might  have  declaimed,  or  how  stormy 
a  discussion  his  declamation  might  have  led  to,  nobody  knows. 
Being  interrupted  at  this  point  by  the  arrival  of  the  coach  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


861 


an  attendant  who  was  to  bear  him  company,  he  perched  his  hat 
with  great  dignity  on  the  top  of  the  handkei’chief  that  bound 
his  bead,  and  thrusting  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  taking  the 
attendant’s  arm  with  the  other,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  forth. 

“As  I  supposed,  from  his  not  sending!”  thought  Ralph 
“  This  fellow,  I  plainly  see  through  all  his  tipsy  fooling,  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  turn  upon  me.  I  am  so  beset  and  hemmed  in 
that  they  are  not  only  all  struck  with  fear,  but  like  the  boasts 
in  the  fable  have  their  fling  at  me  now,  though  time  was,  and 
no  longer  ago  than  yesterday  too,  when  they  were  all  civility  and 
compliance.  But  they  shall  not  move  me.  I’ll  not  give  way. 
I  will  not  budge  one  inch  I” 

He  went  home,  and  was  glad  to  find  the  housekeeper  com¬ 
plaining  of  illness  that  he  might  have  an  excuse  for  being  alone 
and  sending  her  away  to  where  she  lived,  which  was  hard  by. 
Then  he  sat  down  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle,  and  began  to 
think  for  the  first  time,  on  all  that  had  taken  place  that  day. 

He  had  neither  eaten  nor  drunk  since  last  night,  and  in  ad¬ 
dition  to  the  anxiety  of  mind  he  had  undergone,  had  been 
traveling  about  from  place  to  place  almost  incessantly  for  many 
hours.  He  felt  sick  and  exhausted,  but  could  taste  nothing  save 
a  glass  of  water,  and  continued  to  sit  with  his  head  upon  his 
hand — not  resting  or  thinking,  but  laboriously  trying  to  do 
both,  and  feeling  that  every  sense,  but  one  of  weariness  and 
desolation,  was  for  the  time  benumbed. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o’clock  when  he  heard  a  knocking  at  the 
door,  and  still  sat  quiet  as  before,  as  if  he  could  not  even  bring 
his  thoughts  to  bear  upon  that.  It  had  been  often  repeated, 
and  he  had  several  times  heard  a  voice  outside,  saying  there  was 
a  light  in  the  window  (meaning,  as  he  knew,  his  own  candle), 
before  he  could  rouse  himself  and  go  down  stairs. 

“  Mr.  Nickleby,  there  is  terrible  news  for  you,  and  I  am  sent 
to  beg  you  will  come  with  me  directly,”  said  a  voice  he  seemed 
to  recognize.  He  held  his  hand  above  his  eyes,  and  looking 
out,  saw  Tim  Linkinwater  on  the  steps. 

“  Come  where  ?”  demanded  Ralph. 

“To  our  house — where  you  came  this  morning.  I  have  a 
coach  here.” 

‘  Why  should  I  go  there  ?”  said  Ralph. 


862 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


“  Don’t  ask  me  why,  but  pray  come  with  me.” 

“  Another  edition  of  to-day !”  returned  Ralph,  making  ay 
though  he  would  shut  the  door. 

“No,  no  !”  cried  Tim,  catching  him  by  the  arm  and  speaking 
most  earnestly ;  “  it  is  only  that  you  may  hear  something  that 
has  occurred — something  very  dreadful,  Mr.  Nickleby,  which 
concerns  you  nearly.  Do  you  think  I  would  tell  you  so,  or  come 
to  you  like  this,  if  it  were  not  the  case  ?” 

Ralph  looked  at  him  more  closely,  and  seeing  that  he  was 
indeed  greatly  excited,  faltered,  and  could  not  tell  what  to  say 
or  think. 

“You  had  better  hear  this  now  than  at  any  other  time,”  said 
Tim  ;  “  it  may  have  some  influence  with  you.  For  Heaven’s 
sake,  come !” 

Perhaps  at  another  time  Ralph’s  obstinacy  and  dislike  would 
have  been  proof  against  any  appeal  from  such  a  quarter,  how¬ 
ever  emphatically  urged,  but  now,  after  a  moment’s  hesitation, 
he  went  into  the  hall  for  his  hat,  and  returning,  got  into  the 
coach  without  speaking  a  word. 

Tim  well  remembered  afterwards,  and  often  said,  that  as  Ralpn 
Nickleby  went  into  the  house  for  this  purpose,  he  saw  him  by 
the  light  of  the  candle  which  he  had  set  down  upon  a  chair,  reel 
and  stagger  like  a  drunken  man.  He  well  remembered  too, 
that  when  he  had  placed  his  foot  upon  the  coach  steps,  he  turned 
round  and  looked  upon  him  with  a  face  so  ashy  pale  and  so 
very  wild  and  vacant  that  it  made  him  shudder,  and  for  the 
moment,  almost  afraid  to  follow.  People  were  fond  of  saying 
that  he  had  some  dark  presentiment  upon  him  then,  but  his 
emotion  might  perhaps,  with  greater  show  of  reason,  be  referred 
to  what  he  hud  undergone  that  day. 

A  profound  silence  was  observed  during  the  ride.  Arrived 
at  their  place  of  destination,  Ralph  followed  his  conductor  into 
the  house,  and  into  a  room  where  the  two  brothers  were.  He 
was  so  astounded,  not  to  say  awed,  by  something  of  a  mute 
compassion  for  himself  which  was  visible  in  their  manner  and  in 
that  of  the  old  clerk,  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 

Having  taken  a  seat,  however,  he  contrived  to*say,  though  in 
broken  words,  “What — what  have  you  to  say  to  me — more 
than  has  been  said  already  ?” 


NICIIOLvVS  NICKLEBY. 


863 


The  room  was  old  and  large,  very  imperfectly  lighted,  and 
terminated  in  a  bay  window,  about  which  hung  some  heavy 
drapery.  Casting  his  eyes  in  this  direction  as  he  spoke,  he 
thought  he  made  out  the  dusky  figure  of  a  man,  and  was  con¬ 
firmed  in  this  impression  by  seeing  that  the  object  moved  as  if 
uneasy  under  his  scrutiny. 

“  Who’s  that  yonder  ?”  he  said. 

“  One  who  has  conveyed  to  us  within  these  two  hours  the 
intelligence  which  caused  our  sending  to  you,”  replied  brother 
Charles.  “  Let  him  be,  Sir;  let  him  be  for  the  present.” 

“  More  riddles  1”  said  Ralph,  faintly.  “  Well,  Sir  ?” 

In  turning  his  face  towards  the  brothers  he  was  obliged  to 
avert  it  from  the  window,  but  before  either  of  them  could  speak, 
he  had  looked  round  again.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  ren¬ 
dered  restless  and  uncomfortable  by  the  presence  of  the  unseen 
person,  for  he  repeated  this  action  several  times,  and  at  length, 
as  if  in  a  nervous  state  which  rendered  him  positively  unable  to 
turn  away  from  the  place,  sat  so  as  to  have  it  opposite  him,  and 
muttered  as  an  excuse  that  he  could  not  bear  the  light. 

The  brothers  conferred  apart  for  a  short  time  :  their  manner 
showing,  that  they  were  agitated.  Ralph  glanced  at  them 
twice  or  thrice,  and  ultimately  said,  with  a  great  effort  to 
recover  his  self-possession,  “Now,  what  is  this?  If  I  am 
brought  from  home  at  this  time  of  night,  let  it  be  for  something. 
What  have  you  got  to  tell  me  ?”  Aftera  short  pause,  he  added, 
“  Is  my  niece  dead  ?  ” 

He  had  struck  upon  a  key  which  rendered  the  ta,sk  of  com¬ 
mencement  an  easier  one.  Brother  Charles  turned,  and  said  that 
it  was  a  death  of  which  they  had  to  tell  him,  but  that  his  niece 
was  well. 

“You  don’t  mean  to  tell  me,”  said  Ralph,  as  his  eyes 
brightened,  “that  her  brother’s  dead.  No,  that’s  too  good. 
I'd  not  believe  it  if  you  told  me  so.  It  would  be  too  welcome 
news  to  be  true.” 

“  Shame  on  you,  you  hardened  and  unnatural  man,”  cried  the 
other  lu’other,  warmly;  “prepare  yourself  for  intelligence, 
which,  if  you  have  any  human  feeling  in  your  breast,  will  make 
even  you  shrink  and  tremble.  What  if  we  tell  you  that  a  poor, 
anfortunate  boy,  a  child  in  everything,  but  never  having  known 
55 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


one  of  those  tender  endearments,  or  one  of  those  lightsome 
hours  which  make  our  childhood  a  time  to  be  remembered  like  a 
happy  dream  through  all  our  after  life — a  warm-hearted,  harmless, 
affectionate  creature,  who  never  offended  you  or  did  you  wrong, 
but  on  whom  you  have  vented  the  malice  and  hatred  you  have 
conceived  for  your  nephew,  and  whom  you  have  made  an  instru¬ 
ment  for  wreaking  your  bad  passions  upon  him — what  if  we  tell 
you  that,  sinking  under  your  persecution.  Sir,  and  the  misery  and 
ill-usage  of  a  life  short  in  years,  but  long  in  suffering,  this  poor 
creature  has  gone  to  tell  his  sad  tale  where,  for  your  part  in  it, 
you  must  surely  answer  ?” 

“If  you  tell  me,”  said  Ralph,  eagerly ;  “  if  you  tell  me  that 
he  is  dead,  I  forgive  you  all  else.  If  you  tell  me  that  he  is 
dead,  I  am  in  your  debt  and  bound  to  you  for  life.  He  is  1  I 
see  it  in  your  faces.  Who  triumphs  now  ?  Is  this  your  dreadful 
news,  this  your  terrible  intelligence  ?  You  see  how  it  moves 
me.  You  did  well  to  send.  I  would  have  traveled  a  hundred 
miles  afoot,  through  mud,  mire,  and  darkness,  to  hear  this  news 
just  at  this  time.” 

Even  then,  moved  as  he  was  by  this  savage  joy,  Ralph  could 
see  in  the  faces  of  the  the  brothers,  mingling  with  their  look 
of  disgust  and  horror,  something  of  that  indefinable  compassion 
^br  himself  which  he  had  noticed  before. 

“And  he  brought  you  the  intelligence,  did  he  ?”  said  Ralph, 
pointing  with  his  finger  towards  the  recess  already  mentioned  ; 
“  and  sat  there,  no  doubt,  to  see  me  prostrated  and  overwhelmed 
by  it  1  Ha,  ha,  ha  1  But  I  tell  him  that  I’ll  be  a  sharp  thorn 
in  his  side  for  many  a  long  day  to  come,  and  I  tell  you  two 
again  that  you  don’t  know  him  yet,  and  that  you’ll  rue  the  day 
you  took  compassion  on  the  vagabond.  ” 

“You  take  me  for  your  nephew,”  said  a  hollow,  dejected 
voice ;  “  it  would  be  better  for  you  and  for  me  too  if  I  were  he 
indeed.” 

The  figure  that  he  had  seen  so  dimly,  rose,  and  came  slowly 
down.  He  started  back,  for  he  found  that  he  confronted — not 
Nicholas,  as  he  had  supposed,  but  Brooker. 

Ralph  had  no  reason  that  he  knew  to  fear  this  man;  he  had 
never  feared  him  before  ;  but  the  pallor  which  had  been  observed 
in  his  face  when  he  issued  forth  that  night,  came  upon  him  again ; 


NICnOLx\S  NICKLEBY. 


865 


he  was  seen  to  tremble,  and  his  voice  changed,  as  he  said,  keep¬ 
ing  his  eyes  upon  him, 

“  What  does  this  fellow  here  ?  Do  you  know  he  is  a  convict 
—a  felon — a  common  thief!” 

“  Hear  what  he  has  to  tell  you — oh,  Mr.  Nickleby,  hear  what 
he  has  to  tell  you,  be  he  what  he  ma}^,”  cried  the  brothers,  with 
such  emphatic  earnestness,  that  Ralph  turned  to  them  in  wonder. 
They  pointed  to  Brooker,  and  Ralph  again  gazed  at  him  :  as 
it  seemed  mechanically. 

“That  boy,”  said  the  man,  “that  these  gentlemen  have  been 
talking  of — ” 

“  That  boy,”  repeated  Ralph,  looking  vacantly  at  him. 

“Whom  I  saw  stretched  dead  and  cold  upon  his  bed,  and 
who  is  now  in  his  grave - ” 

“  Who  is  now  in  his  grave,”  echoed  Ralph,  like  one  who  talks 
in  his  sleep. 

The  man  raised  his  eyes,  and  clasped  his  hands  solemnly  to¬ 
gether  : 

“ - Was  your  only  son,  so  help  me  God,  in  heaven  I” 

In  the  midst  of  a  dead  silence,  Ralph  sat  down,  pressing  his 
two  hands  upon  his  temples.  He  removed  them  after  a  minute, 
and  never  was  there  seen  part  of  a  living  man,  undisfigured  by 
any  wound,  such  a  ghastly  face  as  he  then  disclosed.  He  looked 
fi.xedly  at  Brooker,  who  was  by  this  time  standing  at  a  short 
distance  from  him,  but  did  not  say  one  word  or  make  the 
slightest  sound  or  gesture. 

“  Gentlemen,”  said  the  man,  “  I  olfer  no  excuses  for  myself.  I 
am  long  past  that.  If  in  telling  you  how  this  has  happened,  I 
tell  you  that  I  was  harshly  used,  and  perhaps  driven  out  of  my 
real  nature,  I  do  it  only  as  a  necessary  part  of  ray  story,  and 
not  to  shield  myself ;  I  am  a  guilty  man.” 

Here  he  stopped  as  if  to  recollect,  and  looking  away  from 
R,al])h  and  addressing  himself  to  the  brothers,  proceeded  in  a 
cubdued  and  humble  tone  : 

“Among  those  who  once  had  dealings  with  this  man,  gentle¬ 
men— that’s  from  twenty  to  five-and-twenty  years  ago — there 
was  one,  a  rough,  fox-hunting,  hard-drinking  gentleman,  who  had 
run  through  his  own  fortune,  and  wanted  to  squander  away  that 
of  his  sister;  they  were  both  orplians,  and  she  lived  with  him 


8(56 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  managed  his  house.  I  don’t  know  whether  it  was  originally 
to  back  his  influence  and  try  to  overpersuade  the  young  woman 
or  not,  but  he,”  pointing  to  Ralph,  “used  to  go  down  to  the 
house  in  Leicestershire  pretty  often,  and  stop  there  many  days 
at  a  time.  They  had  had  a  great  many  dealings  together,  and 
he  may  have  gone  on  some  of  those,  or  to  patch  up  his  client’s 
affairs,  which  were  in  a  ruinous  state — of  course  he  went  for 
profit.  The  gentlewoman  was  not  a  girl,  but  she  was,  I  have 
heard  say,  handsome,  and  entitled  to  a  pretty  large  property. 
In  course  of  time  he  married  her.  The  same  love  of  gain  which 
led  him  to  contract  this  marriage,  led  to  its  being  kept  strictly 
private,  for  a  clause  in  her  father’s  will  declared  that  if  she 
married  without  her  brother’s  consent,  the  property,  in  which 
she  had  only  some  life  interest  while  she  remained  single,  should 
pass  away  altogether  to  another  branch  of  the  family.  The 
brother  would  give  no  consent  that  the  sister  didn’t  buy  and 
pay  for  handsomely ;  Mr.  Nickleby  would  consent  to  no  such 
sacrifice,  and  so  they  went  on  keeping  their  marriage  secret, 
and  waiting  for  him  to  break  his  neck  or  die  of  a  fever.  He 
did  neither,  and  meanwhile  the  result  of  this  private  marriage 
was  a  son.  The  child  was  put  out  to  nurse  a  long  way  off ;  his 
mother  never  saw  him  but  once  or  twice  and  then  by  stealth, 
and  his  father — so  eagerly  did  he  thirst  after  the  money  which 
seemed  to  come  almost  within  his  grasp  now,  for  his  brother-in- 
law  was  very  ill,  and  breaking  more  and  more  every  day — never 
went  near  him,  to  avoid  raising  any  suspicion.  The  brother 
lingered  on  ;  Mr.  Nickleby’s  wife  constantly  urged  him  to  avow 
their  marriage  ;  he  peremptorily  refused.  She  remained  alone 
in  a  dull  country  house,  seeing  little  or  no  company  but  riotous, 
drunken  sportsmen.  He  lived  in  London  and  clung  to  his 
business.  Angry  quarrels  and  recriminations  took  place,  and 
when  they  had  been  married  nearly  seven  years,  and  were 
within  a  few  weeks  of  the  time  when  the  brother’s  death  would 
have  adjusted  all,  she  eloped  with  a  younger  man  and  left 
him.” 

Hero  he  paused,  but  Ralph  did  not  stir,  and  the  brothers 
signed  to  him  to  proceed. 

“  It  was  then  that  I  became  acquainted  with  these  circum¬ 
stances  from  his  own  lips.  They  were  no  secrets  then,  for  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


8G7 


brother  and  others  knew  them,  but  they  were  (.ommunieated 
to  me  not  on  this  account,  but  because  I  was  wanted.  lie 
followed  the  fugitives — some  said  to  make  money  of  his  wife’s 
shame,  but  I  believe  to  take  some  violent  revenge,  for  that  was 
as  much  his  character  as  the  other — perhaps  more.  He  didn’t 
find  them,  and  she  died  not  long  after.  I  don’t  know  whether 
he  began  to  think  he  might  like  the  child,  or  whether  he  wished 
to  make  sure  that  it  should  never  fall  into  its  mother’s  hands, 
but  before  he  went,  he  entrusted  me  with  the  charge  of  bringing 
it  home.  And  I  did  so.” 

He  went  on  from  this  point  in  a  still  more  humble  tone,  and 
spoke  in  a  very  low  voice,  pointing  to  Ralph  as  he  resumed. 

“  He  had  used  me  ill — cruelly — I  reminded  him  in  what,  not 
long  ago  when  I  met  him  in  the  street — and  I  hated  him.  I 
brought  the  child  home  to  his  own  house  and  lodged  him  in  the 
front  garret.  Neglect  had  made  him  very  sickly,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  call  in  a  doctor,  who  said  he  must  be  removed  for 
change  of  air  or  he  would  die.  I  think  that  first  put  it  in  my 
head.  I  did  it  then.  He  was  gone  six  weeks,  and  when  he 
came  back,  I  told  him — with  every  circumstance  well  planned 
and  proved  ;  nobody  would  have  suspected  me- — that  the  child 
was  dead  and  buried.  He  might  have  been  disappointed  in 
some  intention  he  had  formed,  or  he  might  have  had  some  na¬ 
tural  affection,  but  he  was  grieved  at  that,  and  I  was  confirmed  in 
my  design  of  opening  up  the  secret  one  day,  and  making  it  a 
means  of  getting  money  from  him.  I  had  heard,  like  most  other 
men,  of  Yorkshire  schools.  I  took  the  child  to  one  kept  by  a 
man  named  Squeers,  and  left  it  there.  I  gave  him  the  name 
of  Smike.  I  paid  twenty  pounds  a-year  for  him  for  six  years, 
never  breathing  the  secret  all  the  time,  for  I  had  left  his  father’s 
service  after  more  hard  usage,  and  quarreled  with  him  again. 

I  was  sent  away  from  this  country.  I  have  been  away  nearly 
eight  years.  Directly  I  came  liome  again  I  traveled  down  into 
Yorkshire,  and  skulking  in  the  village  of  an  evening  time,  made 
inquiries  about  the  boys  at  the  school,  and  found  that  this  one, 
wliom  I  had  placed  there,  had  run  away  with  a  young  man  bear¬ 
ing  tlie  name  of  his  own  father.  I  sought  his  fattier  out  in  Lon¬ 
don,  and  hinting  at  what  I  could  tell  him,  tried  for  a  little  money 
to  support  life,  but  he  repulsed  me  with  threats.  I  then  found 


868 


NICPIOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


out  his  clerk,  and  going  on  from  little  to  little,  and  showing 
him  that  there  w^ere  good  reasons  for  communicating  with  me, 
learnt  what  was  going  on  ;  and  it  was  I  who  told  him  that  the 
boy  was  no  son  of  the  man  who  claimed  to  be  his  father.  All 
this  time  I  had  never  seen  the  boy.  At  length  I  heard  from 
this  same  source  that  he  was  very  ill  and  where  he  was.  I 
traveled  down  there  that  I  might  reveal  myself,  if  possible,  to 
his  recollection  and  confirm  my  story.  I  came  upon  him  unexpoci- 
edly  ;  but  before  I  could  speak  he  knew  me — he  had  good  cause 
to  remember  me,  poor  lad — and  I  would  have  sworn  to  him  if  I 
had  met  him  in  the  Indies  ;  I  knew  the  piteous  face  I  had  seen  in 
the  little  child.  After  a  few  days’  indecision,  I  applied  to  the 
young  gentleman  in  whose  care  he  was,  and  I  found  that  he  was 
dead.  He  knows  how  quickly  he  recognized  me  again,  how  often 
he  had  described  me  and  my  leaving  him  at  the  school,  and  how 
he  told  him  of  a  garret  he  recollected,  which  is  the  one  I  have 
spoken  of,  and  in  his  father’s  house  to  this  day.  This  is  my  story ; 
I  demand  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  the  schoolmaster,  and 
put  to  any  possible  proof  of  any  part  of  it,  and  I  will  show  that 
it’s  too  true,  and  that  I  have  this  guilt  upon  my  soul.” 

“  Unhappy  man  !”  said  the  brothers.  “What  reparation  can 
you  make  for  this  ?” 

“  None,  gentlemen,  none  1  I  have  none  to  make,  and  nothing 
to  hope  now.  I  am  old  in  years,  and  older  still  in  misery  and 
care.  This  confession  can  bring  nothing  upon  me  but  new  suf¬ 
fering  and  punishment ;  but  I  make  it,  and  will  abide  by  it  what¬ 
ever  comes.  I  have  been  made  the  instrument  of  working  out 
this  dreadful  retribution  upon  the  head  of  a  man  who,  in  the 
hot  pursuit  of  his  bad  ends,  has  persecuted  and  hunted  down  his 
own  child  to  death.  It  must  descend  upon  me  too — I  know  it 
must  fall — my  reparation  comes  too  late,  and  neither  in  this 
world  nor  in  the  next  can  I  have  hope  again  !” 

He  had  hardly  spoken,  when  the  lamp,  which  stood  upon  the 
table  close  to  where  Halph  was  seated,  and  which  was  the  ( .uly 
one  in  the  I’oom,  was  thrown  to  the  ground  and  left,  them  in 
ntter  darkness.  There  was  some  trifling  confusion  in  obtaining 
another  light ;  the  interval  was  a  mere  nothing  ;  but  when  it  ap¬ 
peared,  Ralph  Nicklebv  was  gone. 

The  good  brothers  and  Tim  Linkinwater  oc(  apied  some  time 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


869 


in  discussing  the  probability  of  his  return,  and  when  it  became 
apparent  that  he  would  not  come  back,  they  hesitated  whether 
or  no  to  send  after  him.  At  length,  remembering  how  strangely 
and  silently  he  had  sat  in  one  immovable  position  during  the 
interview,  and  thinking  he  might  possibly  be  ill,  they  determined, 
although  it  was  now  very  late,  to  send  to  his  house  on  some 
pretence,  and  finding  an  excuse  in  the  presence  of  Brooker, 
whom  they  knew  not  how  to  dispose  of  without  consulting  his 
wishes,  they  concluded  to  act  upon  this  resolution  before  going 
to  bed. 


CHAPTER  LXL 


WHEREIN  NICHOLAS  AND  HIS  SISTER  FORFEIT  THE  GOOD  OPIN¬ 
ION  OF  ALL  WORLDLY  AND  PRUDENT  PEOPLE. 

On  tlie  next  morning  after  Brooker’s  disclosure  had  beer,  made, 
Nicholas  returned  home.  The  meeting  between  him  and  those 
whom  he  had  left  there,  was  not  without  strong  emotion  on  both 
sides,  for  they  had  been  informed  by  his  letters  of  what  had  oc* 
curred ;  and  besides  that,  his  griefs  were  theirs,  they  mourned 
with  him  the  death  of  one  whose  forlorn  and  helpless  state  had 
first  established  a  claim  upon  their  compassion,  and  whose  truth 
of  heart  and  grateful  earnest  nature  had  every  day  endeared  him 
to  them  more  and  more. 

“  I  am  sure,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  wiping  her  eyes,  and  sob¬ 
bing  bitterly,  “  I  have  lost  the  best,  the  most  zealous,  and  most 
attentive  creature  that  has  ever  been  a  companion  to  me  in  my 
life — putting  you,  my  dear  Nicholas,  and  Kate,  and  your  poor 
papa,  and  that  well-behaved  nurse  who  ran  away  with  the  linen 
and  the  twelve  small  forks,  out  of  the  question  of  course.  Of 
all  the  tractable,  equal-tempered,  attached,  and  faithful  beings 
that  ever  lived,  I  believe  he  was  the  most  so.  To  look  round 
upon  the  garden  now,  that  he  took  so  much  pride  in,  or  to  go 
into  his  room  and  see  it  filled  with  so  many  of  those  little  contri¬ 
vances  for  our  comfort  that  he  was  so  fond  of  making,  and  made  so 
well,  and  so  little  thought  he  would  leave  unfinished — I  can’t  bear 
it,  I  cannot  really.  Ah  1  This  is  a  great  trial  to  me,  a  great  trial. 
It  will  be  a  comfort  to  you,  my  dear  Nicholas,  to  the  end  of 
your  life  to  recollect  how  kind  and  good  you  always  were  to 
him — so  it  will  be  to  me  to  think  what  excellent  terms  we  were 
always  upon,  and  how  fond  he  always  was  of  me,  poor  fellow  1 
It  was  very  natural  you  should  have  been  atrached  to  him,  my 
dear — very — and  of  course  you  were,  and  are  very  much  cut  up 
by  this ;  I  am  sure  it’s  only  necessary  to  look  at  you  and  see 
(8T0) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


871 


how  changed  you  are  to  see  that ;  but  nobody  knows  what  my 
feelings  are — nobody  can — it’s  quite  hnpossible  !” 

While  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  gave  vent  to 
her  sorrows  after  her  own  peculiar  fashion  of  considering  her¬ 
self  foremost,  she  was  not  the  only  one  who  indulged  such 
feelings.  Kate,  although  well  accustomed  to  forget  herself 
when  others  were  to  be  considered,  could  not  repress  her  grief ; 
Madeline  was  scarcely  less  moved  than  she ;  and  poor,  hearty, 
honest  little  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  had  come  upon  one  of  her 
visits  while  Nicholas  was  away,  and  had  done  nothing  since  the 
sad  news  arrived  but  console  and  cheer  them  all,  no  sooner 
beheld  him  coming  in  at  the  door,  than  she  sat  herself  down 
upon  the  stairs,  and  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears,  refused  for  a 
long  time  to  be  comforted. 

“It  hurts  me  so,”  cried  the  poor  body,  “to  see  him  come 
back  alone.  I  can’t  help  thinking  what  he  must  have  suffered 
himself.  I  wouldn’t  mind  so  much  if  he  gave  way  a  little  more, 
but  he  bears  it  so  manfully.” 

“Why,  so  I  should,”  said  Nicholas,  “should  I  not?” 

“Yes,  yes,”  replied  the  little  woman,  “and  bless  you  for  a 
good  creature  ;  but  this  does  seem  at  first  to  a  simple  soul  like 
me — I  know  it’s  wrong  to  say  so,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  for  it 
presently — this  does  seem  such  a  poor  reward  for  all  you  have 
done.” 

“Nay,”  said  Nicholas,  gently,  “what  better  reward  could  I 
have  than  the  knowledge  that  his  last  days  were  peaceful  and 
happy,  and  the  recollection  that  I  was  his  constant  companion, 
and  was  not  prevented,  as  I  might  have  been  by  a  hundred  cir¬ 
cumstances,  from  being  beside  him  ?” 

“To  be  sure,”  sobbed  Miss  La  Creevy,  “it’s  very  true,  and 
I’m  an  ungrateful,  impious,  wicked  little  fool,  I  know.” 

With  that  the  good  soul  fell  to  crying  afresh,  and,  endeavoring 
to  recover  herself,  tried  to  laugh.  The  laugh  and  the  cry 
meeting  each  other  thus  abruptly  had  a  struggle  for  the  mas¬ 
tery,  and  the  result  was  that  it  was  a  drawn  battle,  and  Miss 
I.,a  Creevy  went  into  hysterics. 

Waiting  until  they  were  all  tolerably  quiet  and  composed 
again,  Nicholas,  who  stood  in  need  of  some  rest  after  his  long 
journey,  retired  to  his  own  room,  and  throwing  himself,  dressed 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


5  2 

as  he  was,  upon  the  bed,  fell  into  a  sound  sleep.  When  ho 
awoke  he  found  Kate  sitting  by  his  bedside,  who,  seeing  that 
he  had  opened  his  eyes,  stooped  down  to  kiss  him. 

“I  came  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  home  again.” 

“But  I  can’t  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  Kate.” 

“We  have  been  wearying  so  for  your  return,”  said  Kate, 
“mamma  and  I,  and — and  Madeline.” 

“You  said  in  your  last  letter  that  she  was  quite  well,”  said 
Nicholas,  rather  hastily,  and  coloring  as  he  spoke.  “Has 
nothing  been  said  since  I  have  been  away  about  any  future 
arrangements  that  the  brothers  have  in  contemplation  for  her?” 

“  Oh,  not  a  word,”  replied  Kate,  “  I  can’t  think  of  parting 
from  her  without  sorrow ;  and  surely,  Nicholas,  you  don’t 
wish  it.” 

Nicholas  colored  again,  and,  sitting  down  beside  his  sister  on 
a  little  couch  near  the  window,  said, 

“  No,  Kate,  no,  I  do  not.  I  might  strive  to  disguise  my  real 
feelings  from  any  body  but  you ;  but  I  will  tell  you  that — • 
briefly  and  plainly,  Kate — that  I  love  her.” 

Kate’s  eyes  brightened,  and  she  was  going  to  make  some  re¬ 
ply,  when  Nicholas  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  went  on  ; 

“  Nobody  must  know  this  but  you.  She  last  of  all.” 

“  Dear  Nicholas  1” 

“  Last  of  all — never,  though  never  is  a  long  day.  Sometimes 
I  try  to  think  that  the  time  may  come  when  I  may  honestly  tell 
her  this ;  but  it  is  so  far  olf,  in  such  distant  perspective,  so 
many  years  must  elapse  before  it  comes,  and  when  it  does  come 
(if  ever),  I  shall  be  so  unlike  what  I  am  now,  and  shall  have  so 
outlived  my  days  of  youth  and  romance — though  not,  I-  am 
sure,  of  love  for  her — that  even  I  feel  how  visionary  all  such 
hopes  must  be,  and  try  to  crush  them  rudely  myself  and  have 
the  pain  over,  rather  than  suffer  time  to  wither  them,  and  keep 
the  disappointment  in  store.  No,  Kate ;  since  I  have  been 
absent,  I  have  had,  in  that  poor  fellow  who  is  gone,  perpetually 
before  my  eyes  another  instance  of  the  munificent  liberality  of 
these  noble  brothers.  As  far  as  in  me  lies  I  will  deserve  it,- 
and  if  1  have  wavered  in  my  bounden  duty  to  them  before,  J  am 
jiow  determined  to  discharge  it  rigidly,  and  to  put  further  delays 
and  temptations  beyond  my  reach.” 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


873 


“Before  you  say  another  word,  dear  Nicholas,  said  Kate, 
turning  pale,  “you  must  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  I  came 
on  purpose,  but  I  had  not  the  courage.  What  you  say  now 
gives  me  new  heart.”  She  faltered,  and  burst  into  tears. 

There  was  that  in  her  manner  which  prepared  Nicholas  for 
what  was  coming.  Kate  tried  to  speak,  but  her  tears  prevented 
her. 

“  Come,  jmu  foolish  girl,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “  why  Kate,  Kate, 
be  a  woman.  I  think  I  know  what  you  would  tell  me.  It  con* 
cerns  Mr.  Frank,  does  it  not  ?” 

Kate  sunk  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  sobbed  out 
“  Yes.” 

“And  he  has  offered  you  his  hand,  perhaps,  since  I  have 
been  away,”  said  Nicholas  ;  “  is  that  it  ?  Yes.  Well,  well ; 
it’s  not  so  diflScult,  you  see,  to  tell  me  after  all.  He  offered 
you  his  hand  ?” 

“Which  I  refused,”  said  Kate. 

“Yes;  and  why  ?” 

“I  told  him,”  she  said,  in,  a  trembling  voice,  “all  that  I  have 
since  found  you  told  mamma,  and  while  I  could  not  conceal 
from  him,  and  cannot  from  you  that — that  it  was  a  pang  and  a 
great  trial,  I  did  so  firmly,  and  begged  him  not  to  see  me  any 
more.” 

“  That’s  my  own  brave  Kate  I”  said  Nicholas,  pressing  her  to 
his  breast.  “I  knew  you  would.” 

“  He  tried  to  alter  my  resolution,”  said  Kate,  “  and  declared 
that  be  my  decision  what  it  might,  he  would  not  only  inform  his 
uncles  of  the  step  he  had  taken,  but  would  communicate  it  to 
you  also,  directly  you  returned.  I  am  afraid,”  she  added,  her 
momentary  composure  forsaking  her,  “  I  am  afraid  I  may  not 
have  said  strongly  enough  how  highly  I  felt  such  disinterested 
love  should  be  regarded,  and  how  earnestly  I  prayed  for  his 
future  happiness.  If  you  do  talk  together,  I  should — I  should 
like  him  to  know  that.” 

“And  did  you  suppose,  Kate,  when  you  had  made  this  sacii* 
fice  to  what  you  knew  was  right  and  honorable,  that  I  should 
shrink  from  mine  ?”  said  Nicholas,  tenderly. 

“  Oh.  no  1  not  if  your  position  had  been  the  same,  but — ” 

“^But  it  is  the  same,”  interrupted  Nicholas;  “  Madelino  is 


874 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


not  tte  near  relation  of  our  benefactors,  but  she  is  closely  bound 
to  them  by  ties  as  dear,  and  I  was  first  entrusted  whith  her  his¬ 
tory,  specially  because  they  reposed  unbounded  confidence  in 
me,  and  believed  that  I  was  true  as  steel.  How  ba-se  would  it 
be  of  me  to  take  advantage  of  the  circumstances  which  placed 
her  here,  or  of  the  slight  service  I  was  happily  able  to  render 
her,  and  to  seek  to  engage  her  affections  when  the  result  must 
be,  if  I  succeeded,  that  the  brothers  would  be  disappointed  in 
their  darling  wish  of  establishing  her  as  their  own  child,  and 
that  I  must  seem  to  hope  to  build  my  fortunes  on  their  com¬ 
passion  for  the  young  creature  whom  I  had  so  meanly  and  un¬ 
worthily  entrapped,  turning  her  very  gratitude  and  warmth  of 
heart  to  my  own  purpose  and  account,  and  trading  in  her  mis¬ 
fortunes  I  I,  too,  whose  duty  and  pride  and  pleasure,  Kate,  it 
is,  to  have  other  claims  upon  me  which  I  will  never  forget,  and 
who  have  the  means  of  a  comfortable  and  happy  life  already, 
and  have  no  right  to  look  beyond  it !  I  have  determined  to 
remove  this  weight  from  my  mind ;  I  doubt  whether  I  have  not 
done  wrong  even  now ;  and  to-day  I  will  without  reserve  or 
equivocation  dislcose  my  real  reasons  to  Mr.  Cheeryble,  and 
implore  him  to  take  immediate  measures  for  removing  this 
young  lady  to  the  shelter  of  some  other  roof.” 

“  To-day  ?  so  very  soon  !” 

“  I  have  thought  of  this  for  weeks,  and  why  should  I  post¬ 
pone  it  ?  If  the  scene  through  which  I  have  just  passed  has 
taught  me  to  reflect  and  awakened  me  to  a  more  anxious  and 
careful  sense  of  duty,  why  should  I  wait  until  the  impression  has 
cooled  ?  You  would  not  dissuade  me,  Kate  ;  now  would  you  ?” 

“You  may  grow  rich,  you  know,”  said  Kate. 

“  I  may  grow  rich  !”  repeated  Nicholas,  with  a  mournful 
smile,  “  ay,  and  I  may  grow  old.  But  rich  or  poor,  or  old  or 
young,  we  shall  ever  be  the  same  to  each  other,  and  in  that  our 
comfort  lies.  What  if  we  have  but  one  home  ?  It  can  never 
be  a  solitary  one  to  you  and  me.  What  if  we  were  to  remain 
so  true  to  these  first  impressions  as  to  form  no  others  ?  It  is 
but  one  more  link  to  the  sti'ong  chain  that  binds  us  together. 
It  seems  but  yesterday  that  we  were  playfellows,  Kate,  and  it 
will  seem  l)ut  to-morrow  that  we  are  staid  old  people,  looking 
back  then  to  these  cares  as  we  look  back  now  to  those  of  oux 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


875 


childish  days,  and  recollecting  with  a  melancholy  pleasure  that 
the  time  was  when  they  could  move  us.  Perhaps  then,  when 
we  are  quaint  old  folks  and  talk  of  the  times  when  our  step  was 
lighter  and  our  kair  not  gre}’',  we  may  be  even  thankful  for  the 
trials  that  so  endeared  us  to  each  other,  and  turned  our  lives 
into  that  current  down  which  we  shall  have  glided  so  peacefully 
and  calmly.  And  having  caught  some  inkling  of  our  story,  the 
young  people  about  us — as  young  as  you  and  I  are  now,  Kate 
—shall  come  to  us  for  sympathy,  and  pour  distresses  which 
hope  and  inexperience  could  scarcely  feel  enough  for,  into  the 
compassionate  ears  of  the  old  bachelor  brother  and  his  maiden 
sister.’' 

Kate  smiled  through  her  tears  as  Nicholas  drew  this  picture, 
but  they  were  not  tears  of  sorrow,  although  they  continued  to 
fall  when  he  had  ceased  to  speak. 

“  Am  I  not  right,  Kate  ?”  he  said,  after  a  short  silence. 

“  Quite,  quite,  dear  brother ;  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy 
I  am  that  I  have  acted  as  you  would  have  had  me.” 

“You  don’t  regret  ?” 

“N — n — no,”  said  Kate,  timidly,  tracing  some  pattern  upon 
the  ground  with  her  little  foot.  “  I  don’t  regret  having  done 
what  was  honorable  and  right,  of  course,  but  I  do  regret  that 
this  should  have  ever  happened — at  least  sometimes  I  regret  it, 
and  sometimes  I — I  don’t  know  what  I  say  ;  I  am  but  a  weak 
girl,  Nicholas,  and  it  has  agitated  me  very  much.” 

It  is  no  vaunt  to  affirm  that  if  Nicholas  had  had  ten  thousand 
pounds  at  the  minute,  he  would,  in  his  generous  affection  for 
the  owner  of  that  blushing  cheek  and  downcast  eye,  have  be¬ 
stowed  its  utmost  farthing,  in  perfect  forgetfulness  of  himself, 
to  secure  her  happiness.  But  all  he  could  do  was  to  comfort 
and  console  her  by  kind  words ;  and  words  they  were  of  such 
love  and  kindness  and  cheerful  encouragement,  that  poor  Kate 
llirew  hei  arms  about  his  neck  and  declared  she  would  weep  no 
more. 

“  What  man,”  thought  Nicholas,  proudly,  while  on  his  way 
scon  afterwards  to  the  brothers’  house,  “would  not  be  suffi¬ 
ciently  rewarded  for  any  sacrilice  of  fortune,  by  the  possession 
of  such  a  heart  as  that,  which,  but  that  hearts  w'eigli  light  and 
gold  and  silver  heavy,  is  beyond  all  praise.  Frank  has  money 


876 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


and  wants  no  more.  Where  would  it  buy  him  such  a  treasure 
as  Kate  1  And  yet  in  unequal  marriages,  the  rich  party  is 
always  supposed  to  make  a  great  sacrifice,  and  the  other  to  get 
a  good  bargain  1  But  I  am  thinking  like  a  lover,  or  like  an 
ass,  which  I  suppose  is  pretty  nearly  the  same.” 

Checking  thoughts  so  little  adapted  to  the  business  on  which 
he  was  bound  by  such  self-reproofs  as  this  and  many  others  no 
less  sturdy,  he  proceeded  on  his  way  and  presented  himself  be¬ 
fore  Tim  Linkinwater. 

“Ah  1  Mr.  Nickleby,”  cried  Tim,  “  God  bless  you  !  how  d’ye 
do  1  Well  ?  Say  you’re  quite  well  and  never  better — do 
now.” 

“  Quite,”  said  Nicholas,  shaking  him  by  both  hands. 

“Ah  I”  said  Tim,  “you  look  tired  though,  now  I  come  to 
look  at  you.  Hark  !  there  he  is,  d’ye  hear  him  ?  That  was 
Dick  the  blackbird.  He  hasn’t  been  himself  since  you’ve  been 
gone.  He’d  never  get  on  without  you  now  ;  he  takes  as  natu¬ 
rally  to  you  as  he  does  to  me.” 

“  Dick  is  a  far  less  sagacious  fellow  than  I  supposed  him,  if 
he  thinks  I  am  half  so  well  worthy  of  his  notice  as  you,”  replied 
Nicholas. 

“Why  I’ll  tell  you  what.  Sir,”  said  Tim,  standing  in  his 
favorite  attitude  and  pointing  up  to  the  cage  with  the  feather 
of  his  pen,  “it’s  a  very  extraordinary  thing  about  that  bird, 
that  the  only  people  he  ever  takes  the  smallest  notice  of  are 
Mr.  Charles  and  Mr.  Ned,  and  you  and  me.” 

Here  Tim  stopped  and  glanced  anxiously  at  Nicholas ;  then 
unexpectedly  catching  his  eye,  repeated,  “and  you  and  me.  Sir, 
and  you  and  me.”  And  then  he  glanced  at  Nicholas  again, 
and,  squeezing  his  hand,  said,  “I  am  a  bad  one  at  putting  off 
any  thing  I  am  interested  in.  I  didn’t  mean  to  ask  you,  but  I 
should  like  to  hear  a  few  particulars  about  that  poor  boy.  Did 
he  mention  Cheeryble  Brothers  at  all  ?” 

“  Yes,”  said  Nicholas,  “many  and  many  a  time.” 

“That  was  right  of  him,’’  returned  Tim,  wiping  his  eyes,  “that 
was  very  right  of  him.” 

“And  he  mentioned  your  name  a  score  of  times,”  said  Nicho¬ 
las,  “and  often  bade  me  carry  back  his  love  to  Mr.  Linkinwater.” 

“  No,  no,  did  he  though  ?”  rejoined  Tim,  sobbing  outright. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


877 


“Poor  fellow  1  I  wish  we  could  have  had  him  buried  in  town, 
There  isn’t  such  a  burying-ground  in  all  London  as  that  little 
one  on  the  other  side  of  the  square — there  are  counting  houses 
all  round  it,  and  if  you  go  in  there  on  a  fine  day  you  can  see  the 
books  and  safes  through  the  open  windows.  And  he  sent  his 
love  to  me,  did  he?  I  didn’t  expect  he  would  have  thought  of 
me.  ]*oor  fellow,  poor  fellow  I  His  love  too  !” 

Tim  was  so  completely  overcome  by  this  little  mark  of  recol¬ 
lection,  that  he  was  quite  unequal  to  any  further  conversation 
at  the  moment.  Nicholas  therefore  slipped  quietly  out,  and 
went  to  brother  Charles’s  room. 

If  he  had  previously  sustained  his  firmness  and  fortitude,  it 
had  been  by  an  effort  which  had  cost  him  no  little  pain  ;  but  the 
warm  welcome,  the  hearty  manner,  the  homely  unaffected  com¬ 
miseration  of  the  good  old  man  went  to  his  heart,  and  no  inward 
struggle  could  prevent  his  showing  it. 

“Come,  come,  my  dear  Sir,”  said  the  benevolent  merchant; 
“  we  must  not  be  cast  down,  no,  no.  We  must  learn  to  bear 
misfortune,  and  we  must  remember  that  there  are  many  sources 
of  consolation  even  in  death.  Every  day  that  this  poor  lad  had 
lived,  he  must  have  been  less  and  less  qualified  for  the  world, 
and  more  unhappy  in  his  own  deficiencies.  It  is  better  as  it  is, 
my  dear  Sir.  Yes,  yes,  yes,  it’s  better  as  it  is.” 

“I  have  thought  of  all  that.  Sir,”  replied  Nicholas,  clearing 
his  throat.  “I  feel  it,  I  assure  you.” 

“  Yes,  that’s  well,”  replied  Mr.  Cheeryble,  who,  in  the  midst 
of  all  his  comforting,  was  quite  as  much  taken  aback  as  honest 
old  Tim  ;  “that’s  well.  Where  is  my  brother  Ned  ?  Tim  Lin- 
kinwater.  Sir,  where  is  my  brother  Ned  ? 

“Gone  out  with  Mr.  Trimmers,  about  getting  that  unfortu¬ 
nate  man  into  the  hospital,  and  sending  a  nurse  to  his  children,” 
eaid  Tim. 

“  My  brother  Ned  is  a  fine  fellow — a  great  fellow  !”  exclaimed 
bi'other  Charles  as  he  shut  the  door  and  returned  to  Nicholas. 
“  He  will  be  overjoyed  to  see  you,  my  dear  Sir :  we  have  been 
speaking  of  you  every  day.” 

“  To  tell  you  the  truth.  Sir,  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone,” 
said  Nicholas,  with  some  natural  hesitation,  “for  I  am  anxiois 


878 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


to  say  something  to  jmu.  Can  you  spare  me  a  very  few 
minutes  ?” 

“Surely,  surely,”  returned  brother  Charles,  looking  at  him 
with  an  anxious  countenance.  “  Say  on,  my  dear  Sir,  say  on.” 

“1  scarcely  know  how  or  where  to  begin,”  said  Nicholas. 
“  If  ever  one  mortal  had  reason  to  be  penetrated  with  love  and 
rererence  for  another,  with  such  attachment  as  would  make  the 
hardest  service  in  his  behalf  a  pleasure  and  delight,  with  such 
grateful  recollections  as  must  rouse  the  utmost  zeal  and  fidelity 
of  his  nature,  those  are  the  feelings  which  I  should  entertain  for 
you,  and  do,  from  my  heart  and  soul,  believe  me.” 

“I  do  believe  you,”  replied  the  old  gentleman,  “and  I  am 
happy  in  the  belief.  I  have  never  doubted  it ;  I  never  shall.  I 
am  sure  I  never  shall.” 

“Your  telling  me  that  so  kindly,”  said  Nicholas,  “emboldens 
me  to  proceed.  When  you  first  took  me  into  your  confidence 
and  dispatched  me  on  those  missions  to  Miss  Bray,  I  should 
have  told  you  that  I  had  seen  her  long  before,  that  her  beauty 
had  made  an  impression  upon  me  which  I  could  not  efface,  and 
that  I  had  fruitlessly  endeavored  to  trace  her  and  become 
acquainted  with  her  history.  I  did  not  tell  you  so,  because  I 
vainly  thought  I  could  conquer  my  weaker  feelings,  and  render 
every  consideration  subservient  to  my  duty  to  you.” 

“Mr.  Nickleby,”  said  brother  Charles,  “you  did  not  violate 
the  confidence  I  placed  in  you,  or  take  an  unworthy  advantage 
of  it.  I  am  sure  you  did  not.” 

“  I  did  not,”  said  Nicholas,  firmly.  “Although  I  found  that 
the  necessity  for  self-command  and  restraint  became  every  day 
more  imperious  and  the  difficulty  greater,  I  never  for  one  instant 
spoke  or  looked  but  as  I  would  have  done  had  you  been  by.  I 
never  for  one  moment  deserted  my  trust,  nor  have  I  to  this 
instant.  But  I  find  that  constant  association  and  companion¬ 
ship  wdth  this  sweet  girl  is  fatal  to  my  peace  of  mind,  and  may 
prove  destructive  to  the  resolutions  I  made  in  the  beginning  and 
up  to  this  time  have  faithfully  kept.  In  short.  Sir,  I  cannot 
trust  myself,  and  I  implore  and  beseech  you  to  remove  this 
young  lady  from  under  the  charge  of  my  mother  and  sister 
without  delay.  I  know  that  to  any  one  but  myself- — to  you  who 
consider  tl'e  immeasurable  distance  between  me  and  this  young 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


879 


lady,  who  is  now  your  ward  and  the  object  of  your  peculiar  care 
' — my  loving  her  even  in  thought  must  appear  the  height  of 
rashness  and  presumption.  I  know  it  is  so.  But  who  can  see 
her  as  I  have  seen,^ — who  can  know^  what  her  life  has  been,  and 
not  love  her  ?  I  have  no  excuse  but  that,  and  as  I  cannot  fly 
from  this  temptation,  and  cannot  repress  this  passion  with  its 
obj’ect  constantly  before  me,  what  can  I  do  but  pray  and  beseech 
73u  to  remove  it,  and  to  leave  me  to  forget  her.” 

“  Mr  Nickleby,”  said  the  old  man,  after  a  short  silence,  “you 
can  do  no  more.  I  was  wrong  to  expose  a  young  man  like  you 
to  this  trial.  I  might  have  foreseen  what  w'ould  happen.  Thank 
you.  Sir,  thank  you.  Madeline  shall  be  removed. 

“  If  you  would  grant  me  one  favor,  dear  Sir,  and  suffer  her  to 
remember  me  w'ith  esteem  by  never  revealing  to  her  this  con¬ 
fession — ” 

“I  wall  take  care,”' — said  Mr.  Cheeryble.  “And  now,  is  this 
all  you  have  to  tell  me  ?” 

“No  I”  returned  Nicholas,  meeting  his  eye,  “it  is  not.” 

“  I  know-  the  rest,”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  apparently  very  much 
relieved  by  this  prompt  reply.  “  When  did  it  come  to  your 
knowdedge  ?” 

“When  I  reached  home  this  morning.” 

“You  felt  it  your  duty  immediately  to  come  to  me,  and  tell 
me  what  your  sister  no  doubt  acquainted  you  with  ?” 

“  I  did,”  said  Nicholas,  “though  I  could  have  wished  to  have 
spoken  to  Mr.  Frank  first.” 

“  Frank  was  wdth  me  last  night,”  replied  the  old  gentleman. 
“You  have  done  well,  Mr.  Nickleby — very  well.  Sir — and  I 
thank  you  again.” 

Upon  this  head  Nicholas  requested  permission  to  add  a  few 
words.  lie  ventured  to  hope  that  nothing  he  had  said  W'ould 
lead  to  the  estrangement  of  Kate  and  Madeline,  who  had  formed 
an  attachment  for  each  other,  any  interruption  of  which  would, 
he  knew,  be  attended  with  great  pain  to  them,  and  most  of  all, 
with  remorse  and  pain  to  him,  as  its  unhappy  cause.  When 
these  things  were  all  forgotten  he  hoped  that  Frank  and  he 
might  still  be  wairm  friends,  and  tliat  no  word  or  thought  of  his 
humble  home,  or  of  her  who  was  well  contented  to  remain  there 
and  share  his  quiet  fortunes,  would  ever  again  disturb  the  har- 
5(1 


880 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


mony  between  them.  He  recounted,  as  nearly  as  he  could,  what 
had  passed  between  him  and  Kate  that  morning  ;  speaking  other 
with  such  warmth  of  pride  and  affection,  and  dwelling  so  cheer¬ 
fully  Upon  the  confidence  they  had  of  overcoming  any  selfish 
regrets  and  living  contented  and  happy  in  each  other’s  love,  that 
few  could  have  heard  him  unmoved.  More  moved  himself  than 
he  had  been  yet,  he  expressed  in  a  few  hurried  words — as  ex¬ 
pressive  perhaps  as  the  most  eloquent  phrases — his  devotion  to 
the  brothers,  and  his  hope  that  he  might  live  and  die  in  their 
service. 

To  all  this,  brother  Charles  listened  in  profound  silence,  and 
with  his  chair  so  turned  from  Nicholas  that  his  face  could  not 
be  seen.  He  had  not  spoken  either  in  his  accustomed  manner, 
but  with  a  certain  stiffness  and  embarrassment  very  foreign  to 
it.  Nicholas  feared  he  had  offended  him.  He  said,  “No — no 
— he  had  done  quite  right,”  but  that  was  all. 

“Frank  is  a  heedless,  foolish  fellow,”  he  said,  after  Nicholas 
had  paused  for  some  time,  “a  very  heedless,  foolish  fellow.  I 
will  take  care  that  this  is  brought  to  a  close  without  delay.  Let 
us  say  no  more  upon  the  subject ;  it’s  a  very  painful  one  to  me. 
Come  to  me  in  half  an  hour,  I  have  strange  things  to  tell  you, 
ray  dear  Sir,  and  your  uncle  has  appointed  this  afternoon  for 
your  waiting  upon  him  with  me.” 

“  Waiting  upon  him  1  With  you.  Sir  I”  cried  Nicholas. 

“  Ay,  with  me,”  replied  the  old  gentleman.  “  Return  to  me 
in  half  an  hour,  and  I’ll  tell  you  more.” 

Nicholas  waited  upon  him  at  the  time  mentioned,  and  then 
learnt  all  that  had  taken  place  on  the  previous  day,  and  all  that 
was  known  of  the  appointment  Ralph  had  made  with  the  bro¬ 
thers,  which  was  for  that  night,  and  for  the  better  understanding 
of  which  it  will  be  requisite  to  return  and  follow  his  own  footsteps 
from  the  house  of  the  twin  brothers.  Therefore  we  leave  Nicho¬ 
las  somewhat  reassured  by  the  restored  kindness  of  their  manner 
towards  him,  and  yet  sensible  that  it  was  different  from  what  it 
had  been  (though  he  scarcely  knew  in  what  respect),  and  full 
of  aueasiness,  uncertainty,  and  disquiet. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 


RALPH  MAKES  ONE  LAST  APPOINTMENT — AND  KEEPS  IT. 

Creeping  from  the  house  and  slinking  off  like  a  thief ;  groping 
with  his  hands  when  first  he  got  into  the  street,  as  if  he  were  a 
blind  man,  and  looking  often  over  his  shoulder  while  he  hurried 
away,  as  though  he  were  followed  in  imagination  or  reality  by 
some  one  anxious  to  question  or  detain  him,  Ralph  Nickleby 
left  the  city  behind  him,  and  took  the  road  to  his  own  home. 

The  night  w'as  dark,  and  a  cold  wind  blew,  driving  the  clouds 
furiously  and  fast  before  it.  There  was  one  black  gloomy  mass 
that  seemed  to  follow  him  ;  not  hurrying  in  the  wild  chase  with 
the  others,  but  lingering  sullenly  behind,  and  gliding  darkly  and 
stealthily  on.  He  often  looked  back  at  this,  and  more  than 
once  stopped  to  let  it  pass  over,  but  somehow,  when  he  went 
forward  again  it  was  still  behind  him,  coming  mournfully  and 
slowly  up  like  a  shadowy  funeral  train. 

He  had  to  pass  a  i)Oor,  mean  burial-ground — a  dismal  place 
raised  a  few  feet  above  the  level  of  the  street,  and  parted  from 
it  by  a  low  paraiiet  wall  and  an  iron  railing  ;  a  rank,  unwhole¬ 
some,  rotten  spot,  where  the  very  grass  and  weeds  seemed,  in  their 
frowsy  growth,  to  tell  that  they  had  sprung  from  paupers’  bodies, 
and  struck  their  roots  in  the  graves  of  men,  sodden  in  steaming 
courts  and  drunken,  hungry  dens.  And  here  in  truth  they  lay, 
])arted  from  the  living  by  a  little  earth  and  a  board  or  two — 
lay  thick  and  close — cornq)ting  in  body  as  they  had  in  mind;  a 
dense  and  squalid  crowd.  Here  they  lay  cheek  by  jowl  with 
life  :  no  deeper  down  than  the  feet  of  the  throng  that  passed 
there  every  day,  and  ])iled  high  as  their  throats.  Here  they  lay, 
a  grisly  family,  all  those  dear  departed  brothers  and  sisters  of 
the  ruddy  clergyman  who  did  his  task  so  speedily  when  they 
were  hidden  in  the  ground  ! 

As  he  passed  here,  Ralph  called  to  mind  that  he  had  been 
one  ol  a  jury  long  before,  on  the  body  of  a  man  who  had  eui 

(8S1) 


882 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


his  throat ;  and  that  he  was  buried  in  this  place.  He  could 
not  tell  how  he  came  to  recollect  it  now,  when  he  had  so  often 
passed  and  never  thought  about  him,  or  how  it  was  that  he  felt 
an  interest  in  the  circumstance,  but  he  did  both,  and  stopping, 
and  clasping  the  iron  railings  with  his  hands,  looked  eagerly  in, 
wondering  which  might  be  his  grave. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  there  came  towards  him,  with  a 
noise  of  shouts  and  singing,  some  fellows  full  of  drink,  followed 
by  others,  who  were  remonstrating  with  them  and  urging  them 
to  go  home  in  quiet.  They  were  in  high  good-humor,  and  one 
of  them,  a  little,  weazen,  hump-backed  man,  began  to  dance. 
He  was  a  grotesque,  fantastic  figure,  and  the  few  by-standers 
laughed.  Ralph  himself  was  moved  to  mirth,  and  echoed  the 
laugh  of  one  who  stood  near  and  who  looked  round  in  his  face. 
When  they  had  passed  on  and  he  was  left  alone  again,  he  re¬ 
sumed  his  speculation  with  a  new  kind  of  interest,  for  he  recol¬ 
lected  that  the  last  person  who  had  seen  the  suicide  alive  had 
left  him  very  merry,  and  he  remembered  how  strange  he  and  the 
other  jurors  had  thought  that  at  the  time. 

He  could  not  fix  upon  the  spot  among  such  a  heap  of  graves, 
but  he  conjured  up  a  strong  and  vivid  idea  of  the  man  himself, 
and  how  he  looked,  and  what  had  led  him  to  do  it,  all  of  which 
he  recalled  with  ease.  By  dint  of  dwelling  upon  this  theme,  he 
carried  the  impression  with  him  when  he  went  away,  as  he 
remembered  when  a  child  to  have  had  frequently  before  him 
the  figure  of  some  goblin  he  had  once  seen  chalked  upon  a 
door.  But  as  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  home  he  forgot  it 
again,  and  began  to  think  how  very  dull  and  solitary  the  house 
would  be  inside. 

This  feeling  became  so  strong  at  last,  that  when  he  reached 
hia  own  door  he  could  hardly  make  up  his  mind  to  turn  the  key 
and  open  it — when  he  had  done  that  and  gone  into  the  passage, 
he  felt  as  though  to  shut  it  again  would  be  to  shut  out  tlie 
world.  But  he  let  it  go,  and  it  closed  with  a  loud  noise.  There 
was  no  light.  How  very  dreary,  cold,  and  still  it  was  1 

Shivering  from  head  to  foot  he  made  his  way  up  stairs  into 
the  room  where  he  had  been  last  disturbed.  He  had  made  a 
kind  of  compact  with  himself  that  he  would  not  think  of  wha^ 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


883 


had  happened  until  he  got  home.  He  was  at  home  now,  and 
Bulfered  himself  for  the  first  time  to  consider  it. 

His  own  child — his  own  child  !  He  never  doubted  the  tale ; 
he  felt  it  was  true,  knew  it  as  well  now  as  if  he  had  been  privy 
to  it  all  along.  His  own  child !  and  dead  too.  Dying  beside 
Nicholas — loving  him,  and  looking  upon  him  as  something  like 
an  angel  1  That  was  the  worst. 

They  had  all  turned  from  him  and  deserted  him  in  his  very 
first  need,  even  money  could  not  buy  them  now ;  every  thing  must 
come  out,  and  every  body  must  know  all.  Here  was  the  young 
lord  dead,  his  companion  abroad  and  beyond  his  reach,  ten 
thousand  pounds  gone  at  one  blow,  his  plot  with  Gride  overset, 
at  the  very  moment  of  triumph,  his  after  schemes  discovered, 
himself  in  danger,  the  object  of  his  persecution  and  Nicholas’s 
love,  his  own  wretched  boy ;  every  thing  crumbled  and  fallen 
upon  him,  and  he  beaten  down  beneath  the  ruins  and  groveling 
in  the  dust. 

If  he  had  known  his  child  to  be  alive,  if  no  deceit  had  been 
ever  practiced  and  he  had  grown  up  beneath  his  eye,  he  might 
have  been  a  careless,  indifferent,  rough,  harsh  father — like 
enough — he  felt  that ;  but  the  thought  would  come  that  he 
might  have  been  otherwise,  and  that  his  son  might  have  been  a 
comfort  to  him  and  they  two  happy  together.  He  began  to 
think  now,  that  his  supposed  death  and  his  wife’s  flight  had 
had  some  share  in  making  him  the  morose,  hard  man  he  was. 
He  seemed  to  remember  a  time  when  he  was  not  quite  so 
rough  and  obdurate,  and  almost  thought  that  he  had  first  hated 
Nicholas  because  he  was  young  and  gallant,  and  perhaps  like 
the  stripling  who  had  brought  dishonor  and  loss  of  fortune  on 
his  head. 

But  one  tender  thought,  or  one  of  natural  regret  in  that 
whirlwind  of  passion  and  remorse,  was  as  a  drop  of  calm  water 
in  a  stormy,  maddened  sea.  His  hatred  of  Nicholas  had  been 
fed  upon  his  own  defeat,  nourished  on  his  interference  with  his 
schemes,  fattened  upon  his  old  defiance  and  success.  There 
were  reasons  for  its  increase;  it  had  grown  and  strengthened 
gradually.  Now  it  attained  a  height  which  was  sheer,  wild 
lunacy.  That  his  of  all  others  should  have  been  the  hands  to 
rescue  his  miserable  child,  that  he  should  have  been  his  pro- 


684 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


tectoi*  and  faithful  friend,  that  he  should  have  shotvn  him 
that  love  and  tenderness  which  from  the  wretched  moment  of 
his  birth  he  had  never  known,  that  he  should  have  taught  him 
to  hate  his  own  parent  and  execrate  his  very  name,  that  he 
should  now  know  and  feel  all  this  and  triumph  in  the  recollec¬ 
tion,  was  gall  and  madness  to  the  usurer’s  heart.  The  dead 
boy’s  love  for  Nicholas,  and  the  attachment  of  Nicholas  to  him, 
was  insupportable  agony.  The  picture  of  his  death-bed,  with 
Nicholas  at  his  side  tending  and  supporting  him,  and  he  breath¬ 
ing  out  his  thanks,  and  expiring  in  his  arms,  when  he  would 
have  had  them  mortal  enemies  and  hating  each  other  to  the  last, 
drove  him  frantic.  He  gnashed  his  teeth  and  smote  the  air,  and 
looking  wildly  round,  with  eyes  which  gleamed  through  the 
darkness,  cried  aloud : 

“I  am  trampled  down  and  ruined.  The  wretch  told  me 
true.  The  night  has  come.  Is  there  no  way  to  rob  them  of 
further  triumph,  and  spurn  their  mercy  and  compassion  ?  Is 
there  no  devil  to  help  me  ?” 

Swiftly  there  glided  again  into  his  brain  the  figure  he  had 
raised  that  night.  It  seemed  to  lie  before  him.  The  head  was 
covered  now.  So  it  was  when  he  first  saw  it.  The  rigid,  up¬ 
turned,  marble  feet  too,  he  remembered  well.  Then  came  be¬ 
fore  him  the  pale  and  trembling  relatives  who  had  told  their 
tale  upon  the  inquest — the  shrieks  of  women — the  silent  dread 
of  men — the  consternation  and  disquiet — the  victory  achieved 
by  that  heap  of  clay  which  with  one  motion  of  its  hand  had  let 
out  the  life  and  made  this  stir  among  them - 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  after  a  pause  softly  groped  his  way 
out  of  the  room,  and  up  the  echoing  stairs — up  to  the  top — to 
the  front  garret — where  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  re¬ 
mained — 

It  was  a  mere  lumber-room  now,  but  it  yet  contained  an  old 
dismantled  bedstead :  the  one  on  which  his  son  had  slept,  for  no 
other  had  ever  been  there.  He  avoided  it  hastily,  and  sat  down 
as  far  from  it  as  he  could. 

The  weakened  glare  of  the  lights  in  the  street  below,  shining 
through  the  window,  which  had  no  blind  or  curtain  to  intercept 
it,  was  enough  to  show  the  character  of  the  room,  though  not 
sufficient  fully  to  reveal  the  various  articles  of  lumber,  old 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


885 


corded  trunks  and  broken  furniture,  which  were  scattered  about. 
It  had  a  shelving  roof;  high  in  one  part,  and  at  another  de¬ 
scending  almost  to  the  floor.  It  was  towards  the  highest  part 
that  Ralph  directed  his  eyes,  and  upon  it  he  kept  them  fixed 
steadily  for  some  minutes,  when  he  rose,  and  dragging  thither 
on  old  chest  upon  which  he  had  been  seated,  mounted  upon  it, 
and  felt  along  the  wall  above  his  head  with  both  hands.  At 
length  they  touched  a  large  iron  hook  firmly  driven  into  one  of 
of  the  beams. 

At  that  moment  he  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
door  below.  After  a  little  hesitation  he  opened  the  window, 
and  demanded  who  it  was. 

“  I  want  Mr.  Nickleby,”  replied  a  voice. 

“  What  with  him  ?” 

“That’s  not  Mr.  Nickleby’s  voice,  surely,”  was  the  rejoinder. 

It  was  not  like  it ;  but  it  was  Ralph  who  spoke,  and  so  he 
said. 

The  voice  made  answer  that  the  twin  brothers  wished  to  know 
whether  the  man  whom  he  had  seen  that  night  was  to  be  de¬ 
tained,  and  that  although  it  was  now  midnight  they  had  sent  in 
their  anxiety  to  do  right. 

“Yes,”  cried  Ralph,  “detain  him  till  to-morrow;  then  let 
them  bring  him  here — him  and  my  nephew — and  come  them¬ 
selves,  and  be  sure  that  I  will  be  ready  to  receive  them.” 

“  At  what  hour  ?”  asked  the  voice. 

“At  any  hour,”  replied  Ralph,  fiercely.  “In  the  afternoon, 
tell  them.  At  any  hour — at  any  minute — all  times  will  be  alike 
to  me.” 

He  listened  to  the  man’s  retreating  footsteps  until  the  sound 
had  passed,  and  then  gazing  up  into  the  sky  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  the  same  black  cloud  that  had  seemed  to  follow  him  home, 
and  which  now  appeared  to  hover  directly  above  the  house. 

“  I  know  its  meaning  now,”  he  muttered,  “  and  the  restless 
nights,  the  dreams,  and  why  I  have  quailed  of  late ; — all  pointed 
to  this.  Oh  1  if  men  by  selling  their  own  souls  could  ride  ram¬ 
pant  for  a  term,  for  how  short  a  term  would  I  barter  mine  to¬ 
night  1 

The  sound  of  a  deep  bell  came  along  the  wind.  One. 

“Lie  on!”  cried  the  usurer,  “with  your  iron  tongue;  ring 


88G 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


merrily  for  births  that  make  expectants  writhe,  and  marriages 
that  are  made  in  hell,  and  toll  ruefully  for  the  dead  whose  shoes 
are  worn  already.  Call  men  to  prayers  who  are  godly  because 
not  found  out,  and  ring  chimes  for  the  coming  in  of  every  year 
that  brings  this  cursed  world  nearer  to  its  end.  No  bell  or 
book  for  me ;  throw  me  on  a  dunghill,  and  let  me  rot  there  to 
infect  the  air  I” 

With  a  wild  look  around,  in  which  frenzy,  hatred,  and  despair, 
w'ere  horribly  mingled,  he  shook  his  clenched  hand  at  the  sky 
above  him,  which  was  still  dark  and  threatening,  and  closed  the 
window 

The  rain  and  hail  pattered  against  the  glass,  the  chimneys 
quaked  and  rocked ;  the  crazy  casement  rattled  with  the  wind  as 
though  an  impatient  hand  inside  were  striving  to  burst  it  open. 
But  no  hand  was  there,  and  it  opened  no  more. 

:ic  *  *  :(e  ^  H! 

“How’s  this?”  cried  one,  “the  gentlemen  say  they  can’t 
make  any  body  hear,  and  have  been  trying  these  two  hours  ?” 

“And  yet  he  came  home  last  night,”  said  another,  “for  he 
spoke  to  somebody  out  of  that  window  up  stairs.” 

They  were  a  little  knot  of  men,  and,  the  window  being  men¬ 
tioned,  went  out  into  the  road  to  look  up  at  it.  This  occasioned 
their  observing  that  the  house  v/as  still  close  shut,  as  the  house¬ 
keeper  had  said  she  had  left  it  on  the  previous  night,  and  led  to 
a  great  many  suggestions,  which  terminated  in  two  or  three  of 
the  boldest  getting  round  to  the  back  and  so  entering  by  a  win¬ 
dow,  while  the  others  remained  outside  in  impatient  expecta¬ 
tion. 

They  looked  into  all  the  rooms  below,  opening  the  shutters 
as  they  went  to  admit  the  fading  light;  and  still  finding  nobody, 
and  every  thing  quiet  and  in  its  place,  doubted  whether  they 
should  go  farther.  One  man,  however,  remarking  that  they  had 
not  yet  been  into  the  garret,  and  that  it  was  there  he  had  been 
last  seen,  they  agreed  to  look  there  too,  and  went  up  softly,  for 
the  mystery  and  silence  made  them  timid. 

After  they  had  stood  for  an  instant  on  the  landing  eyeing 
each  other,  he  who  had  proposed  their  carrying  the  search  so 
far  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  and  pushing  it  open  looked 
through  the  chink,  and  fed  back  directly. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY, 


887 


“It’s  very  odd,”  he  whispered,  “he’s  hiding  behind  the  door! 
Look  1” 

They  pressed  forward  to  see,  but  one  among  them  thrusting 
the  others  aside  with  a  loud  exclamation,  drew  a  clasp  knife 
from  his  pocket  and  dashing  into  the  room  cut  down  the  body. 

He  had  torn  a  rope  from  one  of  the  old  trunks  and  hung 
himself  on  an  iron  hook  immediately  below  the  trap-door  in  the 
ceiling — in  the  very  place  to  which  the  eyes  of  his  son,  a  lonely, 
desolate  little  creature,  had  so  often  been  directed  in  childish 
ten’or  fourteen  years  before. 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 


THE  BROTHERS  CHEERYBLE  MAKE  VARIOUS  DECLARATIONS  Ff/R 

THEMSELVES  AND  OTHERS;  AND  TIM  LINKINWATER  MAKES 

A  DECLARATION  EOR  HIMSELF. 

Some  weeks  had  passed,  and  the  first  shock  of  these  events 
had  subsided.  Madeline  had  been  removed  ;  Frank  had  been 
absent ;  and  Nicholas  and  Kate  had  begun  to  try  in  good  ear¬ 
nest  to  stifle  their  own  regrets,  and  to  live  for  each  other  and 
for  their  mother,  who,  poor  lady,  could  in  no  wise  be  reconciled 
to  this  dull  and  altered  state  of  affairs,  when  there  came  one 
evening,  per  favor  of  Mr.  Linkinwater,  an  invitation  from  the 
brothers  to  dinner,  on  the  next  day  but  one,  comprehending  not 
only  Mrs.  Nickleby,  Kate,  and  Nicholas,  but  little  Miss  La 
Creevy,  who  was  most  particularly  mentioned. 

“  Now,  my  dears,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  when  they  had  done 
becoming  honor  to  the  bidding,  and  Tim  had  taken  his  depart¬ 
ure,  “  what  does  this  mean  ?” 

“What  do  you  mean,  mother?”  asked  Nicholas,  smiling. 

“  I  say,  my  dear,”  rejoined  that  lady,  with  a  face  of  unfathom¬ 
able  mystery,  “  what  does  this  invitation  to  dinner  mean, — what 
is  its  intention  and  object  ?” 

“  I  conclude  it  means,  that  on  such  a  day  we  are  to  eat  and 
drink  in  their  house,  and  that  its  intent  and  object  is  to  confer 
pleasure  upon  us,”  said  Nicholas. 

“And  that’s  all  you  conclude  it  is,  my  dear?” 

“I  have  not  yet  arrived  at  any  thing  deeper,  mother.” 

“  Then  I’ll  just  tell  you  one  thing,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  you’ll 
find  yourself  a  little  surprised,  that’s  all.  You  may  depend  upon 
it  that  this  means  something  besides  dinner.” 

“Tea  and  supper,  perhaps,”  suggested  Nicholas. 

“  I  wouldn’t  be  absurd,  my  dear,  if  I  were  you,”  replied  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  in  a  lofty  manner,  “because  it’s  not  by  any  means  be¬ 
coming,  and  doesn’t  suit  you  at  all.  What  I  mean  to  say  is, 
fSSS) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


889 


that  the  Mr.  Chcerybles  don’t  ask  us  to  dinner  with  all  this 
ceremony  for  nothing.  JS’ever  mind,  wait  and  see.  You  won’t 
helieve  any  thing  I  say,  of  course.  It’s  much  better  to  wait,  a 
great  deal  better  ;  it’s  satisfactory  to  all  parties,  and  there  can 
be  no  disputing.  All  I  say  is,  remember  what  I  say  now,  and 
when  I  say  I  said  so,  don’t  say  T  didn’t.” 

With  this  stipulation,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  was  troubled  night 
ttnd  day  with  a  vision  of  a  hot  messenger  tearing  up  to  the  door 
to  announce  that  Nicholas  had  been  taken  into  partnership, 
quitted  that  branch  of  the  subject,  and  entered  upon  a  new  one. 

"It’s  a  very  extraordinary  thing,”  she  said,  "a  most  extra¬ 
ordinary  thing,  that  they  should  have  invited  Miss  La  Creevy. 
It  quite  astonishes  me,  upon  my  word  it  does.  Of  course  it’s 
very  pleasant  that  she  should  be  invited,  very  pleasant,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  she’ll  conduct  herself  extremely  well ;  she 
always  does.  It’s  very  gratifying  to  think  that  we  should  have 
been  the  means  of  introducing  her  into  such  society,  and  I’m 
quite  glad  of  it,  quite  rejoiced,  for  she  certainly  is  an  exceedingly 
well-behaved  and  good-natured  little  person.  I  could  wish  that 
some  friend  would  mention  it  to  her  how  very  badly  she  has  her 
cap  trimmed,  and  what  very  preposterous  bows  those  are,  but 
of  course  that’s  impossible ;  and  if  she  likes  to  make  a  fright  of 
herself,  no  doubt  she  has  a  perfect  right  to  do  so.  We  never 
see  ourselves — never  do  and  never  did — and  I  suppose  we  never 
shall.” 

This  moral  reflection  reminding  her  of  the  necessity  of  being 
peculiarly  smart  upon  the  occasion,  so  as  to  counterbalance  Misa 
Iia  Creevy,  and  be  herself  an  effectual  set-off  and  atonement,  led 
Mrs.  Nickleby  into  a  consultation  wdth  her  daughter  relative  to 
certain  ribbons,  gloves,  and  trimmings,  w’hich,  being  a  compli¬ 
cated  question,  and  one  of  paramount  importance,  soon  routed 
the  previous  one,  and  put  it  to  flight. 

The  great  day  arriving,  the  good  lady  put  herself  under  Kate’s 
1  ands  an  hour  or  so  after  breakfast,  and,  dressing  by  easy  stages 
completed  her  toilet  in  sufficient  time  to  allow  of  her  daugh¬ 
ter’s  making  hers,  which  was  very  simple  and  not  very  long, 
though  so  satisfactory  that  she  had  never  appeared  more  charm¬ 
ing  or  looked  more  lovely.  Mi.ss  La  Creevy,  too,  arrived  with 
two  bandboxes  (whereof  the  bottoms  fell  out  as  they  were 


890 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


handed  from  the  coach)  and  something  in  a  newspaper,  which  a 
gentleman  had  sat  upon,  coming  down,  and  which  was  obliged 
to  be  ironed  again  before  it  was  fit  for  service.  At  last  every 
body  was  dressed,  including  Nicholas,  who  had  come  home  to 
fetch  them,  and  they  went  away  in  a  coach  sent  by  the  brothers 
for  the  purpose  :  Mrs.  Nickleby  wondering  very  much  what 
they  would  have  for  dinner,  and  cross-examining  Nicholas  as  to 
the  extent  of  his  discoveries  in  the  morning,  whether  he  had 
smelt  any  thing  cooking  at  all  like  turtle,  and  if  not,  what  he  had 
smelt ;  and  diversifying  the  conversation  with  reminiscences  of 
dinners  to  which  she  had  gone  some  twenty  years  ago,  concern¬ 
ing  which  she  particularized  not  only  the  dishes,  but  the  guests, 
in  whom  her  hearers  did  not  feel  a  very  absorbing  interest,  as 
not  one  of  them  had  ever  chanced  to  hear  their  names  before. 

The  old  butler  received  them  with  profound  respect  and  many 
smiles,  and  ushered  them  into  the  drawing  room,  where  they 
were  received  by  the  brothers  with  so  much  cordiality  and  kind¬ 
ness  that  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  quite  in  a  flutter,  and  had  scarcely 
presence  of  mind  enough  even  to  patronzn  Miss  La  Creevy.  Kate 
was  still  more  affected  by  the  reception,  for  knowing  that  the 
brothers  were  acquainted  with  all  that  had  passed  between  her 
and  Frank,  she  felt  her  position  a  most  delicate  and  trying  one, 
and  was  trembling  upon  the  arm  of  Nicholas  when  Mr.  Charles 
took  her  in  his,  and  led  her  to  another  part  of  the  room. 

“  Have  you  seen  Madeline,  my  dear,”  he  said,  “since  she  left 
your  house  ?” 

“No,  Sir?”  replied  Kate.  “Not  once.” 

“  And  not  heard  from  her,  eh  ?  Not  heard  from  her  ?” 

“I  have  only  had  one  letter,”  rejoined  Kate,  gently.  “I 
thought  she  would  not  have  forgotten  me  quite  so  soon.” 

“  Ah  I”  said  the  old  man,  patting  her  on  the  head,  and  speak¬ 
ing  as  affectionately  as  if  she  had  been  his  favorite  child.  “  Poor 
dear  !  what  do  you  think  of  this,  brother  Ned  ?  Madeline  hag 
only  written  to  her  once — only  once,  Ned,  and  she  didn’t  think 
she  would  have  forgotten  her  quite  so  soon,  Ned.” 

“  Oh  I  sad,  sad — very  sad  1”  said  Ned. 

The  brothers  interchanged  a  glance,  and  looking  at  Kate  for 
a  little  time  without  speaking,  shook  hands,  and  nodded  as  if 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


891 


they  were  congratulating  each  other  upon  something  very  de¬ 
lightful. 

'•  Well,  well,”  said  brother  Charles,  “  go  into  that  room,  my 
dear,  that  door  yonder,  and  see  if  there’s  not  a  letter  for  you 
from  her.  I  think  there’s  one  upon  the  table.  You  needn’t 
huj  ry  back,  mj  love,  if  there  is,  for  we  don’t  dine  just  yet,  and 
there’s  plenty  of  time' — plenty  of  time.” 

Kate  retired  as  she  was  directed,  and  boother  Charles  having 
followed  her  graceful  figure  with  his  eyes,  turned  to  Mrs.  Nic- 
kleby  and  said — 

“We  took  the  liberty  of  naming  one  hour  before  the  real 
dinner  time,  Ma’a-ra,  because  we  had  a  little  business  to  speak 
about,  which  would  occupy  the  interval.  ISTed,  my  dear  fellow, 
will  you  mention  what  we  agreed  upon  ?  Mr.  Nickleby,  Sir, 
have  the  goodness  to  follow  me.” 

Without  any  further  explanation,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  Miss  La 
Creevy,  and  brother  Ned,  were  left  alone  together,  and  Nicholas 
followed  brother  Charles  into  his  private  room,  where  to  his 
great  astonishment  he  encountered  Frank,  whom  he  supposed 
to  be  abroad. 

“Young  men,”  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  “shake  hands.” 

“  I  need  no  bidding  to  do  that,”  said  Nicholas,  extending  his. 

“Nor  I,”  rejoined  Frank,  as  he  clasped  it  heartily. 

The  old  gentleman  thought  that  two  handsomer  or  finer  young 
fellows  could  scarcely  stand  side  by  side  than  those  on  whom  he 
looked  with  so  mucli  pleasure.  Suffering  his  eyes  to  rest  upon 
them  for  a  short  time  in  silence,  he  said,  while  he  seated  him¬ 
self  at  his  desk, 

“  I  wish  to  see  you  friends — close  and  firm  friends — and  if 
I  thought  you  otherwise,  I  should  hesitate  in  what  I  am  about 
to  say.  Frank,  look  here.  Mr.  Nickleby,  will  you  come  on  he 
other  side  ?” 

The  young  men  stepped  up  on  either  hand  of  brother  Charles, 
who  produced  a  paper  from  his  desk  and  unfolded  it. 

“This,”  he  said,  “  is  a  copy  of  the  wdll  of  Madeline’s  mater¬ 
nal  grandfather,  bequeathing  her  the  snm  of  tw'elve  thousand 
pounds,  payable  either  upon  her  coming  of  age  or  marrying 
It  would  appear  that  this  gentleman,  angry  with  her  (his  only 
relation)  because  she.  would  not  put  herself  under  h.is  protec- 


892 


NICHOLAS  NICNLEBY. 


tion,  and  detach  herself  from  the  society  of  her  father,  in  com¬ 
pliance  with  his  repeated  overtures,  made  a  will,  leaving  this 
l)roperty,  which  was  all  he  possessed,  to  a  charitable  institution. 
He  would  seem  to  have  repented  this  determination,  however, 
for  three  weeks  afterwards,  and  in  the  same  month,  he  executed 
this.  By  some  fraud  it  was  abstracted  immediately  after  his 
decease,  and  the  other — the  only  will  found — was  proved  and 
administered.  Friendly  negotiations,  which  have  only  just  now 
terminated,  have  been  proceeding  since  this  instrument  came 
into  our  hands,  and  as  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  authenticity,  and 
the  witnesses  have  been  discovered  (after  some  trouble),  the 
money  has  been  refunded.  Madeline  has  therefore  obtained  her 
right,  and  is,  or  will  be,  when  either  of  the  contingencies  which 
I  have  mentioned  has  arisen,  mistress  of  this  fortune.  You 
understand  me  ?” 

Frank  replied  in  the  affirmative.  Nicholas,  who  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak  lest  his  voice  should  be  heard  to  falter, 
bowed  his  head. 

“  Now,  Frank,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  “  you  were  the  im¬ 
mediate  means  of  recovering  this  deed.  The  fortune  is  but  a 
small  one,  but  we  love  Madeline,  and  such  as  it  is,  we  would 
rather  see  you  allied  to  her  with  that,  than  to  any  other  girl  we 
know  who  has  three  times  the  money.  Will  you  become  a 
suitor  to  her  for  her  hand  ?” 

“  No,  Sir ;  I  interested  myself  in  the  recovery  of  that  instru¬ 
ment,  believing  that  her  hand  was  already  pledged  to  one  who 
has  a  thousand  times  the  claims  upon  her  gratitude,  and,  if  I 
mistake  not,  upon  her  heart,  than  I  or  any  other  man  can  ever 
urge.  In  this  it  seems  I  judged  hastily.” 

“As  you  always  do.  Sir,”  cried  brother  Charles,  utterly  for¬ 
getting  his  assumed  dignity,  “  as  you  always  do.  How  dare 
you  think,  Frank,  that  we  would  have  you  marry  for  money, 
when  youth,  beauty,  and  every  amiable  virtue  and  excellence, 
were  to  be  had  for  love  ?  How  dared  you,  Frank,  go  and  make 
love  to  Mr.  Nickleby’s  sister  without  telling  us  first  what  you 
meant  to  do,  and  letting  us  speak  for  you  ?” 

“  I  hardly  dared  to  hope.” 

“You  hardly  dared  to  hope !  Then,  so  much  the  greater 
reason  for  having  our  assistance.  Mr.  Nickleby,  Sir,  Frank, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


893 


although  he  judged  hastilj'^,  judged  for  once  correcily.  Made¬ 
line’s  heart  is  occupied — give  me  your  hand,  Sir ;  it  is  occupied 
by  you,  and  worthily  and  naturally.  This  fortune  is  destined 
to  be  yours,  but  you  have  a  greater  fortune  in  her.  Sir,  than  you 
would  have  in  money  were  it  forty  times  told.  She  chooses  you, 
Mr.  Nickleby.  She  chooses  as  we,  her  dearest  friends,  would 
have  her  choose.  Frank  chooses  as  we  would  have  him  choose. 
He  sliould  have  your  sister’s  little  hand.  Sir,  if  she  had  refused  it 
a  score  of  times — ay,  he  should,  and  he  shall  1  You  acted  nobly, 
not  knowing  our  sentiments,  but  now  you  know  them.  Sir,  and 
must  do  as  you  are  bid.  What  1  You  are  the  children  of  a  worthy 
gentleman  1  The  time  was.  Sir,  when  my  dear  brother  Ned  and 
I  were  two  poor,  simple-hearted  boys,  wandering  almost  barefoot 
to  seek  our  fortunes ;  are  we  changed  in  any  thing  but  years 
and  worldly  circumstances  since  that  time  ?  No,  God  forbid! 
Oh,  Ned,  Ned,  Ned,  what  a  happy  day  this  is  for  you  and  me  ;  if 
our  poor  mother  had  only  lived  to  see  us  now,  Ned,  how  proud 
it  would  have  made  her  dear  heart  at  last  1” 

Thus  apostrophized,  brother  Ned,  who  had  entered  with  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  and  who  had  been  before  unobserved  by  the  young 
men,  darted  forward,  and  fairly  hugged  brother  Charles  in  his 
arms. 

“  Bring  in  my  little  Kate,”  said  the  latter,  after  a  short  silence, 
“Bring  her  in,  Ned.  Let  me  see  Kate,  let  me  kiss  her.  I  have 
a  right  to  do  so  now ;  I  was  very  near  it  when  she  first  came  ; 
T  have  often  been  very  near  it.  Ah !  Did  you  find  the  letter, 
ray  bird?  Did  you  find  Madeline  herself,  waiting  for  you  and 
expecting  you  ?  Did  you  find  that  she  had  not  quite  forgotten 
her  friend  and  nurse  and  sweet  companion  ?  Why,  this  is  almost 
the  best  of  all !” 

“  Come,  come,”  said  Ned,  “  Frank  will  be  jealous,  and  we 
shall  have  some  cutting  of  throats  before  dinner.” 

“Then  let  him  take  her  away,  Ned,  let  him  take  her  away. 
Madeline’s  in  the  next  room.  Let  all  the  lovers  get  out  of  the 
way,  and  talk  among  themselves,  if  they’ve  any  thing  to  say. 
Turn  ’em  out,  Ned,  every  one.” 

Ib’othcr  Charles  began  the  clearance  by  leading  the  blushing 
girl  himself  to  the  door,  and  dismissing  her  with  a  kiss.  Frank 
was  not  very  slow  to  follow,  and  Nicholas  had  disappeared  first 


894 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


of  all.  So  there  only  remained  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  Miss  La 
Creevy,  who  were  both  sobbing  heartily  ;  the  two  brothers,  and 
Tim  Linkinwater,  who  now  came  in  to  shake  hands  .Tith  jveiy 
body,  his  round  face  all  radiant  and  beaming  with  smiles. 

“  Well,  Tim  Linkinwater,  Sir,”  said  brother  Charles,  who 
was  always  spokesman,  “now  the  young  folks  are  happy.  Sir.” 

“You  didn’t  keep  ’em  in  suspense  as  long  as  you  said  you 
would,  though,”  returned  Tim,  archly.  “  Why,  Mr.  Nickleby 
and  Frank  were  to  have  been  in  your  room  for  I  don’t  know  how 
long ;  and  I  don’t  know  what  you  weren’t  to  have  told  them 
before  you  came  out  with  the  truth.” 

“Now,  did  you  ever  know  such  a  villain  as  this,  Ned  ?”  said 
the  old  gentleman,  “  did  you  ever  know  such  a  villain  as  Tim 
Linkinwater  ?  He  accusing  me  of  being  impatient,  and  he  the 
very  man  who  has  been  wearying  us  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
and  torturing  us  for  leave  to  go  and  tell  ’em  what  was  in  store, 
before  our  plans  were  half  complete,  or  we  had  ari’anged  a  single 
thing — a  treacherous  dog  !” 

“So  he  is,  brother,  Charles,”  returned  Ned,  “Tim  is  a  treach¬ 
erous  dog.  Tim  is  not  to  be  trusted.  Tim  is  a  wild  young 
fellow — he  wants  gravity  and  steadiness ;  he  must  sow  his  wild 
oats,  and  then  perhaps  he’ll  become  in  time  a  respectable  mem¬ 
ber  of  society.” 

This  being  one  of  the  standing  jokes  between  the  old  fellows 
and  Tim,  they  all  three  laughed  very  heartily,  and  might  have 
laughed  much  longer,  but  that  the  brothers  seeing  that  Mrs. 
Nickleby  was  laboring  to  express  her  feelings,  and  was  really 
overwhelmed  by  the  happiness  of  the  time,  took  her  between 
them,  and  led  her  from  the  room  under  pretence  of  having  to 
consult  her  on  some  most  important  arrangements. 

Now  Tim  and  Miss  La  Creevy  had  met  very  often,  and  had 
always  been  very  chatty  and  pleasant  together — had  always  been 
great  friends — and  consequently  it  was  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  that  Tim,  finding  that  she  still  sobbed,  should  en¬ 
deavor  to  console  her.  As  Miss  La  Creevy  sat  on  a  large  old- 
fashioned  window-seat,  where  there  was  ample  room  for  two,  it 
was  also  natural  that  Tim  should  sit  down  beside  her ;  and  as 
to  Tim’s  being  unusually  spruce  and  particular  in  his  attire  that 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 


895 


V  day,  why  it  was  a  high  festival  and  a  great  occasion,  and  tliat 
was  the  most  natural  thing  of  all, 

Tim  sat  down  beside  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  crossing  one  leg 
over  the  other  so  that  his  foot — he  had  very  comely  feet,  and 
happened  to  be  wearing  the  neatest  shoes  and  black  silk  stock¬ 
ings  possible — should  come  easily  within  the  range  of  her  eye, 
said  in  a  soothing  way : 

“  Don’t  cry.” 

“I  must,”  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

“No,  don’t,”  said  Tim.  “Please  don’t:  pray  don’t.” 

“  I  am  so  happy !”  sobbed  the  little  woman. 

“Then  laugh,”  said  Tim,  “do  laugh.” 

AVhat  in  the  world  Tim  was  doing  with  his  arm  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  to  conjecture,  but  he  knocked  his  elbow  against  that  part 
of  the  window  which  was  quite  on  the  other  side  of  Miss  La 
Creevy  ;  and  it  is  clear  that  it  conld  have  no  business  there. 

“Do  laugh,”  said  Tim,  “or  I’ll  cry.” 

“  Why  should  you  cry  ?”  asked  Miss  La  Creevy,  smiling 

“Because  I’m  happy  too,”  said  Tim.  “We  are  both  happy, 
and  I  should  like  to  do  as  you  do.” 

Surely  there  never  was  a  man  who  fidgetted  as  Tim  must  have 
done  then,  for  he  knocked  the  window  again — almost  in  the 
same  place — and  Miss  La  Creevy  said  she  was  sure  he’d  break  it. 

“  I  knew,”  said  Tim,  “  that  you  would  be  pleased  with  this 
scene.” 

“  It  was  very  thoughtful  and  kind  to  remember  me,”  returned 
Miss  La  Creevy.  “Nothing  could  have  delighted  me  half  so 
much.” 

Why  on  earth  should  Miss  La  Creevy  and  Tim  Linkiiuvater 
have  said  all  this  in  a  whisper  !  It  was  no  secret.  And  why 
should  Tim  Linkinwater  have  looked  so  hard  at  Miss  La  Creevy, 
and  why  should  Miss  La  Creevy  have  looked  so  hard  at  the 
ground  ? 

“  It’s  a  pleasant  thing,”  said  Tim,  “  to  people  like  us,  who 
have  passed  all  our  lives  in  the  world  alone,  to  see  young  folks 
that  we  are  fond  of  brought  together  with  so  many  years  of 
happiness  before  them.” 

“  Ah  I”  cried  the  little  woman,  with  all  her  heart,  “  that  it  is  !” 

51 


890 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBr. 


“ Altliougli,”  pursued  Tim — “although  it  makes  oue  feel 
quite  solitary  and  cast  away — now  don’t  it  ?” 

Miss  La  Creevy  said  she  didn’t  know.  And  why  should  she 
say  she  didn’t  know  ?  Because  she  must  have  known  whether 
it  did  or  not. 

“It’s  almost  enough  to  make  us  get  married  after  all,  isn’t 
it  ?”  said  Tim. 

“  Oh  nonsense  1”  replied  Miss  La  Creevy,  laughing,  “we  are 
loo  old.” 

“Not  a  bit!”  said  Tim,  “  we  are  too  old  to  be  single — why 
shouldn’t  we  both  be  married  instead  of  sitting  through  the  long 
winter  evenings  by  our  solitary  firesides  ?  Why  shouldn’t  we 
make  one  fireside  of  it,  and  marry  each  other  ?” 

“Oh,  Mr.  lunkinwater,  you’re  joking  !” 

“  No,  no,  I’m  not.  I’m  not,  indeed,”  said  Tim.  “  I  will  if 
you  will.  Do,  my  dear.” 

“  It  would  make  people  laugh  so.” 

“  Let  ’em  laugh,”  cried  Tim,  stoutly,  “  we  have  good  tempers, 
I  know,  and  we’ll  laugh  too.  Why  what  hearty  laughs  we  have 
had  since  we  have  known  each  other.” 

“  So  we  have,”  cried  Miss  La  Creevy — giving  way  a  little,  as 
Tim  thought. 

“  It  has  been  the  happiest  time  in  all  ray  life — at  least,  away 
from  the  counting-house  and  Cheeryble  Brothers,”  said  Tim 
“  Do,  my  dear.  Now  say  you  will.” 

“No,  no,  we  mustn’t  think  of  it,”  returned  Miss  La  Creevy. 
“  What  would  the  brothers  say  ?” 

“  Why,  God  bless  your  soul  1”  cried  Tim,  innocently,  “you 
don’t  suppose  I  should  think  of  such  a  thing  without  their  know¬ 
ing  it  1  Why  they  left  us  here  on  purpose.” 

“I  can  never  look  ’em  in  the  face  again!”  exclaimed  Miss 
liQ  Creevy,  faintly. 

“  Come,”  said  Tim,  let’s  be  a  comfortable  couple.  We  shall 
live  in  the  old  house  here,  where  I  have  been  for  four-and-forty 
year ;  w'e  shall  go  to  the  old  church,  where  I’ve  been  every 
Sumlay  morning  all  through  that  time  :  we  shall  have  all  my 
old  friends  about  us — Dick,  the  archway,  the  pump,  the  flowcr- 
pols,  and  Mr.  Frank’s  children,  and  Mr.  Nickleby’s  children, 
that  we  shall  seem  like  grandfather  and  grandmother  to.  Let’s 


oh:  MR.  LIXKINWATER,  YOURE  JOKING. 


■  ;  f 


I 


- 


/ 


Jr 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


897 


be  a  comfortable  couple,  and  take  care  of  each  other,  and  if  we 
should  get  deaf,  or  lame,  or  blind,  or  bed-rulden,  how  glad  we 
shall  be  that  we  have  somebody  we  are  fond  of  always  to  talk 
to  and  sit  with  I  Let’s  be  a  comfortable  couple.  Now  do,  my 
dear.” 

Five  minutes  after  this  honest  and  straight-forward  speech, 
little  Miss  La  Creevy  and  Tim  were  talking  as  pleasantly  as  if 
they  had  been  married  for  a  score  of  years,  and  had  never  once 
quarreled  all  the  time  ;  and  five  minutes  after  that,  when  Miss  La 
Creevy  had  bustled  out  to  see  if  her  eyes  were  red  and  put  her 
hair  to  rights,  Tim  moved  with  a  stately  step  towards  the  draw¬ 
ing-room,  exclaiming  as  he  went,  “  There  ain’t  such  another 
woman  in  all  London — I  know  there  ain’t.” 

By  this  time  the  apoplectic  butler  was  nearly  in  fits,  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  the  unheard-of  postponement  of  dinner.  Nicholas, 
who  had  been  engaged  in  a  manner  which  every  reader  may 
imagine  for  himself  or  herself,  was  hurrying  down  stairs  in 
obedience  to  his  angry  summons  when  he  encountered  a  new 
surprise. 

Upon  his  way  down,  he  overtook  in  one  of  the  passages  a 
stranger  genteelly  dressed  in  black  w^ho  was  also  moving  towards 
the  dining-room.  As  he  wms  rather  lame,  and  walked  slowly, 
Nicholas  lingered  behind,  and  was  following  him  step  by  step, 
wondering  who  he  was,  when  he  suddenly  turned  round  and 
caught  him  by  both  hands. 

“  Newman  Noggs  !”  cried  Nicholas,  joyfully. 

“  Ah  1  Newman,  your  own  Newman,  your  own  old  faithful 
Newman.  My  dear  boy,  my  dear  Nick,  I  give  you  joy — health, 
happiness,  every  blessing.  I  can’t  bear  it,  it’s  too  much,  my 
dear  boy — it  makes  a  child  of  me  1’’’ 

“  Where  have  you  been?”  said  Nicholas,  '‘what  have  you 
been  doing  1  How  often  have  I  inquired  for  you,  and  been  told 
that  I  should  hear  before  longl” 

“I  know,  I  know,”  returned  Newman,  “they  wanted  all  the 
happiness  to  come  together.  I’ve  been  helping  ’em.  I — i — 
look  at  me,  Nick,  look  at  me.” 

“You  would  never  let  me  do  that,”  said  Nicholas,  in  a  tone 
of  gentle  reproach. 

"  I  didn’t  mind  what  I  was  then.  I  shouldn’t  have  had  the 


898 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


heart  to  put  on  gentlemen’s  clothes.  They  would  have  reminded 
me  of  old  times  and  made  me  miserable ;  I  arn  another  man, 
now,  Nick.  My  dear  boy,  I  can’t  speak — don’t  say  any  thing 
to  me — don’t  think  the  worse  of  me  for  these  tears — you  don’t 
know  what  I  feel  to-day  :  you  can’t  and  never  will  !” 

They  walked  in  to  dinner  arm-in-arm,  and  sat  down  side  by 
side. 

Never  was  such  a  dinner  as  that  since  the  world  began. 
There  was  the  superannuated  bank  clerk,  Tim  Linkinwater’s 
friend,  and  there  was  the  chubby  old  lady,  Tim  Linkin water’s 
sister,  and  there  was  so  much  attention  from  Tim  Linkinwater’s 
sister  to  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  there  were  so  many  jokes  from 
the  superannuated  bank  clerk,  and  Tim  Linkinwater  himself  was 
in  such  tiptop  spirits,  and  little  Miss  La  Creevy  was  in  such  a 
comical  state,  that  of  themselves  they  would  have  composed  the 
pleasantest  party  conceivable.  Then  there  was  Mrs.  Nickleby 
BO  grand  and  complacent,  Madeline  and  Kate  so  blushing  and 
beautiful,  Nieholas  and  Frank  so  devoted  and  proud,  and  all  four 
so  silently  and  tremblingly  happy — there  was  Newman  so  sub¬ 
dued  yet  so  overjoyed,  and  there  were  the  twin  brothers  so  de¬ 
lighted,  and  interchanging  such  looks,  that  the  old  servant  stood 
transfixed  behind  his  master’s  chair,  and  felt  his  eyes  grow  dim 
as  they  wandered  round  the  table. 

When  the  first  novelty  of  the  meeting  had  woni  off,  and  they 
began  truly  to  feel  how  happy  they  were,  the  conversation  be¬ 
came  more  general  and  the  harmony  and  pleasure,  if  possible, 
increased.  The  brothers  were  in  a  perfect  ecstacy,  and  their 
insisting  on  saluting  the  ladies  all  round  before  they  would  per¬ 
mit  them  to  retire,  gave  occasion  to  the  superannuated  bank 
clerk  to  say  so  many  good  things  that  he  quite  outshone  him¬ 
self,  and  was  looked  upon  as  a  prodigy  of  humor. 

“  Kate,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  taking  her  daughter 
aside — directly  they  got  up  stairs,  “you  don’t  really  mean  to 
tell  me  that  this  is  actually  true  about  Miss  La  Creevy  and 
Mr.  Linkinwater  ?” 

“  Indeed  it  is,  mamma.” 

“  Why  I  never  heard  such  a  thing  in  my  life  1”  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Nickleby 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV. 


899 


“Mr.  Linkinwater  is  a  most  excellent  creature,”  reasoned 
Kate,  “and  for  his  age,  quite  young  still.” 

“For  his  age,  my  dear  1”  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  “yes; 
nobody  says  any  thing  aginst  him,  except  that  I  think  he  is  the 
weakest  and  most  foolish  man  I  ever  knew.  It’s  hei-  age  I 
speak  of.  That  he  should  have  gone  and  otiered  himself  to  a 
woman  who  must  be^ — ah,  half  as  old  again  as  I  am,  and  that 
sne  should  have  dared  to  accept  him  I  It  don’t  signify,  Kate ; 
— I’m  disgusted  with  her  I” 

Shaking  her  head  very  emphatically  indeed,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
swept  away;  and  all  the  evening,  in  the  midst  of  the  merriment 
and  enjoyment  that  ensued,  and  in  which,  with  that  exception, 
she  freely  participated,  conducted  herself  towards  Miss  La 
Creevy  in  a  stately  and  distant  manner,  de.signed  to  mark  her 
sense  of  the  impropriety  of  her  conduct,  and  to  signify  he  ex¬ 
treme  and  cutting  disapprobation  of  the  misdemeanor  she  had 
80  flagrantly  committed. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  IS  RECOGNIZED  UNDER  MELANCHOLY 

CIRCUMSTANCES,  AND  DOTHEBOYS  HALL  BREAKS  UP  FOR 

EVER. 

Nicholas  was  one  of  those  whose  joy  is  incomplete  unless 
it  is  shared  by  the  friends  of  adverse  and  less  fortunate  days. 
Surrounded  by  every  fascination  of  love  and  hope,  his- warm 
heart  yearned  towards  plain  John  Browdie.  He  remembered 
their  first  meeting  with  a  smile,  and  their  second  with  a  tear ; 
saw  poor  Smike  once  again  with  the  bundle  on  his  shoulder 
trudging  patiently  by  his  side,  and  heard  the  honest  Yorkshire- 
man’s  rough  words  of  encouragement  as  he  left  them  on  their 
road  to  London. 

Madeline  and  he  sat  down  very  many  times,  jointly  to  pro¬ 
duce  a  letter  which  should  acquaint  John  at  full  length  v.dth  his 
altered  fortunes,  and  assure  him  of  his  friendship  and  gratitude. 
It  so  happened,  however,  that  the  letter  could  never  be  written. 
Although  they  applied  themselves  to  it  with  the  best  intentions 
in  the  world,  it  chanced  that  they  always  fell  to  talking  about 
something  else,  and  when  Nicholas  tried  it  by  himself,  he  found  it 
impossible  to  write  one  half  of  what  he  wished  to  say,  or  to  pen 
any  thing,  indeed,  which  on  reperusal  did  not  appear  cold  and 
unsatisfactory  compared  with  what  he  had  in  his  mind.  At 
last,  after  going  on  thus  from  day  to  day,  and  reproaching  him¬ 
self  more  and  more,  he  resolved  (the  more  readily  as  Madeline 
strongly  urged  him)  to  make  a  hasty  trip  into  Yorkshire,  and 
present  himself  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie  without  a  word 
of  notice. 

Thus  it  was  that  between  seven  and  eight  o’clock  one  ever- 
ing,  he  and  Kate  found  themselves  in  the  Saracen’s  Head  book¬ 
ing-office,  securing  a  place  to  Greta  Bridge  by  the  next  morning’a 
coach.  They  had  to  go  westward  to  procure  some  little  neces- 
(900) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


901 


Barics  for  his  journey,  and  as  it  was  a  fine  night,  they  agreed  to 
walk  there  and  ride  home. 

The  place  they  had  just  been  in  called  up  so  many  recollec¬ 
tions,  and  Kate  had  so  many  anecdotes  of  Madeline,  and  Nicho¬ 
las  so  many  anecdotes  of  Frank,  and  each  was  so  interested  in 
what  the  other  said,  and  both  were  so  happy  and  confiding,  and 
had  so  much  to  talk  about,  that  it  was  not  until  they  had 
plunged  for  a  full  half  hour  into  that  labyrinth  of  streets  which 
lies  between  Seven  Dials  and  Soho  without  emerging  into  any 
large  thoroughfare,  that  Nicholas  began  to  think  it  just  possil)ly 
they  might  have  lost  their  way. 

The  possibility  was  soon  converted  into  a  certainty,  for  on 
looking  about,  and  walking  first  to  one  end  of  the  street  and 
then  to  the  other,  he  could  find  no  land-mark  he  could  recog¬ 
nize,  and  was  fain  to  turn  back  again  in  quest  of  some  place 
at  which  he  could  seek  a  direction. 

It  was  a  by-street,  and  there  was  nobody  about,  or  in  the 
few  wretched  shops  they  passed.  Making  towards  a  faint 
gleam  of  light,  which  stream  3d  across  the  pavement  from  a 
cellar,  Nicholas  was  about  to  descend  two  or  three  steps  so  as 
to  render  himself  visible  to  those  below  and  make  his  inquiry, 
when  he  was  arrested  by  a  loud  noise  of  scolding  in  a  woman’s 
voice. 

“  Oh^  come  away  1”  said  Kate,  “they  are  quarreling.  You’ll 
be  hurt.” 

“Wait  one  instant,  Kate.  Let  us  hear  if  there’s  any  thing 
the  matter,”  returned  her  brother.  “Hush  !” 

“You  nasty,  idle,  vicious,  good-for-nothing  brute,”  cried  the 
woman,  stamping  on  the  ground,  “why  don’t  you  turn  the 
mangle  ?” 

“  So  I  im,  my  life  and  soul  I”  replied  a  man’s  voice.  “  I  am 
always  turning,  I  am  perpetually  turning,  like  a  demd  old  horse 
in  a  demnition  mill.  My  life  is  one  demd  horrid  grind  !” 

“  Then  why  don’t  you  go  and  list  for  a  soldier  ?”  retorted 
the  woman,  “you’re  welcome  to.” 

“  For  a  soldier  !”  cried  the  man.  “  For  a  soldier  ?  AVonld 
his  joy  and  gladness  see  him  in  a  coarse  red  coat  with  a  little 
tail  ?  W^ould  she  hear  of  his  being  slapped  and  beat  by  drum¬ 
mers  damnebly  ?  Would  she  have  him  fire  off  real  guns,  and 


902 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


have  his  hair  cut  and  his  whiskers  shaved,  and  his  eyes  turned 
right  and  left,  and  his  trousers  pipe-clayed  ?” 

"Dear  Nicholas,”  whispered  Kate,  "you  don’t  know  who 
that  is.  "  It’s  Mr.  Mantalini,  I  am  confident.” 

“Do  make  sure ;  peep  at  him  while  I  ask  the  way,”  said  Ni 
cholas.  "  Come  down  a  step  or  two — come.” 

Drawing  her  after  him,  Nicholas  crept  down  the  steps  and 
looked  into  a  small  boarded  cellar.  There,  amidst  clothes-bas¬ 
kets  and  clothes,  stripped  to  his  shirt-sleeves,  but  wearing  still 
an  old  patched  pair  of  pantaloons  of  superlative  make,  a  once  bril¬ 
liant  waistcoat,  and  moustache  and  whiskers  as  of  yore,  but  lack¬ 
ing  their  lustrous  dye — there,  endeavoring  to  mollify  the  wrath 
of  a  buxom  female,  the  proprietress  of  the  concern,  and  grinding 
meanwhile  as  if  for  very  life  at  the  mangle,  whose  creaking  noise, 
mingled  with  her  shrill  tones,  appeared  almost  to  deafen  him — 
there  was  the  graceful,  elegant,  fascinating,  and  once  dashing 
Mantalini. 

"  Oh,  you  false  traitor  1”  cried  the  lady,  threatening  personal 
violence  on  Mr.  Mantalini’s  face. 

"  False  1  Oh  dem  I  Now  my  soul,  my  gentle,  captivating,  be 
witching,  and  most  demnebly  enslaving  chick-a-biddy,  be  calm,” 
said  Mr.  Mantalini,  humbly. 

"I  won’t,”  screamed  the  woman.  “I’ll  tear  your  eyes  out!” 

"  Oh  !  What  a  demd  savage  lamb  !”  cried  Mr.  Mantalini. 

"You’re  never  to  be  trusted,”  screamed  the  woman,  "you 
were  out  all  day  yesterday,  and  gallivanting  somewhere,  I  know 
. — you  know  you  were.  Isn’t  it  enough  that  I  paid  two  pound 
fourteen  for  you,  and  took  yon  out  of  prison  and  let  you  live 
hero  like  a  gentleman,  but  must  you  go  on  like  this  :  breaking 
iny  heart  besides  ?” 

“  I  will  never  break  its  heart,  I  will  be  a  good  boy,  and  never 
do  so  any  more  ;  I  will  never  be  naughty  again  ;  I  beg  its  little 
pardon,”  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  dropping  the  handle  of  the  mangle, 
and  folding  his  palms  together,  "it  is  all  up  with  its  handsome 
friend,  he  has  gone  to  the  demnition  bow-wows.  It  will  have  pity  ? 
it  will  not  scratch  and  claw,  but  pet  and  comfort  ?  Oh,  demmit.” 

Very  little  affected,  to  judge  from  her  action,  by  this  tender 
appeal,  the  lady  was  on  the  poini  of  returning  some  angry  reply, 
when  Nicholas,  raising  his  voice,  asked  his  way  to  Piccadilly, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


908 


Mr.  Mantalini  turned  round,  caught  sight  of  Kate,  and,  with¬ 
out  another  word,  leapt  at  one  bound  into  a  bed  whicdi  stood 
behind  the  door,  and  drew  the  counterpane  over  his  face,  kick¬ 
ing  meanwhile  convulsively. 

“  Pemmit,”  he  cried,  in  a  sulfocaling  voice,  “  it’s  little  Nicklc- 
by  1  Shut  the  door,  put  out  the  candle,  turn  me  up  in  the  bed¬ 
stead  ;  oh,  dem,  dera,  dera  1” 

The  woman  looked  first  at  Nicholas,  and  then  at  Mr.  Man- 
lalini,  as  if  uncertain  on  whom  to  visit  this  extraordinary  beha¬ 
vior,  but  Mr.  Mantalirvi  happening  by  ill  luck  to  thrust  his  nose 
from  under  the  bed-clothes,  in  his  an.xiety  to  ascertain  whether 
the  visitors  were  gone,  she  suddenly,  and  with  a  dexterity  which 
could  only  have  been  acquired  by  long  practice,  flung  a  pretty 
heavy  clothes-basket  at  him,  with  so  good  an  aim,  that  he  kicked 
more  violently  than  before,  though  without  venturing  to  make 
any  effort  to  disengage  his  head,  which  was  quite  extinguished. 
Thinking  this  a  favorable  opportunity  for  departing  before  any 
of  the  torrent  of  her  wrath  discharged  itself  upon  him,  Nicholas 
hurried  Kate  off,  and  left  the  unfortunate  subject  of  this  unex¬ 
pected  recognition  to  explain  his  conduct  as  he  best  could. 

The  next  morning  he  began  his  journey.  It  was  now  cold, 
winter  weather,  forcibly  recalling  to  his  mind  under  what  cir¬ 
cumstances  he  had  first  traveled  that  road,  and  how  many  vicis¬ 
situdes  and  changes  he  had  since  undergone.  He  was  alone 
inside  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  and  sometimes,  when  he  had 
fallen  into  a  dose,  and,  rousing  himself,  looked  out  of  the  win¬ 
dow,  and  recognized  some  place  which  he  well  remembered  as 
having  passed  either  on  his  journey  down,  or  in  the  long  walk 
back  with  poor  Smike,  he  could  hardly  believe  but  that  all  which 
had  since  happened  had  been  a  dream,  and  that  they  were  still 
plodding  wearily  on  towards  London,  with  the  world  before 
them. 

To  render  these  recollections  the  more  vivid,  it  came  on  to 
snow  as  night  set  in,  and  passing  through  Stamford  and  Graii- 
thani.  and  by  the  little  alehouse  where  he  had  heard  the  story 
of  tne  Dold  Baron  of  Grogswig,  everything  looked  as  if  he  had 
seen  it  but  yesterday,  and  not  even  a  flake  of  the  white  (;nist 
upon  the  roofs  had  melted  away.  Encouraging  the  train  of 
ideas  which  flocked  upon  him,  he  could  almost  persuade  him- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


?}04 

self  that  be  sat  again  outside  the  coach,  with  Squeers  and  the 
boys,  that  he  heard  their  voices  in  the  air,  and  that  he  felt  again, 
but  with  a  mingled  sensation  of  pain  and  pleasure  now,  that  old 
sinking  of  the  heart  and  longing  after  home.  While  he  was  yet 
yielding  himself  up  to  these  fancies  he  fell  asleep,  and  dreaming 
of  Madeline,  forgot  them. 

He  slept  at  the  inn  at  Greta  Bridge  on  the  night  of  his  arri¬ 
val,  and,  rising  at  a  very  early  hour  next  morning,  walked  to  the 
market  town,  and  inquired  for  John  Browdie’s  house.  John 
lived  in  the  outskirts  now  he  was  a  family  man,  and,  as  every 
body  knew  him,  Nicholas  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  boy  who 
undertook  to  guide  him  to  his  residence. 

Dismissing  his  guide  at  the  gate,  and  in  his  impatience  not 
even  stopping  to  admire  the  thriving  look  of  cottage  or  garden 
either,  Nicholas  made  his  way  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  knocked 
lustily  with  his  stick. 

“  Halloa  I”  cried  a  voice  inside,  “  waa’t  be  the  matther  noo? 
Be  the  toon  a-fire  ?  Ding,  but  thou  mak’est  noise  eneaf!” 

With  these  words  John  Browdie  opened  the  door  himself,  and 
opening  his  eyes  too  to  their  utmost  width,  cried,  as  he  clapped 
hie  hands  together  and  burst  into  a  hearty  roar, 

“  Ecod,  it  be  the  godfeyther,  it  be  the  godfeyther  I  Tilly, 
here  be  Misther  Nickleby.  Gi’  us  thee  bond,  raun.  Cooin 
awa’,  coom  awa’.  In  wi’  un,  doon  beside  the  fire ;  tak’  a  soop 
o’  thot.  Dinnot  say  a  word  till  thou’st  droonk  it  a’,  oop  wi’  it, 
mun.  Ding  I  but  I’m  reeght  glod  to  see  thee.” 

Adapting  his  action  to  his  text,  John  dragged  Nicholas  into 
the  kitchen,  forced  him  down  upon  a  huge  settle  beside  a  bla¬ 
zing  fire,  poured  out  from  an  enormous  bottle  about  a  quarter 

a  ])int  of  spirits,  thrust  it  into  his  hand,  opened  his  mouth, 
and  threw  back  his  head  as  a  sign  to  him  to  drink  it  instantly, 
and  stood  with  a  broad  grin  of  welcome  overspreading  his  great 
red  face,  like  a  jolly  giant. 

“I  might  ha’  knowa’d,”  said  John,  “  that  nobody  but  thon 
would  ha’  coora  wi’  sike  a  knock  as  yon  Thot  was  the  wa’ 
thou  knocked  at  schoolrneasther’s  door,  eh  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  But 
I  say — waa’t  be  a’  this  about  schoolmeasther  ?” 

“  You  know  it.  then  ?”  said  Nicholas. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


905 


“  They  were  talking  about  it  doon  toon  last  neeght,”  replied 
John,  “but  neane  on  ’em  seemed  quite  to  nn’erstan’  itloike.” 

“After  various  shiftings  and  delays,”  said  Nicholas,  “he  has 
been  sentenced  to  be  transported  for  seven  years,  for  being  in 
the  unlawful  possession  of  a  stolen  will ;  and  after  that,  he  has 
to  suffer  the  consequence  of  a  conspiracy.” 

“  Whew  I”  cried  John,  “  a  conspiracy  1  Sooma’tin  thepooder 
plot  wa’ — eh  ?  Sooma’t  in  the  Guy  Fanrx  line  ?” 

“No,  no,  no,  a.  conspiracy  connected  with  his  school;  I’ll 
explain  it  presently.” 

“Thot’s  reeght  1”  said  John,  “explain  it  arter  breakfast,  not 
noo,  for  thou  bees’t  hoongry,  and  so  am  I  ;  and  Tilly  she  mnn’ 
be  at  the  bottom  o’  a’  explanations,  for  she  say’s  thot’s  the 
mutual  confidence  I  Ila,  ha.  ha  1  Ecod  it’s  a  room  start  is 
the  mutual  confidence !” 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Browdie  with  a  smart  cap  on,  and  very 
many  apologies  for  their  having  been  detected  in  the  act  of 
oreakfasting  in  the  kitchen,  stopped  John  in  his  discussion  of 
this  grave  subject,  and  hastened  the  breakfast,  which  being  com¬ 
posed  of  vast  mounds  of  toast,  new-laid  eggs,  boiled  ham,  York¬ 
shire  pie,  and  other  cold  substantials  (of  which  heavy  relays 
were  constantly  appearing  from  another  kitchen  under  the  direc¬ 
tion  of  a  very  plump  servant),  was  admirably  adapted  to  the 
cold  bleak  morning,  and  received  the  utmost  justice  from  all 
parties.  At  last  it  came  to  a  close,  and  the  fire  which  had  been 
lighted  in  the  best  parlor  having  by  this  time  burnt  up,  they 
adjourned  thither  to  hear  what  Nicholas  had  to  tell. 

Nicholas  told  them  all,  and  never  was  there  a  story  which 
awakened  so  many  emotions  in  the  breasts  of  two  eager  listen¬ 
ers.  At  one  time  honest  John  groane^l  in  sympathy,  and  at 
another  roared  with  joy;  at  one  time  he  vowed  to  go  up  to 
London  on  purpose  to  get  a  sight  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryl)le, 
and  at  another  swore  that  Tim  Linkinwater  should  receive  such 
a  ham  by  coach  and  carriage  free,  as  mortal  knife  had  never 
carved.  When  Nicholas  t)egan  to  describe  Madeline,  he  sat 
with  his  mouth  wide  open  nudging  Mrs.  Jirowdie  from  time  to 
time,  and  exclaiming  under  his  breath  that  she  must  be  “raa’ther 
a  tidy  sort,”  and  when  he  heard  at  last  that  his  young  friend 
bad  come  down  purposely  to  communicate  his  good  fortune,  and 


906 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


to  convey  to  him  all  those  assurances  of  friendship  which  he 
could  not  state  with  sufficient  warmth  in  writing — that  the  only 
object  of  his  journey  was  to  share  his  happiness  with  them,  and 
to  tell  them  that  when  he  was  married  they  must  come  up  to 
see  him,  and  that  Madeline  insisted  on  it  as  well  as  he — John 
could  hold  out  no  longer,  but  after  looking  indignantly  at  his 
wife,  and  demanding  to  know  what  she  was  whimpering  for,  drew 
his  coat  sleeve  over  his  eyes  and  blubbered  outright. 

“  Tell’ee  waa’t,  though,”  said  John,  seriously,  when  a  great 
deal  had  been  said  on  both  sides,  “to  return  to  schoolmeasther  : 
if  this  news  aboot  ’un  has  reached  school  to-day,  the  old  ’oomau 
vvoan’t  have  a  whole  boan  in  her  boddy,  nor  Fanny  neither.” 

“  Oh  John  I”  cried  Mrs.  Browdie. 

“  Ah  !  and  Oh  John  agean,”  replied  the  Yorkshireman.  “  I 
dinnot  know  what  they  lads  mightn’t  do.  When  it  first  got 
aboot  that  schoolmeasther  was  in  trouble,  some  feythers  and 
raoothers  sent  and  took  their  yoong  chaps  awa’.  If  them  as  is 
left  should  know  waa’ts  coom  tiv’un,  there’ll  be  sike  a  revolu¬ 
tion  and  rebel  ! — Ding  1  But  1  think  they’ll  a’  gang  daft,  and 
spill  bluidlike  watherl” 

In  fact  John  Browdie’s  apprehensions  were  so  strong  that  he 
determined  to  ride  over  to  the  school  without  delay,  and  invited 
Nicholas  to  accompany  him,  which  however  he  declined,  plead¬ 
ing  that  his  presence  might  perhaps  aggravate  the  bitterness  of 
their  adversity. 

“Thot’s  true!”  said  John,  “I  should  ne’er  ha’  thought  o’ 
thot.  ” 

“  I  must  return  to-morrow,”  said  Nicholas,  “  but  I  mean  to 
dine  with  you  to-day,  and  if  Mrs.  Browdie  can  give  me  a  bed — ” 

“  Bed  !”  cried  John,  “  I  wish  thou  could’st  sleep  in  fowerbeds 
at  onee.  Ecod  thou  should’st  have  ’em  a’.  Bide  till  I  coom 
l>ack,  on’y  bide  till  I  coom  back,  and  ecod  we’ll  mak’  a  day  of 
it.” 

Giving  his  wife  a  hearty  kiss,  and  Nicholas  a  no  less  hearty 
sliake  of  the  hand,  John  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off  :  leaving 
Mrs.  Browdie  to  apply  herself  to  hospitable  preparations,  and 
his  young  friend  to  stroll  about  the  neighborhood,  and  revisit 
spots  which  were  rendered  familiar  to  him  by  many  a  miserable 
association 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


907 


John  cantered  away,  and  arriving  at  Dotheboys  Hall  tied  his 
horse  to  a  gate  and  made  his  A^ay  to  the  schoolroom  door,  which 
he  found  locked  on  the  inside.  A  tremendous  noise  and  riot 
arose  from  within,  and  applying  his  eye  to  a  convenient  crevice 
in  the  wall,  he  did  not  remain  long  in  ignorance  of  its  meaning. 

The  news  of  Mr.  Squeers’s  downfall  had  reached  Dotheboys  ; 
that  was  quite  clear.  To  all  appearance  it  had  very  recently 
become  known  to  the  young  gentlemen,  for  the  rebellion  had 
just  broken  out. 

It  was  one  of  the  brimstone-and-treacle  mornings,  and  Mrs. 
Squeers  had  entered  school  according  to  custom  with  the  large- 
bowl  and  spoon,  followed  by  Miss  Squeers  and  the  amiable 
Wackford,  who  during  his  father’s  absence  had  taken  upon  him 
such  minor  branches  of  the  e.xecutive  as  kicking  the  pupils  with 
his  nailed  boots,  pulling  the  hair  of  some  of  the  smaller  boys, 
pinching  the  others  in  aggravating  places,  and  rendering  him¬ 
self  in  various  similar  ways  a  great  comfort  and  happiness  to 
his  mother.  Their  entrance,  whether  by  premeditation  or  a  simul¬ 
taneous  impulse,  was  the  signal  of  revolt.  While  one  detach¬ 
ment  rushed  to  the  door  and  locked  it,  and  another  mounted 
upon  the  desks  and  forms,  the  stoutest  (and  coiisequently  the 
newest)  boy  seized  the  cane,  and  confronting  Mrs.  Squeers  with 
a  stern  countenance,  snatched  off  her  cap  and  beaver  bonnet, 
put  it  on  his  own  head,  armed  himself  with  the  wooden  spoon, 
and  bade  her,  on  pain  of  death,  go  down  upon  her  knees,  and 
lake  a  dose  directly.  Before  that  estimable  lady  could  recover 
herself  or  offer  the  slightest  retaliation,  she  was  forced  into  a 
kneeling  posture  by  a  crowd  of  shouting  tormentors,  and  com- 
jielled  to  swallow  a  spoonful  of  the  odious  mixture,  rendered 
more  than  usually  savoury  by  the  immersion  in  the  bowl  of 
Master  Wackford’s  head,  whose  ducking  was  entrusted  to 
another  rebel.  The  success  of  this  first  achievement  prompted 
the  malicious  crowd,  whose  faces  were  clustered  together  in 
every  variety  of  lank  and  half-starved  ugliness,  to  further  acts 
of  outrage.  The  leader  was  insisting  upon  Mrs.  Squeers 
repeating  her  dose,  Master  Squeers  was  undei'going  another  dip 
ii;  the  treacle,  and  a  violent  assault  had  been  commenced  on 
Miss  Squeers,  when  John  Browdie,  bursting  open  the  door  with 
one  vigorous  kick,  rushed  to  the  rescue.  The  shouts,  screams. 


908 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


groans,  hoots,  and  clapping  of  hands,  suddenly  ceased,  and  a 
dead  silence  ensued. 

“Ye  be  noice  chaps,”  said  John,  looking  steadily  round. 
“  What’s  to  do  here,  thou  yoong  dogs  1” 

“Squeers  is  in  prison,  and  we  are  going  to  run  away !”  cried 
a  score  of  shrill  voices.  “We  won’t  stop,  we  won’t  stop  !” 

“Weel  then,  dinnot  stop,”  replied  John,  “who  waants  thee 
to  stop  ?  Roon  awa’  loike  men,  but  dinnot  hurt  the  women.” 

“  Hurrah  !”  cried  the  shrill  voices,  more  shrilly  still. 

“Hurrah  I”  repeated  John.  “Weel,  hurrah  loike  men  too. 
Noo  then,  loolt  out.  Hip — hip — hip— hurrah  !” 

“Hurrah  !”  cried  the  voices. 

“Hurrah  agean,”  said  John.  “Looder  still.” 

The  boys  obeyed. 

“  Anoother  I”  said  John.  “Dinnot  be  afeared  on  it.  Let’s 
have  a  good  ’un.” 

“  Hurrah  I” 

“Noo  then,”  says  John,  “let’s  have  yan  more  to  end  wi’,  and 
then  cut  off  as  quick  as  you  loike.  Tak’  a  good  breath  noo — 
Squeers  be  in  jail — the  school’s  brokken  oop — it’s  a’  ower — past 
and  gane — think  o’  thot,  and  let  it  be  a  hearty  ’nn.  Hurrah  !” 

Such  a  cheer  arose  as  the  walls  of  Dotheboys  Hall  had  never 
echoed  before,  and  were  destined  never  to  respond  to  again. 
When  the  sound  had  died  away  the  school  was  empty,  and  of 
the  busy  noisy  crowd  which  had  peopled  it  but  five  minutes  be¬ 
fore,  not  one  remained. 

“Very  well,  Mr.  Browdie!”  said  Miss  Squeers,  hot  and 
flushed  from  the  recent  encounter,  but  vixenish  to  the  last ; 
“you’ve  been  and  excited  our  boys  to  run  away.  Now  see  if 
we  don’t  pay  you  out  for  that.  Sir  1  If  my  pa  is  unfortunate 
and  trod  down  l)y  henemies,  we’re  not  going  to  be  basely  crowed 
and  conquered  over  by  you  and  Tilda.” 

“  Noa  !”  replied  John,  bluntly,  “thou  bean’t.  Tak’  thy  oath 
o’  thot.  Thiidv  betther  o’  us,  Fanny.  I  tell’ee  both  that  I’m 
glod  the  auld  man  has  been  caught  out  at  last — dom’d  glod — • 
bill  ye’ll  soofer  eneaf  wi’out  any  crowin’  fra’  me,  and  I  be  not 
the  mnn  to  crow  nor  l)e  Tilly  the  lass,  so  I  tell’ee  flat.  More 
than  that,  T  tell’ee  noo,  that  if  thou  need’st  friends  to  help  thee 
awa’  from  this  place — dinnot  turn  up  thy  nose,  Fanny,  thou 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


909 


may’st — thou’lt  foind  Tilly  and  I  wi’  a  tliout  o’  old  times  aboot 
113,  ready  to  lend  thee  a  hond.  And  when  I  say  thot,  din  not 
tliiiik  I  be  ashamed  of  waa’t  I’ve  deane,  for  I  say  agean,  Hurrah  I 
and  dom  the  schoolmeasther — there  !” 

TIis  parting  words  concluded,  John  Browdie  strode  heavily 
out,  remounted  Ids  nag,  put  him  once  more  into  a  smart  canter, 
and  caroling  lustily  forth  some  fragments  of  an  old  song,  to 
which  the  horse’s  hoofs  rano:  a  merry  accompaniment,  sped  back 
to  his  pretty  wife  and  to  Nicholas. 

For  some  days  afterwards  the  neighboring  country  was  over¬ 
run  with  boys,  who,  the  report  went,  had  been  secretly  furnished 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie,  not  only  with  a  hearty  meal  of  bread 
and  meat,  but  with  sundry  shillings  and  sixpences  to  help  them 
on  their  way.  To  this  rumor  John  always  returned  a  stout 
denial,  which  he  accompanied,  however,  with  a  lurking  grin, 
that  rendered  the  suspicious  doubtful,  and  fully  confirmed  all 
previous  believers  in  their  opinion. 

There  were  a  few  timid  young  children,  who  miserable  as  they 
had  been,  and  many  as  were  the  tears  they  had  shed  in  the 
wretched  school,  still  knew  no  other  home,  and  had  formed  for 
it  a  sort  of  attachment,  which  made  them  weep  when  the  bolder 
spirits  fled,  and  cling  to  it  as  a  refuge.  Of  these,  some  were 
found  crying  under  hedges  and  in  such  places,  frightened  at  the 
solitude.  One  had  a  dead  bird  in  a  little  cage ;  he  had  wan¬ 
dered  nearly  twenty  miles,  and  when  his  poor  favorite  died,  lost 
courage  and  lay  down  beside  him.  Another  was  discovered  iq 
a  yard  hard  by  the  school,  sleeping  with  a  dog,  who  bit  at  those 
who  came  to  remove  him,  and  licked  the  sleeping  child’s  pale 
face. 

They  were  taken  back,  and  some  other  stragglers  were  re¬ 
covered,  but  by  degrees  they  were  claimed,  or  lost  again  ;  and 
'ill  course  of  time  Hotheboys  Hall  and  its  last  breaking  up  began 
I'l  be  forgotten  by  the  neighbors,  or  to  be  only  spoken  of  os 
among  the  things  that  had  been. 


CHAPTER  LXy. 


CONCLUSION. 

W  HEN  her  terra  of  mourning  had  expired,  Madeline  gave  her 
hand  and  fortune  to  Nicholas,  and  on  the  same  day  and  at  the 
same  time  Kate  became  Mrs.  Frank  Cheeryble.  It  was  ex¬ 
pected  that  Tim  Linkinwater  and  Miss  La  Creevy  would  have 
made  a  third  couple  on  the  occasion,  but  they  declined,  and 
two  or  three  weeks  afterwards  went  out  together  one  morning 
before  breakfast,  and  coming  back  with  merry  faces,  were  found 
to  have  been  quietly  married  that  day. 

The  money  which  Nicholas  acquired  in  right  of  his  wife  ho 
invested  in  the  firm  of  Cheeryble  Brothers,  in  which  Frank  had 
become  a  partner.  Before  many  years  elap.sed,  the  business 
began  to  be  carried  on  in  the  names  of  “  Cheeryble  and  Nick- 
leby,”  so  that  Mrs.  Nickleby’s  prophetic  anticipations  were 
realized  at  last. 

The  twin  brothers  retired.  Who  needs  to  be  told  that  they 
were  happy  ?  They  were  surrounded  by  happiness  of  their  own 
creation,  and  lived  but  to  increase  it. 

Tim  Linkinwater  condescended,  after  much  entreaty  and  brow¬ 
beating,  to  accept  a  share  in  the  house,  but  he  could  never  be 
prevailed  upon  to  suffer  the  publication  of  his  name  as  a  part¬ 
ner,  and  always  persisted  in  the  punctual  and  regular  discharge 
of  his  clerkly  duties. 

He  and  his  wife  lived  in  the  old  house,  and  occupied  the  very 
bedcliamber  in  which  he  had  slept  for  four-and-forty  years.  As 
fiis  wife  grew  older,  she  became  even  a  more  cheerful  and  light¬ 
hearted  little  creature  ;  and  it  was  a  common  saying  among  their 
friends,  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  which  looked  the  happier 
— Tim  as  he  sat  calmly  smiling  in  his  elbow  chair  on  one  side 
of  the  fire,  or  his  brisk  little  wife  chatting  and  laughing,  and 
constantly  bustling  in  and  out  of  hers,  on  the  other. 

Dick,  the  blackbird,  was  removed  from  the  counting-house 
(910) 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


911 


and  promoted  to  a  warm  corner  in  tne  common  sitting-room. 
Beneath  his  cage  hung  two  miniatures,  of  Mrs.  Linkinwater’s 
execution  ;  one  representing  herself  and  the  other  Tim,  and 
both  smiling  very  hard  at  all  beholders.  Tim’s  head  being 
powdered  like  a  twelfth  cake,  and  his  spectacles  copied  with 
great  nicety,  strangers  detected  a  close  resemblance  to  him  at 
the  first  glance,  and  this  leading  them  to  suspect  that  the  other 
must  be  his  wife,  and  emboldeniug  them  to  say  so  vvithout 
scruple,  Mrs.  Linkinwater  grew  very  proud  of  these  achieve¬ 
ments  in  time,  and  considered  them  among  the  most  successful 
likenesses  she  had  ever  painted.  Tim  had  the  profoundest  faith 
in  them  likewise,  for  upon  this,  as  upon  all  other  subjects,  they 
held  but  one  opinion,  and  if  ever  there  was  a  “comfortable 
couple”  in  the  world,  it  was  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linkinwater. 

Ralph  having  died  intestate,  and  having  no  relations  but 
those  with  whom  he  had  lived  in  such  enmity,  they  would  have 
become  in  legal  course  his  heirs.  But,  they  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  growing  rich  on  money  so  acquired,  and  felt  as 
though  they  cou'i  never  hope  to  prosper  with  it.  They  made 
no  claim  to  his  wealth ;  and  the  riches  for  which  he  had  toiled 
all  his  days,  and  burdened  his  soul  with  so  many  evil  deeds,  were 
swept  at  last  into  the  coffers  of  the  state,  and  no  man  was  the 
better  or  the  happier  for  them. 

Arthur  Gride  was  tried  for  the  unlawful  possession  of  the 
will,  which  he  had  either  procured  to  be  stolen,  or  dishonestly 
acquired  and  retained  by  other  means  as  bad.  By  dint  of  an 
ingenious  counsel,  and  a  legal  flaw,  he  escaped,  but  only  to  un¬ 
dergo  a  worse  punishment ;  for  some  years  afterwards  his  house 
was  broken  open  in  the  night  by  robbers,  tempted  by  the  rumors 
of  his  great  wealth,  and  he  was  found  horribly  murdered  in  his 
bed 

Mi'a  Sliderskew  went  beyond  the  seas  at  nearly  the  same 
time  as  Squeers,  and  in  the  course  of  nature  never  retiir;jed. 
Brooker  died  penitent.  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  lived  abroad  for 
some  years,  courted  and  caressed,  and  in  high  repute  as  a  line 
dashing  fellow ;  and  ultimately,  returning  to  this  country,  was 
thrown  into  jail  for  debt,  and  there  perished  miserably,  as  such 
high,  noble  spirits  generally  do. 

The  first  act  of  Nicholas,  when  he  became  a  rich  and  pros- 
58 


912 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 


perous  merchant,  was  to  buy  his  father’s  old  house.  As  time 
crept  on,  and  there  came  gradually  about  him  a  group  of  lovely 
children,  it  was  altered  and  enlarged,  but  none  of  the  old  rooms 
were  ever  pulled  down,  no  old  tree  was  rooted  up,  nothing 
with  which  there  was  any  association  of  bygone  times  was  ever 
removed  or  changed. 

Within  a  stone’s  throw  was  another  retreat,  enlivened  by 
children’s  pleasant  voices  too,  and  here  was  Kate,  with  many 
new  cares  and  occupations,  and  many  new  faces  courting  her 
sweet  smile  (and  one  so  like  her  own,  that  to  her  mother  she 
seemed  a  child  again),  the  same  true  gentle  creature,  the  same 
fond  sister,  the  same  in  the  love  of  all  about  her,  as  in  her  girlish 
days. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  lived  sometimes  with  her  daughter,  and  some- 
limes  with  her  son,  accompanying  one  or  other  of  them  to  Lon¬ 
don  at  those  periods  when  the  cares  of  business  obliged  both 
families  to  reside  there,  and  always  preserving  a  great  appear¬ 
ance  of  dignity,  and  relating  her  experiences  (especially  on 
points  connected  with  the  management  and,  bringing  up  of 
children)  with  much  solemnity  and  importance.  It  was  a  very 
long  time  before  she  could  be  induced  to  receive  Mrs.  Linkin- 
water  into  favor,  and  it  is  even  doubtful  whether  she  ever 
thoroughly  forgave  her. 

There  was  one  grey-haired,  quiet,  harmless  gentleman,  who, 
winter  and  summer,  lived  in  a  little  cottage  hard  by  Nicholas’s 
house,  and  when  he  was  not  there,  assumed  the  superintendence 
of  affairs.  His  chief  pleasure  and  delight  was  in  the  children, 
with  whom  he  was  a  child  himself  and  master  of  the  revels. 
The  little  people  could  do  nothing  without  dear  Newman 
N  oggs. 

The  grass  was  green  above  the  dead  boy’s  grave,  and  trodden 
by  feet  so  small  and  light,  that  not  a  daisy  drooped  its  head 
beneath  their  pressure.  Through  all  the  spring  and  summer¬ 
time,  garlands  of  fresh  flowers  wreathed  by  infant  hands  rested 
upon  the  stone,  and  when  the  children  came  to  change  them, 
lest  they  should  wither  and  be  pleasant  to  him  no  longer,  their 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  they  spoke  low  and  softly  of  their 
poor  dead  cousin. 


THE  END. 


V 

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